I Heard His Mind: The Don's Regret

I was naked in the bed of the most dangerous Capo in New York when I heard his mind whisper the name of the woman he actually wanted. It wasn't me. My husband, Dante, moved over me with cold precision, but his thoughts were screaming for Sofia, a soldier's widow he claimed to protect out of "honor." I possess a secret that makes me a freak: I can hear the thoughts of men. And Dante’s mind was a torture chamber of devotion to another woman. I found the deed to a luxury penthouse he bought for her. I watched her parade around in a dress he bought for me, hearing her mental triumph as she thought about rubbing her scent all over it. Refusing to be a placeholder in my own marriage, I left my wedding ring on his desk and fled to Las Vegas to build my own empire. I thought I had escaped. Until the divorce papers arrived in the mail, signed by him. I stood in my shop, heartbroken, believing he had finally discarded me to be with his true love. But then the phone rang. "Dante didn't sign those papers, Elena. He’s in the ICU." My blood ran cold. "He took two bullets to the chest. He started a war to distract the enemy from finding you." He hadn't chosen her. He was dying for me. I tore up the papers and booked a private jet. If the Grim Reaper wanted my husband, he would have to get through me first.

Chapters

Chapter 9

Dante Cavallaro POV

Twenty-four hours had passed without sleep.

I sat in my study, a glass of whiskey resting untouched on the mahogany desk.

The house felt massive around me, hostile in its silence.

Every shifting shadow looked like her.

Every groan of the floorboards sounded like the phantom echo of her footsteps.

The door clicked open.

I looked up, expecting Vitale with news from the trackers.

It was Sofia.

She strolled in with an air of possession that made my stomach turn.

She was wearing a silk robe.

My wife's robe.

Red rage flooded my vision, tinting the world in violence.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, my voice a low, vibrating growl.

"I heard she left," Sofia said softly.

She rounded the desk, invading my personal space.

She placed a hand on my shoulder.

Her fingers felt like spiders crawling over my skin.

"I'm sorry, Dante. But maybe... maybe it's for the best."

"For the best?" I repeated, the words tasting like ash.

"She wasn't right for you," Sofia cooed, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "She was too hard. Too cold. You need someone who appreciates you. Someone who needs you."

She leaned down.

The scent of vanilla was suffocating, cloying and artificial.

It made me want to gag.

"I'm here, Dante," she whispered against my ear. "I've always been here."

She moved to settle onto my lap.

I stood up so abruptly that my chair flew backward, crashing against the wall with a deafening crack.

Sofia stumbled, barely catching herself on the edge of the desk.

"Dante?"

"Take that robe off," I commanded.

Sofia smiled tentatively, her fingers drifting to the belt. "Of course, I-"

"Take it off and put on your own clothes," I roared, the sound tearing from my chest. "And get out of my house."

Sofia froze.

Her face crumbled, the mask of seduction slipping.

"What? But... she's gone! We can finally-"

"There is no 'we'!" I shouted. "There never was!"

"But you chose me!" she screamed, her voice shrill. "You defended me! You bought me the penthouse!"

"I bought the penthouse for Elena!" I slammed my fist onto the desk, rattling the glass of whiskey. "I used your name to keep it off the books so my enemies wouldn't blow it up with her inside! You were a signature! A pen! Nothing more!"

Sofia recoiled as if I had struck her physically.

Her eyes narrowed, hurt morphing into venom.

"And the dress?" she hissed. "You let me wear it."

I narrowed my eyes, the non-sequitur catching me off guard.

"What?"

"The green dress," she said, malice leaking into her voice, desperate to claim a victory. "I tried it on. I rubbed my perfume on it. I told her I had worn it. That's why she slapped me."

The world stopped spinning.

She told me she wore the dress. She told me-

Elena's desperate words from that night echoed in my mind, haunting me.

I hadn't listened.

I had looked at the crocodile tears on Sofia's face and ignored the burning truth in Elena's eyes.

I walked around the desk.

I towered over Sofia, letting my shadow consume her.

She shrank back, real, primal fear finally entering her eyes.

"You provoked her," I said, the realization settling like lead in my gut. "You staged the accident in the kitchen. You poisoned my marriage."

"I did it for us!" Sofia cried.

"Get out," I said. My voice was deadly quiet, far scarier than the shouting.

"Dante, please-"

"If you are not out of this house in two minutes," I warned, "I will forget the debt I owe your dead husband. And I will treat you like the enemy you are."

Sofia scrambled back, tripping over her own feet.

She turned and ran out of the room.

Moments later, the front door slammed, shaking the house.

I was alone.

Truly alone.

I looked at the empty desk where Elena's resignation letter had lain.

I had chosen honor over love.

And now I had neither.

I pulled out my phone.

I dialed Rocco.

"Did you find them?"

"We got a hit on a credit card," Rocco answered immediately. "A burner account Aria set up years ago. They bought tickets."

"Where?"

"Las Vegas."

I hung up without another word.

I walked to the window and looked out at the dark, sprawling grounds.

Las Vegas.

The city of sin.

She thought she could run.

She thought she could hide in the neon lights.

She was wrong.

I wasn't a husband anymore.

I was a hunter.

And I was coming to claim my prize.

Continue to next part

There are ninety-nine Hermès Birkins sitting in my walk-in closet. To the world, it' s a collection worth millions. To me, it' s a tally of ninety-nine times my husband, Harris, betrayed me. Each bag was a silent apology I accepted to keep our hollow marriage alive. But the hundredth betrayal wasn't fixed with crocodile leather. On the anniversary of my mother's death, I tracked Harris to my family' s private cemetery. He wasn't alone. Jessica, his "first love," was there, standing over the empty plot reserved for my living father, right next to my mother' s grave. They were digging a hole. Jessica smirked, holding a velvet box containing her dead cat and a plaque that read To Arvel, my eternal companion. "It' s just a cat, Cecily," she laughed, tossing her hair. "Don't be so dramatic. Your father won't mind the company. Besides, it shows who Harris really listens to." For years, I accepted the bags and the lies. But desecrating my family's sacred ground? The submissive wife died in that moment. I walked toward them, clutching the evidence that would destroy Jessica' s life and shatter Harris' s world. "Dig it up," I commanded, my voice colder than the grave. "Or I will bury you both right here."

Mafia Modern Romance

7.3

FILTHY LITTLE ASSISTANT

7.3

Jolene flies to Italy broke and desperate for a PA job. She walks into the wrong room and finds a man naked in the shower. She can't stop staring. He notices. The interview is brutal. Two men, Marco and Enzo, tear her apart, humiliate her, and dismiss her. She thinks she failed. Then Enzo gets in the car. It was all a test. They wanted to see if she'd break. She didn't. The job is hers. But they don't want a normal assistant. They want control. They touch her when they want, stand too close, give orders that cross every line. On her first night, Marco tells her to take off her blouse. Jolene has to choose: obey or walk away with nothing. The problem? Part of her doesn't want to leave.

Action Mafia Modern

8.0

From Broken Vessel To Mafia Queen

8.0

Years ago, I threw myself in front of an assassin's bullet to protect my Mafia boss husband, leaving me nearly infertile. He knelt in my blood, swearing I would be his only wife. But tonight, I heard him whisper to his childhood sweetheart in Italian: "My wife is a useless vessel; only you can give the Rossi family an heir." He thought I couldn't understand him, not knowing I used to work as an Italian translator. He also had no idea that an eight-week-old miracle was currently growing in my womb. Julian, you will never see your child. I no longer want your promises. I no longer want you. From now on, we will never cross paths again. Adieu, pour toujours.

Mafia Modern Romance

8.0

His Fake Heir, My Undeniable Power

8.0

After fifteen years of marriage and a brutal battle with infertility, I finally saw two pink lines on a pregnancy test. This baby was my victory, the heir that would finally secure my place as the wife of mob capo Marco Vitiello. I planned to announce it at his mother's party, a triumph over the matriarch who saw me as nothing but a barren field. But before I could celebrate, my friend sent me a video. The headline read: "MOB CAPO MARCO VITIELLO'S PASSIONATE NIGHTCLUB KISS!" It was him, my husband, devouring a woman who looked like a younger, fresher version of me. Hours later, Marco stumbled home, drunk and reeking of another woman's perfume. He complained about his mother begging him for an heir, completely unaware of the secret I held. Then my phone lit up with a text from an unknown number. "Your husband slept with my girl. We need to talk." It was signed by Dante Moretti, the ruthless Don of our rival family. The meeting with Dante was a nightmare. He showed me another video. This time, I heard my husband's voice, telling the other woman, "I love you. Elara... that's just business." My fifteen years of loyalty, of building his empire, of taking a bullet for him-all dismissed as "just business." Dante didn't just reveal the affair; he showed me proof that Marco was already stealing our shared assets to build a new life with his mistress. Then, he made me an offer. "Divorce him," he said, his eyes cold and calculating. "Join me. We'll build an empire together and destroy him."

Mafia Modern Romance

8.1

Marked By The Devil's Heir

8.1

Trigger Warning: This book is extremely dark, containing themes of obsession, strong sexual content, abuse, and psychological manipulation. Read at your own risk. "I'll delete the pictures depending on how obedient you are. You have to do everything I say. If I want you to become a dog, you get on your knees and bark. Do we have a deal?" Pierce leans down to Malakai's height, his lips brushing the shell of his ear, close enough to taste his fear. "You don't want her to know what a dirty little creep you are, do you?" Malakai Kreston is the preacher's perfect son. Quiet. Obedient. The kind of boy no one looks at twice. But Malakai has a filthy secret. And he'll do anything-anything-to keep it buried. Enter Pierce Masterson. Wealthy. Attractive. Pierce doesn't just want Malakai's secret. He wants Malakai. All of him. His fear. His obedience. His body. His mind. Pierce wants to own it, and lock it away where no one else can ever touch it. Kai has always been the hunter-watching from the shadows, obsessing in silence, taking what doesn't belong to him. Now someone is hunting him. And Pierce doesn't play fair. He plays dirty. How far can you run when the devil already knows every dark corner of your soul? In a game of predator and prey, the lines blur. The roles reverse. And the most dangerous thing isn't the boy who holds the blackmail- It's the moment Malakai stops wanting to be free.

Billionaire LGBT+Mafia Modern

7.8

Shadows of the Moon Bond: Sold to the Alpha Don's Fated Rejection

7.8

Elena Voss was sold like a debt receipt. Her greedy aunt and uncle handed her over to Damien Blackthorn-New York's untouchable billionaire tech mogul by day, ruthless Mafia Don and Alpha of the Blackthorn Pack by night-to settle a family debt they never asked her to pay. The moment their eyes met in that rain-soaked alley, the fated mate bond ignited like wildfire. For one reckless night, he claimed her body and soul, whispering "mine" against her skin while the Moon Goddess sealed their destiny. Then came the betrayal. On their first anniversary, he paraded his pureblood fiancée through their penthouse, let her kneel for him in the study while Elena watched from the shadows, and divorced her in front of the entire pack. "Wolfless trash," he snarled. "You were never more than payment." Heart in pieces and two tiny heartbeats growing inside her, Elena fled. She vanished into Seattle's gray drizzle, changed her name, cut her hair, and built a quiet life as a single mother. She swore the Blackthorn name would never touch her twins-Leo and Luna, the secret heirs he didn't even know existed. Five years later, the children's first uncontrolled shifts rip through their small apartment like lightning. The only place that can teach them control and keep them hidden from rival packs is back in New York-back under Damien's shadow. The Alpha Don who once threw her away is now obsessed. The fated bond never died; it only waited. He feels her every laugh, every tear, every protective growl she gives their children. He'll burn his empire, his alliances, and his pride to drag her back. But Elena isn't the broken girl he discarded anymore. She's a mother with claws. A luna who learned to bite. And this time, if he wants her forgiveness, he'll have to beg on his knees. Pregnancy. Divorce. Secret babies. Billionaire alpha. Mafia power plays. Revenge that burns slow and sweet. Some bonds can't be broken. Some rejections come with claws. And some second chances are paid for in blood.

Mafia Modern Werewolf

I Heard His Mind: The Don's Regret

Chapter 9

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