I Left The Jester For The King

"Little Siren: I miss your hands on me." That message lit up the screen of a burner phone I found in my fiancé's jacket pocket while he was in the shower. Franco Moretti, the rising star of the Vitiello crime family, treated me like a fragile glass doll. He claimed he was "saving himself" for our wedding night out of respect. But the phone told a different story. I unlocked it and found three years of betrayal. It wasn't just a fling. It was Camilla, a girl from high school I had befriended out of pity. I watched their history unfold. He complained that I was cold. He called me a statue. Then I saw the invoice. He had bought two identical pink diamond engagement rings. One for me, and one for her. Worse, he had stolen my grandmother' s heirloom jade bracelet-a piece of history meant for his bride-and given it to his mistress. "I need her name to get the chair," he texted her. "You are my true Queen." I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I realized I wasn't a person to him; I was a ladder. Leaving him would be too easy. Leaving is what victims do. I walked to my laptop and opened a new document. I wasn't just going to cancel the wedding. I was going to broadcast his ruin to the entire underworld, and our wedding would be my stage. Then, I picked up the phone and dialed the one number my father forbade me to call. "I accept," I told the deep voice on the other end. "You understand what you are agreeing to, Gianna?" Enzo Falcone asked. "I understand," I said, looking at the New York skyline. "You want an alliance. I want a weapon."

Chapters

Chapter 3

Giana

Back at the penthouse, Franco wrapped his arms around me from behind.

"I know you're stressed," he murmured against my neck. "But you need to relax. Why don't you write something? Your fans are waiting for an update."

He released me and walked to the kitchen to fix himself a drink.

I pulled the ring from my finger.

I threw it in the junk drawer.

Franco didn't hear.

I sat at my laptop and logged into my author account.

My book, Smoke and Mirrors, was a thriller about a woman who marries a spy.

The comments section on my reader forum buzzed.

Update soon!

Is the husband actually the villain?

I opened a new document. My fingers flew over the keyboard. I didn't need to invent scenarios. I just had to transcribe my memories.

Chapter Fifty-Six: The protagonist finds the second receipt. She realizes the man sleeping beside her is a stranger. She doesn't scream. She just sharpens her knife.

I paused and opened a separate, secure file.

I wasn't just writing fiction. I was compiling evidence. I started printing photos of the duplicate receipt, the side-by-side photos of the rings.

"What's that?" Franco asked, a glass of whiskey in his hand.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

I spun the chair, blocking his view of the file, grabbing the papers from the tray.

"Research," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "For the new book. Tax documents, property deeds. Boring stuff."

I forced a smile.

Little did he know, I was saving the stage for the wedding.

He grunted, utterly disinterested. He didn't even ask the title, let alone glance at a page.

"Good. Everyone loves a happy ending." He glanced at his watch and downed his drink in a practiced move. "Get dressed. Xavier's throwing a party at The Vault. Neutral ground. We have to show face."

I sealed the documents in a thick manila envelope, addressed to a journalist, and hid it at the very bottom of my closet.

The Vault was an upscale club where families mingled under a fragile peace.

I put on a black dress.

When we arrived, the music was deafening.

Xavier, Franco's best friend and fellow soldier, waved us over to a VIP booth bathed in dim purple light.

"To the happy couple!" Xavier boomed, raising his glass.

The other soldiers cheered. I forced a smile and raised a glass of water to my lips, the liquid cold and tasteless.

Then I saw her.

Camilla.

She was dressed as a cocktail waitress, but her skirt was too short, her shirt buttons undone too low.

She carried a tray of drinks.

She wasn't supposed to be here. So this wasn't an accident. He'd planted her here. A deliberate provocation.

She reached the table, her eyes locked on Franco. Her hand was visibly shaking.

The crash was sharp, cutting through the bass. Wine splashed onto Xavier's expensive Italian loafers.

"You idiot!" One of the soldiers jumped up, yelling. "Watch what you're doing!"

"I'm so sorry!" Camilla cried, shrinking back, a practiced look of terror on her face. "I slipped!"

"Get her out of here," Xavier snapped, wiping his shoes. "Make her pay for the damage."

Franco slammed his hand on the table. The sound was louder than the subwoofer.

"Enough!" Franco's voice was sharp, his face flushed.

The table went silent. You don't defend the help. There's no kindness in the mafia world. Even if you're a made man.

"She made a mistake," Franco said, his voice tight. "Leave her alone."

Camilla looked at him, eyes wide, tears welling. "Thank you, sir."

Xavier looked from Franco to me, confused. "Franco, relax. She's just a waitress."

"Then let her show some remorse," another soldier sneered, his eyes glinting with drunken malice. "Go on, sweetheart. Give the man you almost soaked a hug. Let him know you're sorry."

It was a setup. Everyone at the table could see it.

Camilla hesitated, then looked at Franco. She took a step towards him, swayed, and dramatically pressed a hand to her forehead.

"I... I feel dizzy," she whispered.

Before I could blink, Franco moved. He stood up, snatched my glass of water from my hand, and turned to her.

"She's allergic to smoke," he announced to the table, the lie so flimsy it was an insult to my intelligence.

He put his arm around her waist, steadying her. In front of everyone. In front of me.

"I've got you," he murmured, meant for her, but loud enough for me to hear.

He held her there, one hand possessively on her hip, while the rest of the table stared, stunned into silence.

He wasn't helping a stranger. He was staking a claim.

My hand tightened on the strap of my clutch, the thin chain biting into my skin.

Not here, I told myself. Not now.

The wedding is your stage. The world is your audience.

Wait. Be patient. Let him be the biggest fool. Then make him pay.

From heaven, to hell.

Continue to next part

"IS IT TRUE?" Grayson's voice thundered through the room. "Yes!" Tessa said softly. "Yes it is!" "So you've been cheating on me, haven't you?" He spat. Her hands trembled. "No, I swear, it's not like that." He grabbed her arm, his grip bruising her wrist as she squealed in pain. "Then whose baby are you carrying, huh?" His voice was ice cold. Tessa shivered, tears blurring her vision. "I don't know." ********** Pregnant with the powerful Roman Blackwood's child, while engaged to his unstable stepbrother - Tessa Quinn becomes the key to a ruthless inheritance war where love has no place. As secrets unravel and danger closes in, Tessa must protect her unborn child while trapped between love, vengeance, and men who want to own her fate.

Action Mafia Romance

7.6

Discarded Heiress: Reborn from Mafia Prison

7.6

Seven years ago, my fiancé, Don Dante Moretti, sent me to prison to take the fall for my adopted sister, Chiara. He called it a gift—a way to protect me from a worse fate. Today, he picked me up from prison only to abandon me at my family's estate. His reason? Chiara was having another one of her "episodes." My parents then informed me I'd be staying in the third-floor storage room, so as not to disturb the fragile girl who stole my life. They celebrated her "recovery" with a lavish dinner party, while I was treated like a ghost. When I refused to join, my mother hissed that I was ungrateful, and my father called me jealous. They assumed I couldn't understand their venomous whispers. But prison was my university. I learned Spanish. I understood every word. It was then I realized I wasn't just a sacrifice; I was disposable. The love I once felt for all of them had turned to ash. That night, in the dusty storage room, I logged onto an encrypted channel I'd set up years ago. A single message was waiting: "The offer stands. Do you accept?" My hands, scarred and steady, typed back, "I accept."

Billionaire Mafia Modern

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

9.6

He Traded A Diamond For Cheap Glass

9.6

I was the "Ice Queen," the perfect Mafia wife who managed the De Luca empire's millions while my husband, Alessandro, played the part of the feared Underboss. I thought my silence and competence earned me respect. That was until I woke up in the estate's medical bay with a shattered leg. My saddle had snapped mid-jump. It wasn't wear and tear; it was sabotage. Lying in the dark, feigning sleep, I heard Alessandro whispering outside my door with his enforcer. "The buckle was filed down," the enforcer said urgently. "Aria tampered with it. She could have broken her neck." I waited for Alessandro’s rage. I waited for him to execute the mistress who tried to kill his wife. Instead, his voice was cold and dismissive. "Bury it," Alessandro ordered. "It’s just a broken leg. Aria was upset about the credit cards. She just wanted to teach Katarina a lesson." A lesson. My husband wasn't just cheating on me; he was protecting the woman who tried to cripple me. Three days later, at the Family Charity Gala, he humiliated me publicly. He outbid me for my grandmother's heirloom necklace and clasped it around Aria's neck while I watched from my wheelchair. He thought I was broken. He thought I was just a piece of furniture to be rearranged. He didn't know I had bugged the entire villa while I was recovering. He didn't know I had the recordings of what Aria was really doing when he wasn't looking. I gripped the USB drive in my pocket and signaled the tech team to lock the doors. The statue was broken, but he was about to learn that shattered ice is sharp enough to slit a throat.

Mafia Modern Romance

9.4

Healing My Seven Broken Beast Mates

9.4

My retirement was finally approved, and I was supposed to be sipping drinks on a sunny beach. Instead, a cold system voice forced me into a nightmare scenario: "Cursed Mates Who Want Me Dead." I woke up in a stinking cave, trapped in the body of a psychopathic tribal princess. The memories that flooded my brain made me sick. The original owner of this body had forcibly marked seven of the continent's most powerful beast-men and reduced them to tortured pets. She had ripped the shimmering scales off Jordi the Merfolk prince, gouged out a proud wolf-man's power crystal, and snapped an eagle-man's magnificent wings. Now, Jordi was a mutilated, terrified mess hiding in a corner. He was so traumatized that he tried to slit his own throat just to escape me. His sister was actively trying to assassinate me. To make matters worse, the system warned me that if I didn't heal these seven ticking time bombs, my soul would be erased. Yet the future timeline clearly showed that these men would eventually unite, burn my tribe to the ground, and dismember me alive. I was paying for a monster's sins. Every time I tried to show mercy, they thought it was a sick new torture method. Words were useless, and my very presence was a trigger. But I am a Tier-S operative, and I don't play the victim. I forced the system to unlock my powers and strapped on my tactical gear. "Stay here and don't starve." I left the trembling Merfolk behind and walked into the deadly primitive forest, heading straight for the powerful Oasis Tribe to take back his stolen scales by force.

Action LitRPG Mafia

8.7

I Was Never His Real Wife

8.7

My little brother's heart monitor was screaming its final warning. I called my husband, Dante Volkov, the ruthless underworld king whose life I'd saved years ago. He had promised to send his elite medical team. "I'm handling an emergency," he snapped, then hung up. An hour later, my brother was dead. I found out what Dante's "emergency" was from his mistress's social media. He had sent his team of world-class surgeons to deliver her cat's kittens. My brother died for a litter of cats. When Dante finally called, he didn't even apologize. I could hear her voice in the background, asking him to come back to bed. He even forgot my brother was dead, offering to buy him a new toy to replace the one his mistress deliberately crushed. This was the man who had promised to protect me, to make my high school tormentors pay. Now, he was holding that very tormentor, Seraphina, in his arms. Then came the final blow: a call from the clerk's office revealed our seven-year marriage was a sham. The certificate was a forgery. I was never his wife. I was just a possession he was tired of. After he left me to die in a car crash for Seraphina, I made one call. I texted a rival mob heir I hadn't spoken to in years: "I need to disappear. I'm calling it in."

Mafia Modern Romance

I Left The Jester For The King

Chapter 3

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