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 4

Giana

The silence at the table was thick enough to choke on, heavy with the scent of stale cigar smoke.

Franco's hand remained on Camilla's waist. His thumb moved in a familiar stroke against the thin fabric of her uniform.

It was muscle memory. Intimate. Unthinking. Devastating. He wasn't even aware he was doing it.

I stood up. The legs of my chair scraped against the floor with a harsh screech.

"Gia?" Franco looked up, blinking as if waking from a daze.

He pulled his hand away from Camilla.

"I'm going to the restroom," I said, my voice low and even.

I didn't wait for his response. I just turned and walked away.

I pushed open the door to the ladies' room. It was empty. I gripped the edge of the cold porcelain sink and stared at myself in the mirror.

Stay calm. Don't let him win.

The door opened.

Camilla walked in. She wasn't crying anymore.

She moved with a loose, clumsy gait, taking up more space than necessary. She locked the door behind her and leaned against it, arms crossed over her chest.

"Oops," she said, a smirk playing on her lips. "Did I ruin your date night?"

I turned to face her, unhurried. "Camilla. You're playing with fire."

"You're a blind fool," she retorted, a certain venom in her voice. "He doesn't want you. He wants your last name. He tells me everything. Tells me how boring you are. Tells me he has to think about me to finish."

"If he wanted you," I said quietly, "you wouldn't be serving drinks while I'm wearing his ring."

Rage flickered in her eyes, twisting her features. "That ring is a copy! I have the real one!"

"I know," I said.

A flicker of disbelief crossed her face.

Before she could speak, the door handle rattled. Then a heavy knock shook the frame.

"Gia?" It was Franco.

Camilla's eyes lit up. She let out a calculated shriek.

"Get away from me!" she screamed, throwing herself heavily onto the tile floor.

She landed on her own ankle, twisting it with purpose.

Franco kicked the door open. The lock splintered, the door swinging inward.

He stormed in, his eyes wild with panic. He saw me standing by the sinks, arms at my sides, face expressionless. He saw Camilla on the floor, clutching her leg, sobbing.

"She pushed me!" Camilla wailed, pointing a trembling finger at me. "She cornered me and pushed me!"

Franco looked at me. There was no question in his eyes. Just assessment.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he demanded.

"Franco, look at her," I said calmly. "She's acting."

"She's hurt!" He knelt beside Camilla, examining her ankle. It was red and already starting to swell. "Just because you're a Vitielo, you think you can push people around? You think you're above the law?"

He looked up at me, disgust in his eyes.

I was stunned by his stupidity.

The law? From a mafioso?

And I'd never seen it before.

"Gia, you're a spoiled princess. You've never had a real day of hardship in your life. This girl works for a living, and you assault her because of a little jealousy?"

"Jealous?" I laughed. "Of what?"

Of her getting Franco's worthless love?

"She's the victim here!" Franco shouted. He scooped Camilla up in his arms, cradling her like a bride.

She buried her face in his neck, hiding the smile on her lips.

"I'm taking her to the hospital," he spat at me. "Find your own way home."

He walked out. He walked out of the club carrying his mistress, past his friends, past my associates, leaving his fiancée alone in a bathroom with a broken lock.

Five minutes later, I walked out of the club. Xavier tried to stop me.

"Gia, wait, he's just... he's emotional," Xavier stammered.

"He's dead to me," I said.

I took a cab home.

I walked into the penthouse and went straight to the living room.

On the wall hung a calligraphy scroll Franco had made for our third anniversary. It read: Forever.

I tore it off the wall. I ripped it in half. Then into quarters.

I went to the closet and pulled out every bag, every pair of shoes, every piece of jewelry he'd ever given me. I piled them in the middle of the living room floor like an offering to the ghost of what he'd made me.

I picked up the heavy kitchen scissors and started cutting. The blades sliced through soft leather, tore through silk fabric, shredded velvet.

Three hours later, when Franco came home, the apartment was dark.

He tried the bedroom door. Locked.

"Gia?" he called.

"Gia, open up. The doctor said she's fine. I just... I overreacted." He was realizing, apparently, that he still needed me until the wedding.

I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

"Gia, please. If you don't let me in, I'll sleep in the hallway."

I didn't answer.

Let him sleep on the floor. It's where dogs belong.

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 4

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