The Don Betrayed Me, So I Chose His Rival

Less than a week after calling off our engagement, Vincent Moretti, the new Don of the Moretti family, married Bianca Marino—the woman I'd once risked my life to save from a firefight. I gave back my family crest and walked away without a fight. The family elders were all waiting for me to fall apart. None of them thought Vincent's "mad dog" could make it without him. For seven years, I'd been his blade, and I'd done it willingly. I betrayed my own family to help him reclaim his territory. I stopped countless attempts on his life and was wounded so many times protecting him that there was barely a patch of unscarred skin left on my body. But the moment he became Don, everything changed. The blood on my hands suddenly disgusted him. He said someone like me had no right to wear the Donna's ring or stand beside him as the face of the family. After that, no one in New York would hire me. I ended up taking jobs cleaning up murder scenes for Brooklyn's underworld. Then I took the blame for someone else and got jumped by a group of gangsters. They shoved my face into the mud and beat me until I could barely move. I thought I was going to die there. Then Vincent came charging in like a madman. He shot one of them in the head, rushed to me, and pulled me into his arms with trembling hands. That familiar cologne hit me at once. I struggled to breathe. I wiped the blood from my eye and gave him a faint, bitter smile. "Thanks for the help, Mr. Moretti. Need someone to clean this up? I'm taking cash only today." Chapter 1 Vincent's fingers dug into my shoulders. His grip was so tight my bones ached. Rain poured down around us, washing over his suit and mixing with the mud and blood beneath us. Vincent had always hated getting dirty. He wouldn't tolerate so much as a speck of dust on his shoes. Yet now he was kneeling in the mud beside me. "Selina," he said through gritted teeth. "Do you have to degrade yourself like this?" I shoved his hand away and forced myself to my feet. Pain stabbed through my ribs. I gritted my teeth and bent down to collect my tools from the puddles. "Is there a problem? I'm working." I stuffed the bleach and body-dissolving solution into my waterproof bag. "$500 for one body. $800 for two. Unless you've got a job for me, Mr. Moretti, get out of my way." "I can give you money." Vincent stepped in front of me, blocking my way. "Your bank accounts are frozen, and you don't even have a place to stay. Come home with me. Everything can go back to how it was." My gaze fell on the platinum wedding band on his left hand. It gleamed under the streetlight. Seven years. I'd given him seven years of my life and walked away with nothing. And now, with another woman's ring on his finger, he had the nerve to ask me to come back. "Come back as what?" I glanced at his wedding ring. "Your killer? Or the woman you keep hidden in a safe house?" Vincent said nothing. Of course. He wanted Bianca on his arm at public dinners while I stayed hidden and did his killing for him. He wanted both. He couldn't have both. The sound of heels splashing through a puddle broke the silence. Bianca approached with several bodyguards following her. "Vincent, what are you doing in a place like this?" She looked at the bloody mess on the ground, then at me and laughed. "Oh. It's Selina." Bianca walked over and slipped her arm through Vincent's. "I hear you've been taking jobs on the black market. I guess it suits you. You always did like working with dead bodies. And with all that blood on you, you fit right in down here." Vincent frowned and tried to pull his arm free, but Bianca held on tight. "Go back to the car," Vincent said. "I came for my husband." She leaned against his shoulder and looked at me. "Selina, we're throwing a party at our new house next week. If you need work, you can clean up afterward. I'll have the butler pay you double your usual rate." Two years ago, I'd pulled this same woman out of a shootout between two drug gangs. She'd been curled up under a car, sobbing and begging me to save her. I'd taken a bullet for her and dragged her to safety through a pile of bodies. Now she stood in front of me, putting on airs and looking down on me like she'd been born to be the Donna. I couldn't believe I'd ever risked my life for her. I was such an idiot. "No, thanks. I've already got a body to clean up." I ignored Bianca and looked straight at Vincent. "You fired that shot. I'll clean up the blood and brain matter and make sure the cops don't find anything. I'll send the bill to your office." I picked up my bag and turned to leave. "Selina!" Vincent grabbed my wrist. "Stop this. Every mafia family in New York knows I blacklisted you. Nobody will give you legitimate work. How long do you think you can survive doing filthy jobs like this?" "Let go," I said. "Come home with me." There it was again—that commanding tone. He was so used to giving orders that he simply expected me to obey. "I still run New York's underworld. One word from me, and you can have everything you had before." I drew the tactical knife strapped to my thigh and pressed the blade against the back of his hand. His bodyguards immediately drew their guns and aimed them at me. Bianca shrieked and ducked behind them. Vincent didn't flinch. He just stared at me, certain I wouldn't actually cut him. I pressed the blade into his skin. Blood welled up beneath the blade. "I said, let go." Vincent glanced at his bleeding hand before slowly releasing my wrist. I slid the knife back into its sheath. Chapter 2 Seven years ago, Vincent wasn't the Don yet. He was the illegitimate son no one wanted to claim. I found him one bitter winter night, half-dead in a dead-end alley. His enemies had hunted him down and left him there with two stab wounds to the stomach. He was lying beside a dumpster, barely breathing. I was going to walk right past him. People died in Brooklyn alleys every day. Besides, I could barely keep my sister and myself fed. I had no room in my life to worry about some gangster. But he grabbed my ankle. He'd lost so much blood he could barely move, but he never begged me to save him. He just looked at me. I knew that look. It was the look of someone desperate to stay alive. I'd worn the same look every time I begged the clinic to treat my younger sister, Maya Hart, even though I couldn't afford her treatment. Every time, they threw me back out onto the street. I knew helping Vincent would only bring me trouble. But when I saw his trembling hand pressed against his wound, I couldn't leave him there. So I bent down and dragged him home. After that, it was just the two of us. We hid in a basement in the Bronx and survived on moldy bread. I'd tear off the moldy parts and give him whatever was left. At night, he'd wrap our only blanket around me. Then one day, during a negotiation, someone on the other side suddenly pulled a gun. I threw myself in front of Vincent. The bullet tore through my left shoulder. We barely made it back to the basement apartment that night. Vincent heated a knife over a lighter until the blade glowed red, then used it to dig the bullet out of my shoulder. His hands never shook when he held a gun. But that night, as he pressed gauze against my wound, his hands wouldn't stop trembling. "Don't take a bullet for me again." He pulled me into his arms. "I won't let you die." I looked up at him. "If you die, I'll have nothing left." He lowered his head and kissed the wound on my shoulder. Then he kissed me, and soon all I could taste was blood. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a silver ring, and slipped it onto my left ring finger. "When I take control of the whole family, I'll marry you in the biggest church in New York." He stroked my hair. "Selina... listen to me. One day we'll kiss at the top of the world." I believed him. Back then, I even thought I'd be happy spending the rest of my life hiding in that basement, as long as we survived together. I thought he felt the same. I thought I was all he had, just as he was all I had. So I cleared every obstacle from his path. I stopped assassination attempts and took out the elders who stood against him, one by one. For seven years, I left countless bodies behind to make Vincent Don. Only later did I realize how stupid I'd been. Once Vincent had secured his position as Don, no amount of power was enough for him. To take control of the entire West Side, he needed a powerful ally. The Marino family was exactly what he needed. One rainy night, I came back from taking out the head of a Mexican gang. The job had gone wrong. They'd been waiting for me, and I'd spent half an hour fighting my way out of an abandoned warehouse. Several bullets had grazed me, and a deep cut ran down my right arm. My leather jacket was soaked with blood by the time I dragged myself back to the safe house. Out of habit, I reached for the first-aid kit on the cabinet. Then I saw the invitation lying on the living room table. Thick paper. Gold trim. Expensive. Vincent Moretti. Bianca Marino. Their names were printed side by side. I stood there staring at their names as blood dripped from my arm onto the floor. Seven years of killing for him. And all I got in return was a wedding invitation. The door opened. Vincent walked in wearing a tailored suit, the faint scent of cigars clinging to him. He saw me standing by the table. Without saying a word, he took off his jacket, hung it over a chair, and came up behind me. His arms slipped around my waist like they always did. He brought over a warm towel and gently wiped the blood from my face. Then he kissed the spot just below my ear. "Selina. My little mad dog. You're exhausted." His lips moved down my neck. "Your scars break my heart. I don't want you risking your life like this anymore." I kept staring at the invitation. "But... you're marrying her?" I turned to look at him. "No... it's not what you think. Bianca is only there for appearances." His arms tightened around me, as if he were afraid I'd leave. "She can keep those dinosaurs in line for me. All she'll ever have is a meaningless title and a few fake smiles at dinner parties." When I still said nothing, Vincent turned me around to face him. "Sweetheart, don't you know? Only you deserve me. Only you deserve my entire underground kingdom." He sounded almost moved by his own words. His hand came up to stroke my cheek, just like it always had. "Stay by my side. Everything is the same. I'll keep you safely hidden. No one will be able to hurt you." I stared at him. Keep me hidden? For the first time, I realized how ridiculous I'd been. He was betraying me right to my face and somehow making it sound like he had done nothing wrong. The thought made me sick. I turned away and slipped the silver ring I'd worn for seven years off my finger. I tossed it onto the table beside the wedding invitation. It landed with a soft clink. "But what you're offering is dirty. I want something clean. You've always known that. Vincent, you knew this would hurt me." I pushed him away. "If you can't give me that, then let's end it." Vincent's expression changed. He'd never expected me to leave. As far as he was concerned, I would never say no to him. "Selina! Walk out that door and there won't be anywhere for you in New York! I'll take back everything I gave you!" His voice thundered behind me. "Your car, your guns, the men under your command. I gave you all of it! You don't know how to do anything but kill! Where do you think you can go?" I stopped with my back to him. He'd say anything to keep me under his thumb. Everything he had today had been bought with my blood, yet he still believed he'd given me everything I had. He said killing was all I knew how to do. Seven years of taking bullets for him. Seven years of killing for him. I'd thought he might at least feel guilty. That was when I finally understood. To Vincent, I was still just his dog. And whenever he wanted, he could take away the bone he'd given me. I swallowed back the pain crushing my chest, along with the last shred of love I had for him. "You can try." I opened the door and walked straight into the pouring rain. That was the day I became a cleaner. Chapter 3 Rain was still pouring down in Brooklyn. Bianca backed away in disgust and ordered one of her bodyguards to throw two stacks of cash into the mud. "The dinner party is next Tuesday. Go scrub the bathrooms by the back terrace. That cash is your advance." She looked down her nose at me. "Still grieving for sickly little Maya? You know the dead don't come back." At the sound of Maya's name, Vincent finally stepped in. "Bianca. That's enough." Hearing Bianca say Maya's name made my blood boil. She was the reason Maya was dead, and now she had the nerve to joke about it. And Vincent's only response was a weak "That's enough." I thought I'd stopped caring. But hearing Bianca mention Maya again still made it hard to breathe. I set down the body-dissolving solution, drew my tactical knife, and drove it into the wooden crate beside me. The bodyguards immediately raised their guns, but Vincent lifted a hand to stop them. I walked over to the cash Bianca had thrown into the mud and planted my boot on it. "How does it feel to step over Maya's body and take your place as Donna?" I stared at Bianca. Her eyes darted away. "She died at the cartel's hands. What does that have to do with me?" Pathetic. She didn't even have the guts to admit what she'd done. And somehow, this was the woman I'd lost to. I slowly pulled my knife from the crate. "Six months ago, Maya was staying at Safe House Four in Queens. Cartel hitmen cut the power to her oxygen concentrator and stood there while she slowly suffocated. Bianca, only someone from the inner circle knew where the backup power line was." The last image I had of Maya flashed through my mind. She was holding the teddy bear I'd given her. "I'm the heir to the Marino family!" Bianca tried to sound confident. "You're nothing but a killer. Who are you to accuse me?" "I checked the phone records and the offshore accounts." The memory hit me all over again. I'd stormed into Vincent's office with the evidence in my hand—proof that Bianca had sold Maya's location for a $2 million deposit. I'd loaded my gun, ready to kill her. Vincent had stopped me and taken the gun away. "The Marino family has just formed a port alliance with us. Touch her now, and the West Side will descend into chaos." His voice had been low, almost soothing. "Maya's already dead. I'll pay you ten times over. I'll set up a foundation in her name." "She killed my sister!" I screamed. Even now, the memory made my ears ring and my stomach turn. I'd once thought Vincent would at least feel guilty. But that day, I finally saw him for what he was. He only cared about his own interests. To Vincent, every life was just another number on a balance sheet. Maya's life was just a number. So was mine. "You'd both better pray you never fall into my hands. I don't want your money. I take lives." I grabbed my bag and walked past them. Vincent reached for my hand. "Selina." "Don't touch me." I moved out of his reach and disappeared into the rain. Chapter 4 It was two in the morning on Thirteenth Street in Brooklyn. I dropped my tool bag beside a 24-hour hot dog stand and ordered a hot dog and a black coffee. Acid burned in my stomach. It had been happening more often lately. I took a bite of the cheap hot dog, but it was dry and hard to swallow. A Maybach pulled up to the curb. Vincent got out. He wasn't wearing his jacket, just a white dress shirt. He walked over, stopped beside me, and lit a cigar. The silver lighter in his hand was the one I'd given him years ago. An "S" was scratched into the metal. I'd carved it there with the tip of my knife back when we were still hiding in that basement. He'd ruined my life, yet here he was, still pretending to be the devoted lover. "You've punished me enough." His voice was rough. "You've suffered these past few months. It's too dangerous out here. Come home with me." I took a sip of coffee, trying to settle my stomach. "Since when does the Don eat hot dogs from a street stand?" I stared down at my paper cup. "Stay out too late, and your wife might start wondering where you are." Vincent stubbed out the cigar. "I've never touched her. She's just for show." There was an almost desperate edge to his voice. "Selina, I wait for you at the safe house every day. I can't sleep without you." He reached out to touch me. My stomach turned. "Spare me the devoted-lover act, Mr. Moretti." I tossed the rest of my hot dog into the trash. "You just want a killing machine with no weaknesses—one that does whatever it's told. Well, I quit. Now get out of my way." I picked up my bag and turned to leave. "How much longer do you think you can hold out?" Vincent grabbed my wrist hard enough to hurt and tried to drag me toward the car. "All of New York is under my control. I'm taking you with me tonight." "Let go." My hand slid toward the gun tucked into the back of my waistband. Then engines roared at the end of the street. Four armored Escalades tore down the road and boxed in Vincent's Maybach. The doors flew open. About a dozen men in black tactical vests jumped out, each with a double-headed eagle on his chest. They quickly sealed off the street, submachine guns in hand. Vincent froze. The rear door of the middle SUV opened. A pair of combat boots stepped straight into a puddle. A tall man in a tailored black coat climbed out without an umbrella. Rain streamed over the sharp angles of his face. Nikolai Volkov. Head of the Russian Bratva. He ignored the armed men around us. He paid no attention to Vincent or the gun Vincent held. His eyes were fixed on me. Nikolai walked straight over and stopped in front of me. His gaze swept over my rain-soaked hair before shifting to Vincent. Then he looked back at me. "Wifey, is he bothering you?"