A Mafia Heiress Story：I Made Him King, and I Can Bury Him Too

In our world, a man drowning in debt belongs to whoever buys the paper. That's how I got Julian Cross. Three years ago, he was eight figures underwater. Wharton pedigree, a face made for magazine covers, and a gambling habit that had bled his accounts dry. The people he owed were forty-eight hours from putting him in the ground. The auction was an old tradition in my world. Bad debt went up on a stage, and whoever wanted the man, whether whole or in pieces, made an offer. Julian came up last. The crowd had already thinned. His medical file read like a liability: compromised liver, panic disorder, no stomach for crew work or even organ sell. A man who can't earn, or has no value left to offer, is scrap in my world. And scrap often ends up in the sea. Julian knew it. He stood on that stage in a washed-out shirt, and his eyes moved across every face in the room until they landed on mine. The only woman at the table. He didn't beg. He just said, clearly, "Buy me. I'll earn it back for you inside a year." "I've got a diploma and a license in my pocket, and I can put a clean face on anything you want to run through my floor." The room went quiet. He was smart. He pitched me instead of pleading. I had just taken over the Vescari Casino from my father. The Family needed a legitimate front, a man polished enough to sit across from senators at charity dinners while we moved what we needed to move underneath. Julian was cheap, pretty, Wharton-stamped, and he came with a license already in hand. Low risk. So I took him. And I hate to admit it, but, yes, I was also attracted to him. He was so different from the men in my world. Almost too clean and too proud. I paid off his debt. Burned the paper. Handed him the keys to The Vescari and told him to run it like it was his. I even gave him the company black card. No limit. The suits. The watch. The car. The apartment on Rittenhouse. I built Julian into the one and only face of the Vescari empire. That first year, we were inseparable. The night The Vescari cleared its first million, Julian came home, pouting and showing off like a kid with his report card. "I didn't disappoint you, did I?" "You did good." He swept me off my feet, and after that, we had a year-long honeymoon phase. That was when I even started dreaming about our wedding. Before Julian, I never believed in love. But with him, I did. I really thought there could be an us. Then the business expanded. The casino became more successful than either of us had imagined. Then Julian started coming home late almost every night. Then came the arguments about how to run things. Then Father pushed me to take Chloe into the casino, saying she needed training so she wouldn't just lie around swiping cards all day. Chloe. My stepsister. The soft one. Big eyes, small voice, could cry on command. She slid into The Vescari, and from day one, I could feel Julian changing more.

Every time I pulled Julian away from a bad table, she whispered that I didn't trust his instincts. Every time I made him fix a dirty ledger before it drew heat, she whispered that I was tightening the leash. Every time I kept him out of a deal he wasn't ready for, she whispered that I was keeping him small. The higher Julian climbed, the less time he had for me. I thought the work was wearing him down. Turns out, he was saving his love, his time, his everything, for Chloe. I took a man marked for disposal and made him valuable. What I got back was an ungrateful dog with another woman's hand on his collar. Fine. I cut bad investments loose. Julian Cross is no different. My mind wanders back to the present. Luca is still looking at me with those deep-set eyes. Almost like a predator watching its prey. I speak slowly. "You said you can protect me better and know how to keep me entertained." "For now, the only thing I'm accepting from you is bodyguard work." "If you can live with that, then we can talk." Luca's face stays composed, but I catch it in his eyes, a flash of satisfaction, controlled and unmistakable. "I can live with that," he says. "As long as I'm allowed to stay near you, Miss Vescari." "Fine. Once we're back home, you get a full medical exam." "If everything comes back clean, you register through the private security office. Any objections?" Luca answers quickly, "None." The private helicopter lands on the rooftop not long after, and Luca carries me aboard. --- When I return to the Manor, I hear the piano before I even make it past the front doors. In the main parlor, empty wine bottles are scattered across the rug. Chloe is curled up in Julian's arms. He has one arm around her waist, a glass in his hand, and the other moving slowly through her hair. The second Chloe sees me, she shoves away from Julian and jumps up like a startled rabbit. "Moira, please don't misunderstand. I was just scared. Julian was only comforting me." I let out a cold laugh. "What kind of comfort involves getting drunk and wrapped up in each other's arms?" "Moira…" "If I hadn't walked in, were you two planning to comfort each other all the way to the bedroom?" "Enough!" Julian snaps. "Moira, don't be so cruel. We're not your employees, and Chloe is innocent. She's not like you." "Not like me?" I smile. "True. She's a hell of a lot more shameless than I am."

Chloe's eyes well up on cue. "Moira, I'm so sorry… I was scared, and Julian said a drink might calm my nerves." "I'll pay you back for the bottle, I promise. I don't want any trouble…" "Pay me back?" I almost smile. "Sweetheart, do you even know what you drank?" "On your salary, you could work ten years and still not cover it." "Christ, Moira." Julian's voice drops cold. "Is money the only thing that ever comes out of your mouth?" "She's my guest. You don't get to humiliate her." "Your guest? This is my damn manor." I stare at him coldly. "You put her on my helicopter and left me alone in that burning warehouse." "Tell me, Julian—did you sell your conscience with the rest of your debts?" "You brought that on yourself." Julian meets my eyes. Flat. Cold. "I told you not to come. You insisted on playing wife on my work trip. Who's to blame for that?" Then he sneers. "Now that you mention it, maybe you're the reason we got attacked in the first place." For a second, I can barely recognize the man standing in front of me. Chloe tugs at his sleeve, soft as silk. "Julian, don't say it like that. Moira only went because she was worried about you." "Look at her hand. Her dress is torn…" Julian doesn't even glance at my hand. "If she were really hurt, Chloe, she wouldn't be standing here running her mouth." "That's who she is. Money and business. There's nothing else inside this woman." He reaches into his jacket and pulls out the black card I gave him years ago, back when he swore he'd protect me, my business, all of it. He flicks it at my chest. "Put the bottle on the card. That enough for you?" Chloe hurries to stop him. "Don't be like that. After all, she's the one who gave you The Vescari…" Julian cuts her off, disgust written all over his face. "If I had a choice, I wouldn't spend another second around a woman who reeks of money like her." He doesn't spare me another glance before taking Chloe's hand and leaving. I look down at the black card on the floor and let out a bitter, speechless laugh. --- Julian wasn't always like this. The first year I put him in The Vescari, the old board tried to saddle him with a trash deal. He didn't want to sign it, so I brought legal in overnight, killed the contract, and ate the five-million-dollar penalty myself. He sat outside the conference room afterward, asking me if I thought he was being too difficult. I told him no. If he didn't want the deal, he didn't have to take it or choke down something that made him sick just to prove himself. He held me and swore he would make that money back for me one day. Later, he really did make The Vescari successful. And the more successful he got, the prouder he became and the less he listened. His plans got riskier. More obscure. Private rooms, strange credit lines, deals with people whose names shouldn't have been anywhere near our books. I didn't want to watch him turn a clean front into a liability, so I had the accountants and attorneys revise his proposals. Sometimes, I killed them outright. I thought he would understand. Then Chloe showed up. Every time one of his proposals got shut down, she would look at him with red eyes. "Julian, that plan was good. Moira only killed it because she probably didn't think it would make enough money." "You're so talented. It's a shame no one understands you." I wanted Julian to win bigger. Chloe turned that into me treating him like a walking ATM, and me as a cold-blooded bitch who only cared about the bottom line. I was trying to keep him from driving straight off a cliff. She turned that into control. Into me being some power-hungry tyrant who couldn't stand to see him shine. And little by little, with Chloe dripping poison in his ear, Julian started looking at me like I was the enemy. Now, I'm done wasting my time on him. And I'm done being the villain in a story I paid for. I pour myself three fingers of bourbon. My phone lights up on the coffee table. Luca Vancy. "Background clean. Medical clean. Papers signed. On your word, Miss Vescari. — L" I turn the black card over once more. Then I pick up the phone. "Come over tomorrow. We'll talk." The reply comes instantly. "Yes, ma'am." I set the phone facedown on the rug.

The house doctor cleans and wraps my hand. I sit in the bath until the water goes cold, then sleep like the dead. At six in the morning, my phone rings. Marco. My floor manager at The Vescari. "Miss Vescari. Julian didn't show again." "We've got a private VIP client from Dubai dropping seven figures in the Pearl Room at eleven, and Julian's phone has been off since last night." There was a time when this happened every other week. Julian sulked. Julian disappeared. Julian shut off his phone and left everyone else to clean up the mess. And I let him. I ate the loss, sent my assistant to keep the client happy, and had Marco cover the floor. Everyone in the Vescari knew Julian Cross was difficult. Everyone also knew I let him get away with it. Not anymore. "Let him stay missing," I say. "From now on, if he messes up with something, he fixes it himself. Don't cover for him." "Yes, Miss Vescari." I hang up and pour myself a coffee. --- Sure enough, without me keeping him in line, Julian starts enjoying his freedom. He flies Chloe from one island to the next, and within hours, their photos are everywhere. Society pages. Gossip magazines. Chloe in white linen on a rented Riva in St. Barts, her hand resting on Julian's chest. Julian with his fingers buried in her hair. The two of them clinking glasses in a private cabana, smiling like they don't have a care in the world. The headlines are exactly what I expect. [Julian Cross Spotted with The Vescari Heiress's Stepsister After Sicily Incident] [Has the Vescari Heiress Finally Lost Her Golden Boy?] [Insiders Say Julian Cross Felt "Trapped" Under The Vescari Heiress's Control] They don't know that in that ambush, Julian stepped on my hand, took my helicopter, and left me there to die. They don't know I'm only three years older than him. They also don't know I'm not exactly hurting for attention. Men with better names, cleaner books, and more money than Julian Cross have been trying to get on my calendar for years. But the story has always been his doing. His silence. His hints. Those wounded little pauses in front of people who knew exactly how to turn them into print. Once, during a society interview, someone asked him about me. Julian only lowered his eyes, went quiet for a few seconds, then said softly, "Some things aren't really a choice." One sentence. That was all it took to make me the villain. The rich woman who bought him. Owned him. Controlled him. The Vescari heiress with a checkbook for a heart. And Julian never corrected them. Not once. I asked him once why he wouldn't set the record straight. He looked at me, cold as marble, and said, "How exactly am I supposed to correct it, Moira?" "Should I tell them you bought me out of a basement?" "Should I announce that I'm only breathing because you wrote a check?" "You want the whole world to know I'm your charity case. My pride means nothing to you. Say it." I turn my glass. A man who would've been dead years ago if not for me, lecturing me about pride. I was too generous with Julian. I let him forget what he was before I touched him. My phone buzzes. Luca Vancy. "Do I start my job today?" I tell him to come. --- An hour later, Luca walks into my study in dark jeans and a plain black Henley. The simplest clothes a man can wear, and he still looks like trouble. His left shoulder is taped under his shirt where the steel beam caught him. "Everything checks out," I say. A corner of his mouth lifts. "Come closer," I say. He crosses the room slowly. Stops two feet away. I lean back in my chair and watch him. "Can I sign on as your bodyguard now?" Luca asks. I crook a finger at him. "That depends," I say. "I'll have to test you myself first." Luca smiles, "What kind of test, Miss Vescari?" I stand, walk around the desk, and stop in front of him. He doesn't move. I hook two fingers into the collar of his shirt and tug him down just enough that his breath brushes my mouth. "The kind that tells me how well you follow orders." His gaze drops to my lips for half a second, then comes back to my eyes. "And if I pass?" "Then you stay." I hold his gaze. "How many before me?" "If I said none," he says, "would you believe me?" "No." "None," he says anyway. "I don't give myself to people I don't want." "Upstairs?" I say. "Yes, ma'am."