Broken But His: The Don's Hidden Amputee

I made my living playing background piano in underground speakeasies to pay off my fugitive father’s blood debt. Tonight, I had exactly ten seconds to make sure my floor-length velvet gown completely concealed the fact that I no longer had legs.

The VIP doors swung open, and the most ruthless mafia Don in the city walked in—Killian Vitiello, the boy I loved a decade ago. He didn't know my legs were crushed by rival soldiers on the very night he took his blood oath. Instead of a reunion, he pulled a beautiful woman in a red silk dress to his side and coldly introduced her as his fiancée.

"The rumors of you being a desperate opportunist at least explain why you vanished without a word," he sneered, looking at my threadbare clothes.

He publicly disavowed my existence to the entire underworld, leaving me to be hunted by rival factions. While he built his empire, I was crawling in the freezing rain to reattach my heavy metal prosthetic, watching my mother descend into fatal madness from our crushing poverty.

I swallowed the bitter ash of my ruined life and let him believe I was a traitorous gold digger. I would rather he hate me forever than let my mutilated body become a fatal weakness to his throne.

So, after my mother died, I packed a single bag and fled the country to disappear for good.

But I didn't know that on the very day I left, Killian kicked down the door of an illicit underground clinic and finally opened my ten-year-old medical file.

Chapter 1

Evangeline POV:

While my fingers moved across the keys of a grand piano in a syndicate ballroom, my entire being was attuned to the sound of approaching footsteps in the VIP lounge. I had been brought here to settle a fraction of my fugitive father’s blood debt, and I knew I had exactly ten seconds to ensure my floor-length gown completely hid the cold, mechanical truth that I no longer possessed legs.

My hands shook as I smoothed the heavy black velvet over my lap.

I was not supposed to be here.

I made my living in the underground speakeasies—the dark corners where men with guns did not look twice at the girl playing background music.

But tonight was a high-stakes charity gala serving as a legitimate front for the Vitiello Syndicate. And Killian Vitiello was the Don.

He controlled a massive legitimate music and entertainment empire, but everyone in this city knew he had built his throne on a mountain of bodies.

He was a man who painted the streets with the blood of anyone who crossed his family.

He was also the boy I had loved a decade ago.

A high-ranking associate stepped into my line of sight, his expression impassive as he informed me that the Boss demanded a private audience.

It felt as if a sponge soaked in ice water had been stuffed beneath my sternum; each weak inhalation was a rough, painful compression of my organs.

I wanted to run, but running was a luxury I had lost ten years ago on a wet highway.

I nodded, gripping the wheels of my chair under the fabric of my dress, and permitted the guards to push me down the heavily guarded corridor into the VIP lounge.

The air in the room was thick and cold.

Killian sat on a leather sofa in the shadows, his head tilted back, his eyes resting shut.

He radiated a dangerous, commanding energy that made the armed men at the door hold their breath.

He did not look like the boy who used to promise to steal me away from the pervasive scent of rust and decay in our neighborhood—he looked like a king who had laid claim to the entire city.

Without opening his eyes, his deep, rough voice cut through the silence. "Evangeline."

He knew it was me.

After ten years, after I had changed my name and buried my past, he recognized my presence in a room without even looking.

He opened his eyes. His gaze was dark, predatory, and entirely focused on me.

Then, his line of sight dropped to the wheels of my chair.

The temperature in the room plummeted.

He did not speak, but in the dim light, the contour of his masseter muscle suddenly stood out, sharp as a carving, like a fully drawn bow. "Who did this to you?"

It was not a question; it was a command.

Panic gripped my throat.

I could not tell him the truth. I could not tell him that my legs had been crushed by rival soldiers while I was trying to reach him on the night he had taken his blood oath.

I forced my voice to stay level. "It was a car accident."

His eyes narrowed, searching my face for a lie.

"A recent accident," I added hastily. "I am just recovering."

Killian stood up.

He was massive—his bespoke suit tailored over broad shoulders that appeared to bear the weight of the entire underworld.

He walked toward me, his heavy footsteps echoing on the hardwood floor. "Get the best care. I will have my people handle the bills."

I shook my head quickly, desperate to deflect his intense scrutiny and to steer the conversation away from the ruin of my body.

"I do not need your money, Killian," I deflected. "Why are you the Don?"

He stopped a foot away from me.

"You wanted to be an FBI agent," I pressed, my voice trembling slightly. "You wanted to be a federal prosecutor."

Killian smirked, though it was a cold, empty expression. "Enforcing my own justice suits me better than a badge."

He leaned down, placing a large hand on the armrest of my chair.

His proximity made my skin burn.

"Where did you go, Eve?" he murmured, his voice dangerously low. "You vanished the night of graduation."

I dug my fingernails into my palms. "I went to Europe. I changed my name. I wanted a dance career away from my father's disgrace."

He stared at me, his dark eyes stripping away my defenses. "You left."

"I had to."

The air in the room grew thin, each breath a conscious effort.

I needed to leave before he saw the truth beneath my dress. "I need to go," I whispered, practically asking for permission.

"Give me your contact information."

"I cannot. I am relocating to New Zealand next week."

Killian stepped closer, his chest almost touching my face.

Suddenly, the door to the lounge swung open.

A woman walked in, bypassing the armed soldiers without a single glance.

She was beautiful, draped in diamonds and a clinging red silk dress.

She walked straight to Killian and placed a manicured hand flat against his chest. "Congratulations on the merger, darling."

Killian did not push her away. Instead, he looked down at me, his expression turning to absolute stone.

"Evangeline, this is Sienna Rossi."

He paused, letting the silence stretch until my ears rang.

"My current fiancée."

She extended a diamond-clad hand towards me, but her cold smile was a blade, and I knew, in that moment, that her entrance had just signed my death warrant in the eyes of the underworld.