Kneel Before Your Ex-Wife, Ruthless Boss

For seven years, I secretly funneled my family's wealth to build my husband's mafia empire, even paying exorbitant black-market fees to keep his dying mother alive.

But today, Julian threw annulment papers onto the mahogany table.

He wrapped a possessive arm around his mistress, proudly announcing to a room of armed men that she was carrying his heir.

"Sign the papers and walk away, or my men will consign your body to the river," Julian commanded.

He mocked me as a fruitless branch, completely useless to his legacy.

His mistress smirked, aggressively demanding I get on my knees and beg for her forgiveness.

The entire room of hardened killers erupted into coarse laughter, reveling in the ultimate humiliation of a discarded, barren wife.

They had no idea about the secret I buried.

Six years ago, a piece of shrapnel in a drive-by shooting had rendered Julian permanently sterile.

To protect his life and fragile pride in a brutal syndicate that despised weak men, I had sworn myself to absolute silence and taken all the insults.

I had given him everything, only to be thrown away for a child that couldn't possibly be his.

Looking into the cruel eyes of the man I had shielded for half a decade, my last vestige of naive hope withered.

I calmly signed the annulment without a moment's hesitation.

Then, I pulled out my phone to call the Consigliere of New York's ultimate Don—my father—ready to reduce Julian's holdings to ash.

Chapter 1

Siena POV

Julian Moretti tossed the annulment papers onto the mahogany table like they were nothing—like I was nothing.

"Sign it, Siena," he commanded, his voice a low rasp that once made my heart race. "Valentina carries my heir. I have a duty to the Family."

Valentina Rossi stepped out from behind him, one hand resting possessively on her flat stomach. Crimson silk dress. Perfect smirk.

A Capo requires an heir, he had told me. You are a fruitless branch.

The men around us—hardened killers, syndicate soldiers—watched with hungry eyes. They laughed when Julian mocked my barrenness. They pointed when Valentina demanded I kneel and beg.

I had given this man everything.

For seven years, I had funneled my family's wealth into his rise. I had cleared his rivals, bribed his judges, and kept his dying mother alive with black-market drugs that cost one hundred and fifty thousand dollars a month.

He had no idea who I really was.

Six years ago, a drive-by shooting left Julian sterile. Shrapnel. The doctors told me in a private room while he was still unconscious. I knew what male pride meant in this world. A Capo who could not produce an heir was a dead man walking.

So I swore silence. I took the blame. I let the syndicate whisper about my broken body.

But tonight, as Julian wrapped his arm around Valentina and gave me one minute to sign, I remembered my father's words from a decade ago.

"You will regret choosing that gutter rat, Siena. And when you do, do not come crawling back."

I had made a ten-year wager with the Don of the Romano family. I had promised to prove Julian's worth. I had lost.

The pen scratched against the paper. I signed without hesitation.

Julian looked mildly surprised, then scoffed. "A smart decision for once."

I stood up, pulled out my phone, and dialed an encrypted number.

"Lorenzo," I said quietly.

"Yes, Miss," the Consigliere answered.

"Sever all of Julian Moretti's supply lines. Freeze every cent of his legitimate funding. Burn his casino fronts. See to it now."

"It is done."

I turned back to face the room. Julian was laughing, drinking whiskey, calling my bluff pathetic. Valentina tugged at my collar, mocking my cheap clothes.

"You are losing your mind because you have nothing left," Valentina sneered.

I said nothing. I simply waited.

Because Julian had no idea that the "civilian orphan" he had just discarded was Siena Romano—the Don's only daughter.

And he was about to learn what that meant.