Shattered Vows: The Mafia Queen's Revenge

For eight years, I stood by Dante's side as the undisputed Queen of the Cosa Nostra, reigning over a network of blood as his deadliest soldier.

But the ruthless Don who once forced me to execute my fiancé suddenly brought home a supposedly pure civilian girl.

"He cannot stand the smell of blood on your hands anymore. He wants a clean life," she sneered.

Dante immediately turned his back on me, allowing his fragile new trinket to mock my murdered parents and parade around my penthouse.

He even bought my mother's stolen diamond bracelet and my father's signet ring at an underground auction, just to gift them to her as an apology.

When I finally drew my blade, the man who once swore to protect me pinned me to the floor, aiming a loaded gun at my head to protect his pregnant new bride.

He poured millions into building a grand Catholic cathedral to wash his hands clean, and sent me a gilded wedding invitation to flaunt his legitimate dynasty.

I couldn't understand how the monster who claimed we were soulmates forged in darkness could suddenly crave redemption.

I understood even less why he now despised the very ruthlessness he had spent eight years systematically cultivating in me.

So, on the day of his grand wedding, I kicked open the cathedral doors in a blood-red dress, drew the silver dagger he had gifted me, and drove it straight into his chest.

Chapter 1

Elena POV

The night the severed legs of the man I was supposed to marry were laid out upon the cream-and-indigo weave of my Persian rug, the undisputed boss of the Cosa Nostra handed me a loaded gun.

He leaned so close the heat of his breath misted the shell of my ear, and whispered, "Shoot him, or I will keep him alive just to skin him in front of you every day for the rest of your life."

That was eight years ago.

Dante was the kind of man who wore custom Italian suits and could, after bathing in the blood of rival cartels, use the very same hands to straighten the collar of my dress.

He had taken me in when my parents died, acting as my protector before the role of protector twisted, without seam or warning, into that of captor.

I did not break easily back then.

In a fit of rage over his suffocating control, I had once taken a blade to his leg tendon and permanently blinded his left eye.

A normal Don would have ordered me dismembered and fed to the sharks in my own penthouse.

Dante only smiled through the blood pouring down his face, his arms clamping around me like a cage of bone and muscle, and claimed my ruthlessness proved we were soulmates forged in the exact same darkness.

For eight years, I stood by his side as his deadliest soldier.

I took bullets for him, executed hits for him, and reigned over this network of whispers and blood as his untouchable queen.

Now, I stood in the center of the vast, silent aquarium that served as the west wall of my penthouse, staring at the fragile creature trying to take my place.

Serena wore a white sundress that looked entirely out of place in my dark world.

She was a civilian-a supposedly pure and innocent girl Dante had recently picked up as one might pick up a trinket, something fragile and easily discarded.

She crossed her arms, looking around my home with a smile of such saccharine condescension it seemed to coat the air.

"Dante is disgusted by you, Elena," she said, her voice a thin, reedy sound that scraped against the silence.

"He told me he cannot stand the smell of blood on your hands anymore. He wants a clean life. With me."

A knot of ice formed in the pit of my stomach, and I felt the blood drain from my fingertips, leaving them numb.

I did not yell or argue.

I simply stepped forward, drew the stiletto blade hidden in my sleeve, and pressed the blade to her cheekbone. I felt the slight yielding of flesh, the almost imperceptible resistance of the skin giving way. A line of warmth crept up the steel and onto my knuckle.

Serena let out a piercing scream, clapping her hands over her face as dark red blood spilled through her fingers.

I pulled out my phone, snapped a photo of her sobbing, her knees striking the flagstones with a dull report that vibrated through the soles of my shoes, and sent it to Dante.

The message was simple.

"Come collect your trinket."

It took exactly ten minutes for the twin oak doors of my penthouse to shudder in their frame before bursting open.

Dante marched in, flanked by a dozen armed soldiers.

His remaining eye locked onto me, burning with a furious, possessive rage.

He raised his gun and aimed the barrel directly at my forehead.

Serena crawled toward his expensive leather shoes, sobbing hysterically.

"Kill her, Dante!" she shrieked, the cry thin and sharp against the thick glass of the aquariums. "Look at what she did to me! You promised to protect me!"

Dante did not look at her. The muzzle of his pistol came to rest against my skin, and in the quiet, I heard the faint click of the recoil spring compressing against the frame.

"You crossed the line, Elena," he said, the words a low exhalation of air.

I did not blink.

I stepped closer, closing the distance until my chest brushed against his suit jacket.

I raised my own bloodied dagger and the tip of it found the space between two ribs, the fine wool of his suit jacket dimpling under the pressure.

The air in the room grew thin. I could hear the faint hum of the aquarium filters, a sound I had not noticed until every man in the room had ceased to breathe.

His soldiers held their breath, waiting for the Don to give the order to execute me.

Dante stared down at the blade pressing into his gut, and a slow, twisted smirk spread across his face.

He lowered his gun and raised a hand, signaling his men to stand down.

"Good girl," he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. The vibration of it travelled through his chest into my own.

The scent of his cologne, a sharp citrus mingling with the copper of Serena's blood, was the same scent that had filled my nostrils the night he had forced me to execute my crippled fiancé.

"You want a clean life now, Dante?" I asked, my breathing unaltered, as if inquiring about the evening's menu.

"Do not forget who took your eye and your tendon. The dirt is in your bones."

Dante grabbed Serena by the arm, hauling her up from the floor without looking at her.

He kept his single eye fixed on me.

"This defiance will not end quietly, Elena."

He dragged the crying girl out of my penthouse, and his soldiers filed out behind him.

The doors clicked shut.

That night, word spread through the underground network that Dante had summoned the syndicate's top surgeons, threatening them with a slow death if Serena's face bore a single scar.

Enzo, my fiercely loyal Consigliere, walked into the aquarium room holding a silver tray of raw meat.

He looked disgusted.

"The Don is turning his back on you for a civilian," Enzo said, handing me the tongs. "It is an insult to everything you have built for this family."

I picked up a bloody chunk of meat and tossed it into the massive tank.

The water was briefly a confusion of white bellies and silver fins. Then it settled, and a slow, pink cloud began to bloom from the center of the tank.

"Dante is a toy I have grown tired of," I said, watching the water turn pink. "When I am done playing, I will bury him."

I glanced at the sharks circling lazily in the adjacent tank. They had just been fed, but they were still hungry. So was I.