The Underboss's Most Loyal Dog

In the fourth year of my marriage to Vincent Trapani, he became obsessed with a stripper named Gigi.

She was young, hot, and dangerously wild. She had the Mafia Underboss twisted around her little finger, convincing him to trail her from exclusive nightclubs to the grimy tracks where her favorite underground racer burned rubber.

Vincent called. "I'm not coming home. I'm at the track watching Silas Kane."

Gigi, draped over his arm, scoffed. "That boring trophy wife—does she even know who Silas Kane is?"

They had no idea.

The moment the call ended, Silas pinned me against the back seat of a dimly lit, modified car. His teeth grazed my neck—a sharp, teasing pressure that promised pain.

"Alessia, if I win, how are you going to reward me?"

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1

The first time I met Gigi Monroe was at my twenty-sixth birthday family dinner.

I wore a practiced smile, greeting the various family members while maintaining a fragile facade of harmony.

"Vincent's tied up with some family business, but he had his gift sent over earlier—"

I hadn't even finished my sentence.

Vincent Trapani strolled in, and he wasn't alone.

Gigi Monroe, poured into a sequined red dress, was plastered to his arm as if she owned the place. She scanned the room, her eyes glinting with avarice, her voice a shrill siren. "So this is the big-shot party you were talking about?"

Her gaze lingered on me for two seconds before flicking away with open disdain.

"Ooh, that cake looks amazing! I have to try some!"

Vincent watched her with a glint of amusement, letting her turn my birthday dinner into her personal playground.

Whispers rippled through the room.

"The nerve on that girl. Pulling a stunt like this right in front of Alessia Gallo."

"Are you surprised? Vincent lets her get away with murder. Sure, he's married to Alessia—but that one clawed her way into his bed."

"God, how humiliating. To be insulted like that at your own birthday party and have to just take it? I'd rather die."

In my custom-made black gown, I ignored their venomous whispers.

I found Vincent and lowered my voice. "We had an agreement—no bringing your whores where I have to see them. It's basic respect—"

He cut me off.

The champagne he’d shared with Gigi may have glazed his eyes, but the contempt in them was sharper than ever.

He let out a low laugh. "Alessia, I've clearly been too lenient with you." His smile turned dangerous. "Do you really think you're in any position to lecture me?"

I froze.

The light from the crystal chandelier cascaded down, too bright, too harsh.

Under his mocking gaze, the armor I had built over the years began to crack, melting away like snow under a scorching sun.

I was a Gallo in name only, married to a Trapani. Everyone thought I had married up. The truth was, I’d never been welcomed into the Gallo family's inner circle.

"How pathetic. Then again, a woman with her background was bound to—"

The chatter behind me faded into a dull hum.

Vincent heard it too.

He showed no reaction, simply handing me a diamond watch. "That project you wanted? Handle it yourself. And Alessia, don't act like I've mistreated you."

He raised an eyebrow. "Learn to please me, and maybe you'll be of some use."

A hundred-thousand-dollar insult. Utterly tasteless. He wasn't giving me a gift; he was reminding me of my place.

The disastrous dinner finally crawled to an end.

Vincent left with a drunk Gigi clinging to him.

They didn't even wait until they were out of sight, their hands all over each other by the courtyard fountain.

I stood by the bulletproof glass window, watching raindrops streak down the pane.