Jilted Fiancée To The Underworld Queen

"Siena, the syndicate's European expansion needs a bodyguard. Let me borrow your fiancé for three years."

Exactly seven days before my high-profile mafia wedding, the best friend I considered a sister sat comfortably on my custom Italian sofa and made this absurd demand.

She tapped the faint scar on her collarbone, the supposed proof that she had taken a bullet for me, now weaponized to guilt-trip me.

"You owe me a life, remember? I'm not asking for your money or your territory. I'm just borrowing a man."

Any honorable man would have sternly refused at a moment like this.

But Lorenzo, the man I had loved for seven whole years, merely adjusted his expensive cuffs and smiled.

"It's just business, Siena," he promised solemnly.

"Three years will pass in a blink. When I return, our wedding will proceed exactly as planned. You've always been so understanding. Be a good, obedient mafia wife and don't make me worry, okay?"

As he reached out, wanting to hold my hand, a wave of intense, physical revulsion violently churned in my stomach.

I saw the unmistakable smudge of foundation on his crisp white collar.

And the diamond promise bracelet he had given me, which had been missing for a long time, was now gleaming on Lucia's wrist.

The truth hit me like a basin of ice water dumped over my head.

The man I was about to marry was already sleeping with my best friend.

The seven years of youth and devotion I had sacrificed for this man instantly turned to ash.

I pulled out my phone, opened an encrypted channel, and sent a single message to my mother:

"The engagement with Lorenzo is off. I am ready to meet the man you have been telling me about."