Eight Years of Devotion, Yet the Mafia Boss Betrayed MeChapter 1
Sofia's POV
I was supposed to be walking toward a wedding altar—and the man I’d given eight years of my life to didn’t even know it was about to happen.
Lorenzo barely came home anymore. When he did, it was late, distracted, and already halfway gone. His focus had shifted to Francesca, his newly appointed consigliere assistant—a sharp-eyed woman with ambition written into the way she spoke. He’d hired her himself not long ago, and from the very beginning, something about them fit too easily. Too naturally.
In the glass-lined corridors of the penthouse office that doubled as one of his many mafia fronts, their voices carried freely. Low laughter, private jokes, shared glances reflected in polished marble and steel. They spoke as if the space belonged only to them, as if I were just another piece of furniture blending into the background.
When Francesca’s birthday arrived, Lorenzo turned it into an event. He commissioned a massive, multi-layered cake infused with moonflower extract—an expensive, rare ingredient imported through his underground channels. He knew I was severely allergic to moonflower. I’d nearly ended up in the hospital years ago because of it. He knew. He just didn’t care enough to remember.
During the celebration, they stood close, feeding each other bites of frosting, smearing cream on fingertips and cheeks, laughing like nothing else in the world existed. Music thumped. Glasses clinked. Men with guns at their waists pretended not to notice. I stood a few steps away, invisible, watching the man who once promised me forever forget I was even in the room.
The scent reached me quickly. My chest seized as if a fist had closed around my lungs. Each breath became harder than the last. Panic surged, hot and uncontrollable, my vision blurring at the edges. I tried to steady myself against the table, but the floor tilted beneath my feet.
The last thing I remembered was falling—music still playing, laughter still ringing—while no one noticed.
When I woke up, I was in one of Lorenzo’s private medical suites. An IV was taped to my arm. The room smelled sterile and cold. My chest ached, but this time the pain had nothing to do with the allergic reaction.