The Woman Sitting Beside the Mafia Boss’s Mother

The shattered crystal lay scattered across the pristine white tablecloth. No one moved to clean it up.

Elena couldn't tear her eyes away from the tarnished silver bracelet dangling from Isabella’s manicured fingers. The little charms—a bird, a heart, a tiny book—clinked against each other in the silent room.

“Where did you get that?” Elena asked, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper.

“Your mother was a lovely woman,” Isabella said smoothly, letting the bracelet catch the light of the chandeliers. “Fragile. So very fragile. A heart attack at thirty-four. Tragic.”

Thomas lunged forward, but two massive men in tailored suits stepped out from the shadows, grabbing his arms and holding him back.

“Don’t you touch her!” Thomas roared, his calm facade shattering.

Elena felt her knees go weak. “You… you took that from her. She didn't have a heart attack.”

“People in our world do not simply pass away, Elena,” Isabella said, looking at the young woman with a mixture of pity and disgust. “They are removed when they become inconvenient. Your mother wanted to go to the authorities about the contract. She wanted to break the deal.”

Elena turned to her father. “Is it true?”

Thomas stopped struggling, sagging against the guards. He looked at the marble floor. “I tried to stop her, El. I told her Isabella would find out. But she was so fiercely protective of you.”

A sob tore from Elena’s throat. Her mother had died trying to save her from this marriage. And Elena had spent the last eleven months trying to make Isabella love her, trying to be the perfect Vale wife.

She turned to Marcus. He was staring at his mother with a look of pure, unadulterated hatred.

“You knew,” Elena said to her husband.

“I didn't,” Marcus swore, stepping toward her. “Elena, I swear to God, I didn't know about your mother. If I had—”

“If you had, what?” Victoria interrupted, stepping out from behind the table. Her voice was sharp, cutting through the tension like a blade. “You would have killed your own mother? Don’t lie to her, Marcus. Not tonight.”

Elena looked at the woman in the blue gown. “If you aren't his mistress, who are you? Why is your name on that contract?”

Victoria looked at Isabella, a dangerous glint in her eye. “Tell her, Isabella. Tell her who I really am.”

Isabella sneered, slipping the bracelet back into her velvet bag. “She is a stray. A nobody. An orphan my late husband took pity on and trained to keep our accounts in order.”

“I’m the person who hides the money,” Victoria corrected, turning back to Elena. “When your father made the deal, Isabella’s husband demanded a guarantor. Someone inside the Vale organization who would ensure the debt was managed until you came of age. I was assigned to you.”

“Why are there pictures of you and Marcus in hotels?” Elena demanded.

“Because we were hunting,” Marcus said, his voice low. “We weren't having an affair, Elena. We were tracing Isabella’s offshore accounts. We were trying to find the money she stole from the Commission. I was trying to find a way to buy out your contract and set you free.”

Elena stared at him. The man she thought had betrayed her was actually trying to save her.

“And did you find it?” Elena asked.

Marcus nodded slowly. “Yes.”

Isabella laughed. It was a cold, dry sound. “You found nothing but ghosts, my son. And tonight, you will all join them.”

Isabella raised her hand. The doors to the ballroom slammed shut. The heavy deadbolts clicked into place with a terrifying finality.

The wealthy guests who had been watching the drama unfold suddenly began to panic, murmuring and backing away toward the walls.

“What are you doing, Mother?” Marcus demanded, reaching inside his tuxedo jacket.

“Cleaning house,” Isabella said coldly. “Thomas is dead. He has been for eight years. You, my disappointing son, will tragically lose your life tonight in a home invasion. And your lovely bride will not survive the crossfire.”

Isabella snapped her fingers. The guards holding Thomas drew their weapons.

Without thinking, Elena reached for a heavy silver candlestick on the table.

But Marcus was faster.

He pulled a sleek, black handgun from his jacket. But he didn't aim it at his mother. He didn't aim it at the guards.