My Ruthless Mafia Ex-Husband Begs For Mercy

Chapter 2

Word Count: 520 | Released on: Today at 16:22

nna

lowed the sound of my bare fee

resting my back against the wall, I

creen was the only light source as the

eversing clock, past our wedding day, past our eng

before we eve

r, I had sent him texts

d them to Zoya,

d for a legitimate marriage b

ed with two word

until I found o

believed I had

ictures to Zoya, mock

hers had worked miracles

ing why he chose

tructuring," he wrote. "She was little more

and acidic I had to press my palm to m

ts folder, my vision swimmin

ble boudoir photos were

t only for my

ommented o

I lacked the fire of a w

right hand against the hard edge of a side table, using my left to steady my wr

idence to a secure o

eenshot was a testament to my own foolishness; concessions I had once mistaken fo

orning, I return

blet back und

irred in

eached out and

t you asle

roke the silence

is shadowed,

ting for the s

d enough ruin to bury a Don, and the woman who had worshipped Pietro Vitiello for six years had die

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My Ruthless Mafia Ex-Husband Begs For Mercy

Little Pink Lace Mafia

“I was the devoted wife of Pietro, the untouchable Don of the New York Syndicate. I thought my love could bridge the gap between my civilian life and his brutal underworld. Then, I swiped open his unlocked private tablet. I discovered he had been forwarding my most intimate boudoir photos, desperate texts, and sweet voice notes to a dark web group chat filled with his ruthless soldiers and his female associate, Zoya. They dissected my naked body for amusement. Pietro captioned my lingerie photo, "Like a starving animal," and told his men I was just a "stable cover" with a clean background. When I cried over his safety during a turf war, his Capos joked about my whimpers. Pietro bragged to them that starving me of attention was standard protocol to break me. When I confronted him with the evidence, he didn't apologize. "You are acting bitter and hysterical. A Don doesn't have time for civilian trivialities." He warned me that if I walked out, I would be dead to his world, dismissing my absolute humiliation as mere locker-room talk. My affection for him had been a form of worship, yet my marriage was nothing but a spectator sport for his entire regime. He traded my dignity to feed his god-complex. I didn't cry, and I didn't beg for his love. Instead, I packed my bags, transferred every damning screenshot to a secure drive, and calmly handed the files over to the Syndicate Elders. It was time to burn his empire to the ground.”