Too Late, Mr. Mafia: The Surgeon He Discarded

avalli, the most ruthless

annulment papers across my hospital be

ed to my knees and begge

ve penthouse, waiting for a man who bathed the street

stripped me of every cent, l

iant surgical career to be a s

see me, and I died entirely al

y chest was suffocated

m and my scalpels for a man who would only feel a tw

d dragged me back to the exact

f my bed, clearly expectin

time to thi

idn't cry or b

signed my name, and walked out to r

pte

nna

the overbed table, ordering me to dissolve my marriage to the most ruthless Don in the country,

icked up

private VIP sickroom filled my lungs. I looked at th

e that was never my home. When I opened my eyes again, those thirty years were a fever dream scorched into my

se very papers had b

penthouse aerie. Thirty years waiting for a man w

n blood to expand his empire, but he had n

in that massi

chest heavy with a lifetime of regrets and the ghost of the brilli

yes were

brea

ossified growth from decades of needlepoint, nor was the skin as thi

f my bed, a mountain of mu

nnul the marriage," Matteo said, his voice a flat, mechanica

ie. I knew

sure; this was the first s

of Matteo's suit jacket. I begged him to call

before tossing them in a drawer, and he had only felt a twiste

invisible lead plate that had pressed

e expensive fountain pen

teo grunted. He shifted his weight, cle

voice completely st

ringing the gold nib

my name.

a. Not Sie

s back across the

along his jawline suddenly twitched. His dark eyes, which ha

e, searching for the hysterical, cl

asked, the silence in the

my lips, but it di

he first crack splinter through the invisible