99 Roses for the Underboss's Wife

Chapter 2

Word Count: 513 | Released on: Today at 15:38

r sprawling penthouse, the silence of

door cli

filling the entryway, carrying a m

eenhouse-a twisted hobby for a man who

the glass coffee table, his expression

ating through the quiet room. "But you know my duty to The

then up into the dark, barren eyes of t

ng like a cheap ledger soaked in water, its ink blurring and running, bleedin

nto the syndicate boardroom, their cloying scent a bitt

syndicate boardroom closed wit

d tang of cigar smoke and the collecti

f the projector illuminating the meticulous financial la

ions through a network of international real es

his posture deceptively relaxed, his dark

said, his voice cutting through

iffened, the men h

y even despite the sudden, frantic pulse against my ribs. "I

hat made the men around him shift un

in the air as if to brush away an insect. "We are not

ing, "Focus on the charity galas, Sie

my peers, stripping away my a

ced a thin line across my index finger. I watched a single bead of blood well to the s

ot wipe

Chapter End

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99 Roses for the Underboss's Wife

Natala O'neal Mafia

“I was the brilliant money launderer for the most feared syndicate on the East Coast, and the fiercely loyal wife of its Underboss, Dante. While I worked sleepless nights to build his underworld dominion, he secretly diverted my operations to fund a luxury club for his naive barista mistress. When I confronted them and publicly exposed her, Dante didn't show a shred of guilt. Instead, he slapped me across the face in front of the entire syndicate. He draped his tailored jacket over his crying mistress to shield her, then turned his cold eyes on me. "Apologize to her right now, or I will send every single soldier in your crew to the slaughterhouse." He then weaponized the mafia's whisper network to destroy my reputation, painting me as a hysterical, paranoid woman just to legitimize his affair. For years, I had blindly endured his psychological torture, believing my devotion would eventually earn his respect. But looking at the brutal purple handprint on my cheek, and the ninety-nine dried bouquets of white roses he kept in the attic to carelessly patch over his toxic abuse, my heart finally turned to ice. I didn't throw a tantrum, nor did I beg for his love anymore. I left his apology blood diamonds on the table, drafted my mafia severance papers, and walked out of his territory for good. This time, I would build my own empire, and let him drown in the ruins of his.”