A Counterfeit Queen's Gambit

I married into the Chicago Outfit, and for five years, I worshipped my husband, Mario, as if he were a god.

To the outside world, I was a brilliant art restorer.

At home, I was his docile, perfect wife.

Mario and I were the ultimate power couple in everyone's eyes.

Until I overheard a hushed conversation between him and his Consigliere.

"Don, Priya is coming back. Will that plaything, Marissa, be easy to deal with?"

"Just a bedwarmer. Our marriage isn't even in the family books. We can make her disappear anytime."

In that moment, I actually breathed a sigh of relief.

Good. This was just ending a sham marriage, not desecrating a sacred love.

They didn't know that in my world, love was long dead.

My five years as the Don's wife had woven me a web of connections and wealth.

I wanted power. I wanted freedom.

I wanted to seize the throat of fate with my own two hands.

Men? They were merely stepping stones to the throne.

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1

I have to admit, hearing myself demoted from "beloved wife" to "bedwarmer" felt like a dagger to the heart. Thankfully, the sting was only momentary.

The next second, I masked all emotion and, with a radiant smile, pushed open the heavy door to the VIP room of the underground boxing club.

"My apologies for the delay, gentlemen. Allow me to pour you a drink."

I picked up the whiskey bottle, my movements elegant and submissive. On the surface, I was the same as always, but my heart had frozen solid.

The woman who held Mario's heart was back.

Would the endless wealth and protection he'd once promised now be revoked?

I glided into Mario's arms and, just as I always did, traced a light finger across his chest, whispering sweet nothings against his ear.

Only this time, Mario didn't pull me to his side. Instead, he quietly pushed me away.

He even smoothed down the expensive suit where I had touched him, a flicker of disgust on his face, the coldness in his eyes undisguised.

I was the daughter of a fallen family. My mother was a renowned master art restorer in Europe.

She had died in a fire that was ruled an accident.

My father and his mistress seized all the assets my mother left behind, sold me off like chattel, and even duped a rival family into hunting me down, convincing them I carried valuable intelligence.

Just as I was about to end it all in a derelict warehouse at the docks, I met Mario.

His power was a beast that tore through the darkness that had consumed me.

From that moment on, I saw him as my god, my savior.

For him, I was an elegant facade in public and a perfect pet at home, my entire world revolving around his.

For five years, I had worshipped him as a monarch, never a lover.

And now, I was truly grateful that I had been too afraid to genuinely fall for the king of the underworld.

The fact that he was only using me to fill a void was, against all expectation, a huge relief.

He saved me, and he used me. I didn't hate him for it.

I had repaid my debt with five years of servitude.

As of now, we were even.

The ring of Mario's satellite phone shattered my thoughts.

"Hello, Priya."

His voice was still deep, but it held an unfamiliar warmth. The harshness in his eyes softened, and the corners of his mouth even curved into a slight smile.

It wasn't hard to tell. Mario was hopelessly in love with the woman on the other end of the line.

Fine by me. His true queen had returned. It was time for the counterfeit to make her exit.

"Mmm, okay. I'll be right over."

One call from Priya, and the party came to an abrupt end with Mario's departure.

"Find your own way back."

Unlike the hidden tenderness in his voice for Priya, his words to me were cold, commanding, indifferent.

"Of course, Don. Don't worry about me. I'll be waiting for you at home."

I remained as sweet as poisoned honey, playing my part to perfection.

Privately, I believed a relationship that began with a rescue shouldn't end in betrayal.

From beginning to end, I had always hoped Mario would get what he wanted.

I used a burner phone to send an encrypted message to Lorenzo, far away in Sicily.

When he heard I was ready to initiate the plan, Lorenzo, who was always so composed, couldn't hide the excitement in his voice.

Late that night, as I slept soundly, Mario slipped into my bed, reeking of blood and the night's chill.

He trapped me from behind, his rough, calloused hands roaming beneath my silk nightgown.

His queen is back, isn't she? Shouldn't he be saving this for the woman he loves?