I’m the princess of the Hillrose Family. He’s Blair Falcone, Don of the Falcone Family. A perfect match. We were New York's power couple, the envy of everyone in the underworld.

Until three days before our wedding.

One minute, we were lost in each other, his body moving inside me, his lips trailing fire across my skin.

The next, he calmly announces, "Flora, there's something I have to tell you."

"Legally, I already have a wife. The old man married me off to her six years ago. She's the daughter of a man who took a bullet for him."

"If you can live with it," he continued, "our marriage is still on. As planned."

I stared at him in disbelief. "What about me? What were our six years?"

He took a slow drag from his cigar. "I know what this is. So, what's it gonna be?"

My hand instinctively went to my stomach.

He didn't know. I was going to tell him my happy secret tonight: I was pregnant.

But now, I wasn't going to tell him a damn thing.

Three days before the wedding, the man I’d been with for six years told me he was already married.

And I, his partner in building an empire, was to be his Donna in name only. In reality, his mistress.

Sweat slicked the hard muscles of Blair’s back, soaking into the expensive silk sheets.

He pinned me beneath him, his rough thumb tracing my collarbone, sending a shiver through me.

He wouldn't let me turn away, his mouth crashing down on mine, staking his claim.

"Flora," he growled, his voice a sexy, dangerous rumble.

And God, I loved it when he was this possessive.

I was the daughter of the former Don of the Hillrose Family. After my father’s unexpected death, I went to Blair’s side to hold our families' alliance together.

For six years, I was his right hand, his top strategist.

Together, we took five boroughs. We were the most lethal power couple in New York's underworld. Partners in every sense of the word. Soulmates.

Next month, we were supposed to have the wedding of the century at St. Patrick's Cathedral.

I was so full of hope for our future.

After we finished, Blair pulled away.

He walked to the floor-to-ceiling window and lit a cigar, the ritual smooth and familiar. The cherry glowed like a single red eye in the dark.

"Flora, I need to tell you something," he said, his voice calm as he exhaled a cloud of smoke.

I pulled the sheet around me, leaning against the headboard with a contented smile. "What is it?"

Blair took a deep breath and turned to face me, a look in his eyes I’d never seen before. "Legally, I've been married for six years."

The air in the room froze.

"What did you say?" I stared at him, sure it was some kind of sick joke.

"The old man set it up before he died. Her father took a bullet for my parents. It’s a debt of honor." Blair’s tone was casual, like he was discussing a business deal. "If you can live with it, the wedding goes on. Nothing changes."

He paused. "I know what this is. So, what's it gonna be?"

"Live with it?" My body started to shake. The sheer fucking absurdity of it, the dull, heavy pain of betrayal, washed over me.

Six years. He had lied to me for six years.

A wave of nausea churned in my stomach.

The morning sickness, twisted with the raw shock, had me scrambling out of bed and running for the bathroom.

"Ugh—" I collapsed over the toilet, heaving my guts out.

Tears I couldn't control splashed onto the cold tile floor.

Blair was right behind me.

He frowned, his warm, large hand patting my back out of habit.

"Don't be like this. She's just some village girl from Sicily," he soothed patiently. "The marriage license is just a piece of paper. I only go to the house in the suburbs once a month to make sure she’s alright. That’s it. You’re the one I love."

Once a month.

I remembered how there was always one night a month he wasn't home.

I flinched away from his touch. "So all those times you said you were dealing with crew trouble... you were with her, weren't you?"

Blair didn’t answer. He didn't have to.

I looked at the man I had loved for six years and felt like I was seeing a stranger.

A dull ache started in my lower belly, and my hand instinctively went to cover it.

Blair’s brow furrowed as he moved toward me. "Flora, what's wrong?"

Just then, his phone rang.

It was a very specific, custom ringtone—a wind chime.

Blair’s expression flickered, and he quickly killed the call.

But the person on the other end was persistent, calling again and again.

He hesitated for a moment, then answered.

In the quiet room, the woman's delicate voice was perfectly clear.

"Blair... there's thunder, and I had a nightmare. I'm so scared. Can you come... can you come be with me?" Her voice was soft and timid, designed to make you feel sorry for her.

I knew exactly who it was. His wife of six years. The legal Mrs. Falcone.

Blair sighed. "It's alright. Have one of the maids stay with you."

He hung up, as if that was supposed to prove his loyalty to me.

But I was remembering the countless times over the last six years I’d heard that ringtone. He would always scowl, kill the call, and tell me it was some headache he was dealing with.

I had never felt so stupid in my life.

"You lied to me for six years!" I screamed, grabbing a crystal perfume bottle from the counter and hurling it at him. "What am I to you? A mistress you hide in the shadows?"

The bottle shattered at his feet.

"No! You are the only one I acknowledge as my wife! I will only share my power and my position with you. Isn't that enough?"

The absurdity was suffocating. "And her?"

He was silent for a moment. "She is my responsibility. A matter of family honor."

I couldn't even look at him anymore. This man who had made a fool out of me. I was about to tell him we were done.

Then my phone rang.

"Mom" flashed on the screen.

I took a shaky breath, forcing the tremor out of my voice as I answered.

"Flora, my baby!" my mother’s excited voice chirped. "We just got the wedding invitations! All the family elders are so impressed. They're saying Blair is the perfect husband and you're going to be the most envied Donna in all of New York. Your father would be so proud!"

My mother’s happy words choked the fight right out of my throat.

I couldn’t tell her the cruel truth. Not now.

"Mom... I'm a little tired. I'll call you back later," I said quickly, hanging up. My hands and feet felt like ice.

Blair stepped forward, the crunch of broken glass under his leather shoes grating on my nerves.

"You heard her. The invitations are out. Your mother is thrilled." He braced his hands on the vanity, trapping me against it. "The wedding is set. The entire underworld is watching us. If we call it off now, the Hillrose and Falcone families will be a laughingstock."

He knew my weakness. He always knew how to use my family to control me.

"So?" I laughed, a bitter, angry sound, and tilted my head back to glare into his blue eyes. "So you're using our families' honor to blackmail me into playing the fool in some three-person 'wedding of the century'?"

"Don't be dramatic, Flora," Blair said, his brow tight. "We built an empire together. This union is what's best for both our families. Are you really going to throw away our six years, everything we've built, over something so insignificant? That's not the woman I know."

"Insignificant?" I shoved him away, my chest heaving. "You married another woman! You made me the other woman without me even knowing! And you call that insignificant?!"

"It's a worthless piece of paper!" Blair's patience finally snapped. He grabbed my wrist, his voice a low growl. "Mia has nothing to do with the business. She's a ghost. She's nothing!"

"Nothing?" I laughed coldly, tears burning my eyes. "But the law calls her Mrs. Falcone! So what the hell does that make me? The Don's dirty little secret?"

"Are you crazy? Who would dare call you that?" Blair yanked me into his arms, crushing my struggles against his hard chest. His breath was hot on my neck. "The wedding is happening. The world will see you standing by my side. And our heir will come from you, Flora, and only you. You will be the true matriarch of this family. Anyone who disrespects you, I'll put a bullet in their head myself."

I fought against him, but he only held me tighter.

"Listen to me. Just calm down." Blair softened his tone, laying out what he thought was a generous offer. "I'll sign over the casinos on the three biggest ports to you. They'll be yours. Mia will never be in your life. She lives in the suburbs, you live in the manor. You'll never even have to see each other."

He laid out our future for me, a future for the three of us, with the tone of a king granting a favor.

What a perfect, selfish son of a bitch.

What shameless greed.

"You make me sick," I said, my voice flat as I stopped struggling.

"Flora!" Blair cupped my face, his eyes full of the deep love I knew so well. "You're the only one I love. From the moment you saved my life in that shootout six years ago, my heart has been yours. I'd give you anything—money, power, even my life!"

I looked at the face I had loved for six years, and it was terrifyingly unfamiliar.

He would give me everything.

Everything except his loyalty.

I finally understood how stupid I was, trying to talk about fidelity with a cold-blooded Don who thought he could have it all.

Seeing the dead look in my eyes, Blair must have thought I’d given in.

He let me go and pulled a velvet box from his coat pocket. Inside lay a massive ruby signet ring, the symbol of the Falcone family's matriarch. He placed it on the counter and gave me a long, meaningful look. "This belongs to you."

I suddenly remembered something from a few years ago. We were at a meeting with some old-school Don.

"A Don's wife should be accommodating. It's normal for a man of his stature to have a mistress," the fat man with the gold chains had said. "Women need to know when to look the other way. Harmony in the family is what's important."

I remember Blair's face turning to stone.

He shot to his feet and slammed his whiskey glass on the floor. It shattered.

"My wife will never suffer that kind of disrespect," he'd said, his voice pure ice. "Anyone who disrespects her has to answer to me."

Back then, his words had brought tears to my eyes. I thought I had found the one man in the world who would love me completely.

Now I knew it wasall a well-rehearsed lie.

I looked at him, exhausted. "Get out."

"Flora?"

"Get the hell out!" I screamed, snatching the velvet box and throwing it at him.

The corner of the box caught him right on the brow bone. A thin line of blood welled up instantly.

He didn't even flinch. He just wiped the blood away with the back of his hand and stared at me.

"Don't be childish, Flora," he said calmly. "This isn't you."

"Not me?" I let out a sharp, ugly laugh. "Then tell me who I'm supposed to be. Am I supposed to be obedient and quiet, like your wife?"

"You're too emotional right now." Blair sighed and turned to leave. "We'll talk when you've calmed down."

He left, leaving me alone in the wreckage of my life.

For the first time in six years, I cried like a child, soaking the pillows with my tears.

I told myself I would leave him, that I would make him pay, no matter the cost.

Just then, my phone rang again.

It was the Hillrose family's private doctor.

"Miss Flora," the doctor's voice was grave. "I have some news about your mother."

A cold dread crept over me. "What is it?"

"She has lung cancer. It's terminal." The doctor's words made me freeze. "She's been hiding it from you. She said she wanted to see you married and settled, and she didn't want you to worry before your big day."

The phone slipped from my hand and clattered to the floor.

I had no more tears left to cry.

Finally, with a trembling hand, I picked up my phone and dialed Blair's number.

"I'll do it," I bit out, each word a piece of my soul. "I'll do it. The wedding... is on."

When I got back to the Hillrose estate, my mother was on the balcony, sorting through a box of files. The setting sun cast her profile in a pale, fragile light.

"Flora, you're back." She turned and forced a smile, but I could see how weak she was.

"Mom." I walked over, swallowing the grief that was clawing at my throat.

"These are important family documents." She patted the box beside her. "I wanted to give them to you before the wedding. And this."

She took off the Hillrose family signet ring, the one my father had given her, the symbol of our family's power.

"Your father should have been the one to give you this, but..." Her voice trembled. "I'll give it to you for him. From now on, you are the true heir of the Hillrose Family."

I took the ring, feeling its weight in my palm.

I fought back my tears and hugged her tight. "Don't worry, Mom. I'll be happy. And I'll be the heir you need me to be."

The day before the wedding, I told Blair I wanted to meet his wife, Mia.

He frowned, thinking for a moment, but he didn't refuse.

"Trust me," he said. "When you see her, you'll realize she's just a timid little thing who can't hold a candle to you. My heart is yours."

He drove me to a villa in the suburbs.

The place was heavily guarded. The gardens were filled with expensive Sicilian roses.

The fountains, the security systems—everything screamed that this was the home of someone important.

This wasn't some place he'd "stashed her away." Every detail here was chosen with care.

I met Mia in a sun-drenched glass conservatory.

She was wearing a simple white cotton dress, her black hair loose around her shoulders. She looked young, fragile, like a startled fawn.

The moment she saw Blair, her eyes lit up, and she threw herself into his arms.

"Blair! You're finally here!" she cried, clinging to his waist with a sweet, cloying dependency.

Blair caught her automatically.

Then, seeming to remember I was there, he gently pushed her away.

"This is Flora," was all he said.

He didn't explain who I was to her, or who she was to me.

Mia glanced at me quickly. "Miss Flora, hello. I'm Mia," she whispered.

"Why are you out here dressed like that?" Blair's tone was scolding, but his body betrayed him.

He instinctively shed his suit jacket and draped it over her frail shoulders. The gesture was so practiced, so natural, it had clearly been done a thousand times before.

The nausea churned in my stomach again.

"Mrs. Falcone, your tea is ready," a servant said respectfully, bowing to Mia.

Mrs. Falcone.

The title was like two poisoned needles stabbing into my eardrums.

The title that should have been mine. On this meek little woman, it sounded so natural, so right.

I knew then that staying here a second longer was just torturing myself.

I stood up after less than three minutes. "I should go."