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I was about to marry Dante, a ruthless New York Mafia boss.
However, just three blocks away from the cathedral, his ex-wife sent a text message saying their son was coughing up blood.
This was the third time, and Dante abandoned me at the altar once again, transferring a hundred million dollars to me as compensation instead.
I accepted the money, but his ex-wife did not stop there. She moved into my home with her son, faked an illness, and tried to force me out.
The last straw that broke me happened at the airport, when the little heir, instigated by his mother, viciously pushed me from behind.
I fell hard onto the cold marble floor and lost the child I did not even know I was carrying.
As I lay in a pool of my own blood, Dante’s mother coldly gave an order over the phone:
“The child is dead. You need to protect the living heir and Isabella’s status.”
Dante looked at me, his face full of guilt, but eventually, he turned and walked away with them.
To compensate for the child I lost, he threw a massive business empire at me, expecting me to continue waiting in the shadows while he enjoyed his family’s bliss.
I finally understood that in the face of his mafia bloodline, my loyalty meant absolutely nothing.
With a steady hand, I signed the asset transfer documents and did not hesitate to liquidate all the properties he had given me.
Then, I boarded a private cartel jet flying to Switzerland.
This time, I am going to build an empire of my own!
Too Late For Regret, Mafia Capo novel Chapter 1
Valentina’s POV
The bulletproof car idled quietly in the shadows of an old apartment building, three blocks away from the cathedral where I was supposed to have my wedding.
At that moment, my fiancé’s burner phone let out a low, urgent vibration.
It was a text message from his ex-wife: “Dante, Leo is coughing up blood again. Come quickly, or your son will die before you say your vows.”
I stared at the faintly glowing screen. The hum of the engine transmitted through the floorboards into my bones, feeling like a heavy tremor.
Sitting beside me was Dante Salvatore, the head of a New York Mafia family, a man who commanded a ruthless empire.
His daily routine consisted of nothing more than fighting for street turf and brutal expansion.
Yet, inside this cramped cabin, the air was thick with the scent of his cologne. Beneath the heavy aroma of sandalwood, there was a faint trace of whiskey and gunpowder, adding an atmosphere of mystery and danger.
His gaze was heavy, as if it could press down the surrounding air, possessing a power that could make even the toughest men bend their knees.
Dante stared at the text message, all the color draining from his face until his bronze skin looked like wax-covered bone.
His large, scarred hands tightly gripped the leather armrest, forming a sharp contrast against the dark material.
I looked at him, then looked down at my custom-tailored wedding dress. I had been looking forward to this wedding so much.
Even though this was already the third time.
Three times we had been ready to take our vows before the priest, and three times his ex-wife Isabella had called due to a sudden critical emergency with their son, Leo.
I had a very strict rule: three strikes, and after the third time, it is over.
I understood that our world was transactional, and I knew the Mafia demanded loyalty, blood, and sacrifice.
But I never expected that I would be the one sacrificed time and time again for the sake of his past.
Dante looked at me, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Valentina…”
I didn’t let him finish. Putting on the perfect, considerate posture of a Mafia woman, I forced a stiff smile.
“Go.”
Dante let out a shaky breath and reached out to grip my hand tightly.
“I will make it up to you,” he promised. I simply nodded and signaled the driver to pull over.
The heavy lock clicked open. I stepped out of the car and stood on the cold, dark curb. A biting, freezing wind blew off the river, hitting my bare shoulders and making me shiver involuntarily.
I stood there, watching the convoy of black SUVs swiftly pull a U-turn. The tires shrieked against the asphalt.
Then, they disappeared in the opposite direction. They had completely abandoned me, leaving me standing alone on this grime-covered sidewalk, wearing a wedding dress.
I raised my hand and hailed a passing yellow cab. The driver looked at me through the rearview mirror, his eyes full of silent questions.
My phone vibrated in my clutch. I took it out and saw a notification from my offshore bank account, a wire transfer had just cleared.
One hundred million dollars. That was laundered “blood money” from the Salvatore family accounts.
The screen’s phosphorescent glow stung my retinas; that long string of zeros looked piercingly cold and white in the darkness of the cab.
I accepted the money without hesitation; as my protector, Dante no longer held any value.
I opened an encrypted underground social network on my phone and found that the Mafia gossip forum had already exploded. Someone had leaked a blurry photo of me hailing a cab in my wedding dress.
The comments flooded in. They called me a pathetic stray dog, mocking how the Mafia boss had abandoned this “gold digger” for the third time, leaving her hanging at her own wedding.
They ridiculed my complete failure to secure the ultimate symbol of Mafia power.
I scrolled through these mocking words expressionlessly, decided not to read any further, and simply turned off my phone.
When I finally returned to my private penthouse, I took off the heavy wedding dress, letting the expensive silk fall carelessly onto the floor, and changed into a simple pair of sweatpants and a loose T-shirt.
Walking into the kitchen, I boiled a pot of water and made a simple bowl of pasta, adding nothing but a little olive oil.
I placed the bowl on the cold marble countertop, took a picture, and posted it to my private feed without any caption.
Within minutes, the women from other Mafia families left a string of sarcastic comments. They mocked my cheap meal and laughed at my miserable life.
My phone vibrated again. It was another bank notification. Dante had transferred another three million dollars, with only a short sentence in the memo: “Take care of yourself.”
The corner of my mouth curled into a cold, ruthless smile.
Five years ago, on the night of Dante’s first divorce from Isabella, when he showed up at my tiny apartment exhausted and covered in bruises, this simple pasta was exactly what I had cooked for him.
But he had long forgotten its meaning; he only knew how to use money to cover up his guilt.
Suddenly, my private encrypted phone rang. I answered it and heard Camila’s voice. She was my longtime mentor and a legend in the underground world, having successfully married the head of a Swiss banking cartel.
“Valentina, are your psychological defenses still holding up?” Her voice was clear and cold, without a trace of pity.
“I am calculating my next move, but I regret getting involved in his power games.”
A soft sigh came from the other end of the line.
“Switzerland has a higher level of power and security,” Camila said. “I can get you out and give you sanctuary in Zurich. There is no need for you to stay here and be his sacrificial lamb.”
I looked down at the simple bowl of pasta, quickly calculating my new wealth and my odds of winning, just like I always did.
“Make the arrangements.”
Too Late For Regret, Mafia Capo novel Chapter 2
Valentina’s POV
Dante didn’t return to the penthouse that night, nor the next day.
The apartment was unusually quiet. Taking advantage of this rare peace, I opened my laptop and began organizing the assets under my name.
Over the years, Dante had gifted me numerous properties, luxury cars, and shell companies. I contacted hidden brokers, requesting to legally liquidate all assets. I needed untraceable, liquid cash.
On the fourth day, the sound of a key turning in the lock came from the front door. I calmly closed my laptop and slid it under a magazine.
Dante walked in, looking haggard. Behind him was Isabella, tightly holding the hand of a pale seven-year-old boy, Leo, the heir to the Salvatore family.
“Leo’s condition is unstable,” Dante said in an unquestionable tone. “Isabella has a fever, and the estate is too far from the clinic. They are staying here temporarily.”
He didn’t ask for my permission; he simply issued an order.
I looked at Isabella. She was wearing a soft cashmere sweater, her shoulders slightly hunched as if she were chronically cold, and her eyes remained cast downward.
I nodded silently, accepting the Don’s order without a single word of rebuttal.
Seeing my obedience, Dante visibly breathed a sigh of relief. Carrying the faint scent of hospital disinfectant, he kissed me gently on the forehead and walked toward the kitchen to call his men.
That night, as I sat on the edge of the large bed in the master bedroom, the door creaked slightly, and Isabella slipped in quietly.
She offered a forced, polite smile, looking extremely strained.
“Sorry to intrude, Valentina,” she said softly.
I didn’t answer.
She walked over to my nightstand and pointed to a silver-framed solo photo of Dante.
“Leo is having trouble sleeping,” she said. “He needs to look at his father’s picture to feel safe.”
She reached out and took the frame. I simply showed cold apathy toward her action.
Isabella clutched the photo tightly to her chest and closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, an unusual glimmer of tears flashed beneath her eyelashes.
“I am so jealous of you,” she whispered. “I am jealous that you get to sleep in his bed.”
Before I could respond, the hurried sound of little footsteps came from the hallway, and Leo rushed into the bedroom, his face flushed red.
“You’re bullying my mom!” he yelled at me.
He lunged at me and forcefully pushed my shoulder.
Caught off guard, I was pushed a step back. My ankle accidentally tripped over the edge of the floorboards, and a piercing pain shot up my calf straight to my brain.
I fell heavily onto the smooth floor. The impact made my entire body go numb, and the palms of my hands stung as I braced my fall.
Taking advantage of this, Isabella immediately let go of the photo frame, letting it smash onto the floor with a sharp shattering sound. Then she grabbed Leo and shielded him behind her.
“Valentina, I am so sorry!” Isabella cried out in a panicked voice, deliberately raising her volume as if trying to make sure someone at the end of the hall could hear. “Please don’t hurt him! He is just a child!”
Leo instantly dropped his innocent disguise and gave me a cold, contemptuous smile.
“Just wait until we go back to the main estate, my dad will definitely back me up,” he said through gritted teeth. “Then I will never have to look at your ugly face again.”
Just then, steady footsteps came from the hallway. Dante emerged from the shadows.
His pitch-black eyes immediately narrowed as he scanned the chaotic scene before him. His gaze shifted from me, sitting on the floor, to the scattered glass shards.
Isabella immediately knelt beside me, hovering her hands over my arms in a fabricated display of helpless panic.
“Dante, I am so sorry!” she sobbed with a trembling voice. “The photo triggered Leo’s trauma, and Valentina was just trying to take it back.”
In between her sobs, she quickly cast a glance at Leo, passing a hidden signal through her eyes.
Catching the hint, Leo immediately let out a loud scream, clutched his chest tightly with both hands, rolled his eyes back, and collapsed heavily onto the floor, starting to convulse.
“Dad!” he shrieked.
All the color vanished from Dante’s face. He shoved me aside, causing my already bruised shoulder to slam hard against the nightstand.
He scooped up the convulsing Leo and rushed out of the room.
“Isabella, go get the medical kit!” Dante roared.
Isabella wiped her dry cheeks and quickly chased after him.
With a heavy slam, the door shut, and silence descended upon the room once again.
Dante had completely ignored me, not even stopping to ask if I was hurt.
I sat alone in the quiet room. Slowly, I stood up, limped into the master bathroom, and calmly applied ointment to my sprained ankle.
Just then, my phone vibrated on the marble counter. It was a text from Dante.
“Leave the penthouse for now. Your presence is causing the child stress. I have transferred the deed to the luxury safehouse in the West End into your name. Go there.”
I stared at the glowing words on the screen, and the anger that should have been in my heart turned into pure calm.
With steady fingers, I typed my reply and hit send.
“Understood.”
Too Late For Regret, Mafia Capo novel Chapter 3
Valentina’s POV
The private dining room of the Mafia club was dimly lit. The air was thick with the rich aroma of truffles, mixed with the faint scent of old money that carried a touch of corrupt sweetness.
Today was my birthday.
Dante had booked the entire VIP section, promising me that tonight would involve absolutely no “family business.”
He sat across from me, wearing a dark suit, looking breathtakingly handsome.
He reached across the pristine white tablecloth, gently took my hand, and fastened a heavy, cold bracelet around my wrist.
I looked down. It was a string of priceless “blood diamonds,” tied to violence and exploitation.
“Valentina, I’m sorry I haven’t been around much lately. I know this period has been very hard for you.”
I forced a smile and looked up at him. “It’s fine.”
Right at that moment, the heavy mahogany door was pushed open silently.
Isabella stood in the doorway, pulling a visibly reluctant Leo. Her hair was a mess, and she looked perfectly panicked.
“Dante!” she gasped for air, as if she had just run a long distance. “Leo is sick, and his special medicine is missing from the estate!”
The string quartet in the corner immediately stopped playing.
The accompanying “family members” and their wives in the hall turned their heads, and whispers spread outward like ripples.
They gossiped, their voices clearly audible, saying that the head of the family had actually abandoned his sick heir to have dinner with his mistress.
Leo broke free from his mother’s hand and ran straight to Dante.
“Dad, my chest hurts so much!” Leo cried, throwing himself into Dante’s arms.
Suddenly, he pointed a trembling finger at me.
“It’s her! She’s stealing you away!” he screamed, his face full of resentment.
In the next second, Leo grabbed a glass of expensive red wine from the table and threw it fiercely at me.
The dark red liquid splashed all over my chest, slowly dripping down my skin.
The muscles in Dante’s jaw twitched slightly.
He stood up abruptly. The chair made a loud bang against the hardwood floor before tipping over.
“Apologize to Valentina immediately!” Dante commanded, his voice carrying a chilling authority.
Leo stubbornly crossed his arms and glared at me fiercely, refusing to apologize.
Isabella immediately stepped forward, her posture slightly bent as if bearing immense pressure.
She lowered her head and began to sob.
“Don’t yell at him, Dante,” she said between sobs. “It’s all my fault. I didn’t raise him right. I’m a terrible mother.”
I looked around, feeling the critical gazes of the family wives darting through the open door.
I waved my hand, my tone calm and composed.
“Go take care of your family, Dante,” I said peacefully.
Dante looked hesitant. He looked at my stained dress, then at his crying ex-wife and sick child.
Ultimately, he yielded to duty. He picked up the boy and hurriedly left the restaurant, with Isabella following closely behind.
I sat alone at the dining table.
Picking up a napkin, I calmly wiped the wine stains from my skin, refusing to let a single tear fall.
I looked over at the musicians, who stood frozen in the corner.
“Keep playing,” I ordered.
After dinner, I used my own black card to pay the exorbitant bill.
A waiter approached me nervously.
“Miss Rossi, would you still like your birthday cake?” he asked cautiously.
“Bring it,” I replied.
They brought out a small, delicate cake, and I lit the single candle.
I made a silent wish in my heart.
I wished for complete freedom, to be rid of all chains.
After blowing out the candle, I took a picture of the cake and uploaded it to the family’s secure network.
I didn’t add any caption.
As I walked out of the club, my phone vibrated.
Dante had sent a long text message, desperately apologizing for what just happened.
Immediately following that was a bank transfer notification. He had wired another three million dollars into my account.
That night, I sat on the couch in the new safehouse.
The room was completely silent. What broke the quiet was not a sound, but a subtle shift in air pressure.
Then, the hinges let out a faint friction sound.
My hand instinctively reached into the crevice of the sofa cushion, my fingertips touching the cold, hard grip of a gun.
The dim yellow light from the hallway spilled through the crack in the door as the lock turned and the door slowly pushed open.
Dante walked in, holding a brown paper bag containing my favorite takeout.
He placed the food on the coffee table, sat down next to me, and tried to pull me into his arms.
“Leo’s heart rate spiked suddenly, and I had to take him to the clinic. You have to understand me, Valentina.”
I calmly placed my hand on his chest and pushed him away.
“No explanation needed,” I said.
Dante frowned, a flash of obvious panic in his eyes.
He sensed a fundamental shift in my attitude.
“You are too quiet,” he said. “Why aren’t you arguing with me?”
“Because I don’t care anymore,” I replied coldly.
Dante stared at me, clenching his jaw, his expression turning dangerous.
Before he could probe further, I quickly appeased his ego, reaching out to gently touch his cheek.
“You are a good father, Dante. I admire that about you.”
Dante let out a long breath, leaning into my palm.
“I swear on my life, once the boy recovers, we will have a grand wedding, and you will become my wife.”
Right then, his burner phone rang, the harsh ringtone shattering the brief, fragile moment.
He glanced at the screen. It was Leo.
He answered the phone and pressed it to his ear.
“Dad, I want to hear a bedtime story!” the child’s voice came through the phone, thick with tears.
In the background, Isabella’s voice could be heard softly humming a lullaby, with that kind of softness that carried a manipulative undertone.
Dante showed a hesitant expression again, turning to look at me with pleading eyes.
I stood up and waved toward the door. “Go.”
Dante stood up, dropped a kiss on my cheek, grabbed his coat, and hurried out of the room.
He left in such a rush that the phone remained connected.
I stood in the center of the empty living room, listening to his footsteps gradually fade in the hallway, eventually completely cut off by the muffled thud of the heavy fire door.
A moment later, a low-frequency vibration came up from the floorboards. It was the sound of an engine starting on the street below.
On the other end of the line, the woman’s lullaby still hadn’t stopped.
I picked up the phone, pressed the end-call button, the screen went black, and the entire apartment was left with only the low hum of the refrigerator.
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