Mafia Don Begs Me Back
1.2k Views · Ongoing · Claire
Everyone knew Mrs. Montgomery was hopelessly in love with the mafia don.
For five years, Elara locked away her glory as a top jewelry appraiser and became the perfect wife. She managed his empire's gray-zone ledgers, cooked his black coffee at 5 AM.
She believed even ice could melt if you held it long enough.
Until she found the cardiac compatibility report in his study.
He didn't marry her for love.
He spoiled her only to protect the heart in her chest.
The locked drawer didn't hold business secrets—it held her death sentence.
"Next month's surgery. Don't make a scene." He crushed his cigar, negotiating like it was a shipment deal. "Your mother's medical bills, your brother's tuition—I'll handle everything. Be good."
She smiled. Nodded. Then booked a one-way flight to New York.
The divorce papers were delivered by his secretary. The resignation letter was hidden in a stack of documents he signed without reading. The wedding ring was left in the closet where he'd once shielded her from a thunderstorm.
He waited for her to beg. To crawl back. She never did.
Instead, he saw photos of her dazzling the international auction circuit. Saw another man block wine for her with gentle eyes. Saw her standing in a crowd, not sparing him a single glance.
Later, the king of LA's underworld lost his mind.
He pinned his first love against the wall, demanding Elara's location. He knelt in a hospital corridor, clutching her blood-stained ring, eyes red-rimmed. "Elara, I'll cut out my own heart if you just come back."
She pulled her hand free the way she withdrew five years of wasted love—
"You kept me for five years to harvest my heart. I don't want yours. I want my freedom."
[High-angst · Grovel-to-ashes · Same ML]
For five years, Elara locked away her glory as a top jewelry appraiser and became the perfect wife. She managed his empire's gray-zone ledgers, cooked his black coffee at 5 AM.
She believed even ice could melt if you held it long enough.
Until she found the cardiac compatibility report in his study.
He didn't marry her for love.
He spoiled her only to protect the heart in her chest.
The locked drawer didn't hold business secrets—it held her death sentence.
"Next month's surgery. Don't make a scene." He crushed his cigar, negotiating like it was a shipment deal. "Your mother's medical bills, your brother's tuition—I'll handle everything. Be good."
She smiled. Nodded. Then booked a one-way flight to New York.
The divorce papers were delivered by his secretary. The resignation letter was hidden in a stack of documents he signed without reading. The wedding ring was left in the closet where he'd once shielded her from a thunderstorm.
He waited for her to beg. To crawl back. She never did.
Instead, he saw photos of her dazzling the international auction circuit. Saw another man block wine for her with gentle eyes. Saw her standing in a crowd, not sparing him a single glance.
Later, the king of LA's underworld lost his mind.
He pinned his first love against the wall, demanding Elara's location. He knelt in a hospital corridor, clutching her blood-stained ring, eyes red-rimmed. "Elara, I'll cut out my own heart if you just come back."
She pulled her hand free the way she withdrew five years of wasted love—
"You kept me for five years to harvest my heart. I don't want yours. I want my freedom."
[High-angst · Grovel-to-ashes · Same ML]
