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The Mafia King's Regret
The Mafia King's Regret
Author: Aurora Starling

Chapter 1

last update Huling Na-update: 2024-12-16 13:49:19

Layla

“I’m pregnant.” I gripped the thin purple test stick, fingers white against the flimsy plastic. Shaking a little, from shock and another emotion I couldn’t quite name. “Holy shit. I’m pregnant.”

And what a time to find out: twenty minutes before my wedding ceremony. The day my family would officially meet my husband—and the future father of my child, too, I supposed.

Holy shit.

I braced a hand against the bathroom vanity’s granite countertop. My whole body felt a bit … rubbery. Pregnant. I was pregnant with Vasco’s child.

What a trip.

Sure, we’d been legally married exactly a year today. But since we hadn’t yet held the ceremony, my family hadn’t met him, not with how much of a whirlwind it’d all been. Craziest decision of my life by a long shot, eloping with a man I’d met just three weeks prior, then leaving behind my glistening New York City for the wilds of Alaska.

But I’d known, always. From the first moment I’d set eyes on him that night outside the restaurant. He was mine.

Rain running rivulets down his angled cheekbones, clumping dark lashes, slicking black curls against glowing golden skin, he was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. Even before his bowed lips had curved into a soft, white smile.

From that moment, I’d known. He was the one. Maybe that’s why I’d offered him my umbrella. Give him my phone number, too, when he’d asked in that lilting Italian accent. Agreed to a date the very next day.

Mine.

Today, perched in my guest bathroom, the pregnancy test balanced in my fingers, I had no doubt. I’d wanted him then for my husband, and I wanted him now for my future family.

Shit, I was going to be a mother.

I exhaled a shaking breath and lifted my gaze from the little plus sign in my fingers to the sprawling mirror. The face that stared back wasn’t shockingly different from my norm—my white-blond hair nestled in a braided crown sprinkled with white lilies; blue eyes lightly lined in kohl; lips softened to pink. The dress itself was simple: plain white that clung to my lean frame in a flattering sweep, ending above the knees.

Yet the simple, feminine touches rendered my reflection almost unfamiliar. Or maybe it was the glowing radiance of the girl in the glass. I smiled, and she beamed back.

That girl, the one effervescent in white, she looked fit to be Vasco’s queen, and definitely the mother of his child. Hell, she looked like the luckiest damned woman alive.

I exhaled another, surer, breath, letting the shock give way to the other feeling bubbling inside me. One I could now name—joy. Hesitant, uncertain, almost fearful joy, sure. But joy all the same. Vasco’s baby would be as beautiful as its father, I had no doubt.

Vasco himself would be overjoyed. But first, I had to make an appearance at my wedding ceremony. Get the introductions over with. Smile, nod, shake hands. The whole nine.

I smiled at the woman in the mirror again. She looked perfect, just like today would be. “Let’s do this, girl.”

I tucked the test into the top drawer of the bathroom vanity, nestling it under a tissue so it wouldn't be found before I was ready. Then, without further thought, I swept from the bathroom, down the hall, and into the backyard.

Past the French doors, our property sprawled in a breathtaking expanse of rolling lawn and manicured gardens. A white-stone path wound its way through rosebushes and daylilies, brushed alongside oleander and cherry blossoms fringing the edges of our fields. Behind it all, a backdrop of ragged mountains tore through the sky with the elegant violence only nature can achieve.

“She’s here!” A child’s squeaked voice drew my attention from the skyline—so vastly different from my Manhattan—to the small group of people assembled beneath a copse of flowering magnolias. “Layla!”

A smile bloomed over my face at the sight. My feet carried me down the white stone without hesitation towards the waiting group. “Hi! I’m so glad you’re all here!”

All the people I loved most in the world—right here. For me.

There was my childhood best friend, Danielle, with her kids and husband in tow. My older cousins, Nikki and Braden, each with their slew of tagalongs. My grandmother, of course, beaming at me from beneath a wide-brimmed pink hat.

Some of my fellow hospital interns had clearly come straight from work; I couldn’t help but smile at the white coats and colorful scrubs. That they’d made the effort almost had me—of all people—blinking tears from my carefully mascara-ed lashes.

Or maybe it was the thought of who wasn’t here, who’d never get to meet my husband or our child. My throat tightened against a sudden wave of sadness. My late parents would never meet their grandchild.

“Here’s your flowers!” Nikki’s tiny daughter thrust a bouquet of white lilies up over her head. The wispy blonde seven-year-old shared so few similarities with her big-bad-buff mama—nothing like the wild half-dressed hooligans we’d been as kids, tearing through upstate New York on dirt bikes and ATVs.

I wondered what of myself I would see in my own child. How much of me, and how much of Vasco?

“Thank you.” I lifted the bouquet from her fingers to inhale the sweet scent of my favorite bloom. Vasco, I’d no doubt, had picked these specially. “They’re beautiful.”

A bit sobering, however, was the lack of unfamiliar faces. Vasco had never mentioned his family. Never spoke about them or to them. Never so much as mentioned them. Once, I’d unearthed a photo from his wallet—every man dressed in neat black suits, a glowing brunette woman at Vasco’s side—but he’d brushed aside my questions.

I knew nothing of his past, and until this moment it’d never mattered. It was too much to hope, I supposed, that any of them might have showed to celebrate our special day.

But now, even more noticeably absent from the crowd was—

“Where is Vasco?” I leaned in close to Nonna to murmur in her ear. She alone had met my husband—of course she had, she was so much more than my grandmother—and would know his whereabouts. She'd be first to know about the baby, too.

Nonna didn’t have to answer; the faint lines drawn in alongside the deep grooves of permanently etched concern told me enough.

He’d left.

Sudden unease clenched my stomach in a tight fist. I didn’t bother to excuse myself, just turned and hurried back towards the house. Twice as fast as I’d left it. Vasco’s Italian heritage lent him no shortage of romantic notions and grand gestures, so for him to be absent at his own wedding …

Something was wrong.

My stomach clenched tighter. Something was wrong.

I slipped back through the French doors, into the sprawling living room. Could his family have something to do with this? Maybe he missed them, wanted them here. Wished they could be.

Just inside the living room, I paused. Handcrafted peach tile, vast picture windows framed in dark wood, and soft white walls leant the room a Tuscan ambiance. The fireplace on the far side of the room, however, brought in a sense of warmth—critical on cold, dark Alaskan winter nights.

Beside that fireplace, my husband leaned against the carved mahogany mantle. His back to me. A tailored navy suit highlighted the breadth of his muscular shoulders, contrasted it beautifully with the sharp V-cut of his waist.

Beautiful. Just like that night in the rain.

But this time, I couldn’t help but notice the hard-edged bump in the back of his fitted suit jacket. A gun, stuffed into the waistband of his dress pants. A reminder of his ceaseless caution.

He always had one in reach, like danger could strike at any moment. As a gun-owner myself, it’d never bothered me. Plenty of people had guns; maybe he’d been in the service before turning to business.

But today?

Today was us. Family. Friends. Not danger. Not here, in the home where we'd raise our child.

It struck me—suddenly and sharply—that I didn’t truly know Vasco. My husband, the man I’d chosen, married, the future father of my unborn child, was a mystery. Maybe there was a good reason for his family’s absence.

Still, I crossed the room to him. Wrapped my arms around his waist. Burrowed my face into his hard shoulder. Mine.

If my sudden presence surprised him, he didn't let it show.

I melted into his warmth. Strength. Into the hardness of his muscled body and his familiar smells of sandalwood and cinnamon. Everything would be all right, as long as I had him. “The wedding’s about to start, my love. We need to—”

Without warning, he turned in my embrace.

Pushed me suddenly and forcefully away.

The face that looked down on me—the face I so loved, had loved every day since I’d first seen it scrawled in the tears of the heavens like an avenging angel—that face was a cold, empty mask of emotionless lines. Unrecognizable.

Foreign. Unfamiliar.

A stranger’s face.

His words, a lance. “We should get a divorce.”

The bouquet tumbled from my fingers, scattering white lilies across the peach tile.
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  • The Mafia King's Regret   Chapter 2

    LaylaI froze. Unable to move, unable to fully process the words. Unable to recognize the cold, unfeeling man towering above me. He wore my Vasco’s face and yet, he spoke as a stranger. “We should get a divorce.”No, this couldn’t be my love. When Vasco smiled, he was the sun itself. But this man …

    Huling Na-update : 2024-12-16
  • The Mafia King's Regret   Chapter 3

    VascoThe wheel turned soft as butter beneath my callused hands. Of course it did. The Bentley hadn’t come cheap, but I’d settle for nothing less for my Layla.Music hummed from the speakers, soothing and subtle. Jazz, for driving mountain roads, Layla had said when she’d picked the station, and I h

    Huling Na-update : 2024-12-16
  • The Mafia King's Regret   Chapter 4

    LaylaEight years laterSunlight streamed through the wide plate-glass window, glinting silver off the city skyscrapers, as I stripped bloody blue gloves from my hands. Like a celebration of yet another successful surgery—an emergency bypass this time.I gave myself only a moment to bask in that cel

    Huling Na-update : 2024-12-16
  • The Mafia King's Regret   Chapter 5

    AldoWhy was she here?As silence fell in the wake of the shots, the woman in my arms wrenched away. I let her go, and instantly felt the loss—of her warmth, her softness, the slightly sweet smell of her shampoo. It was the same, the same as she’d always worn.Her smell.My Layla.She wasn’t suppose

    Huling Na-update : 2024-12-16
  • The Mafia King's Regret   Chapter 6

    How could I not have known … but of course I hadn’t. I’d shut her out so completely, I’d erased her existence from my life. How would I have known she’d returned?I could barely concentrate on family matters.Did my men notice my distraction?Carlo was released from the hospital four days after the

    Huling Na-update : 2024-12-16
  • The Mafia King's Regret   Chapter 7

    LaylaI turned the car down my street, smiled a little as the brownstone rowhouse came into view. I could practically smell the wonderful dinner I was about to cook for my family. The bag of groceries in my passenger seat would go entirely to that meal—but it was worth it if it was the one I shared

    Huling Na-update : 2024-12-16
  • The Mafia King's Regret   Chapter 8

    I let my eyes stray sideways, pretending like the sudden heat of his body hadn’t rewired my heart, turned my breath shallow and stuttered.“Do you see the man under that streetlight?”“I see him.” A man in a jean jacket, reading a newspaper. A stranger.“He’s a Mafia foot soldier.”Panic turned my g

    Huling Na-update : 2024-12-16
  • The Mafia King's Regret   Chapter 9

    LaylaSilence fell in the wake of the shot. The car careened around another turn. The warm hand on my back lifted, allowing me to straighten.My pulse slammed against my eardrums as I raised my head.“Eli!” I lurched forward, but Nonna and Eli both sat, unharmed, in the front passenger seat. Both of

    Huling Na-update : 2024-12-16

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  • The Mafia King's Regret   Chapter 172

    AldoThe Marcello estate hadn’t seen a night like this in far too long. Since Layla and I had wed on this same lawn—nearly a year ago now. How had it been so long? How had time passed so quickly?And more importantly: How had we been married for so many months, yet shared so few moments like this on

  • The Mafia King's Regret   Chapter 171

    I was late to Eli Marcello’s party. But I was also on the hunt, and as a cop, one of those things definitely took precedent. Eli’s party would go on for another several hours. And he’d be ten for an entire year after that.But I’d found a clue, and I’d be damned if I wasn’t going to follow it.I was

  • The Mafia King's Regret   Chapter 170

    One week since I’d given the order.One week since I’d unleashed the Marcello family on the streets of New York with orders to take no prisoners.One week since I’d declared war on the Rossetti family.I sat at the head of the long table, trying to force myself to eat.The rest of the table’s occupa

  • The Mafia King's Regret   Chapter 169

    The estate bustled with movement: Marcello men arming themselves, strategizing, talking shit, waving proverbial fists at the enemy, posturing, preparing for war … All the things men did. But still, they awaited my command.I stood at the head of the table in the grand dining room, where a makeshift

  • The Mafia King's Regret   Chapter 168

    Fear.Shit.“Where is he?” I demanded.Carlo jerked his head toward a nearby room. “The doctors are with him now. It was bad, Layla. The explosion took out half the building. We were lucky to get him out alive.”I nudged past him and into the room.Aldo lay on the hospital bed, his face pale, a deep

  • The Mafia King's Regret   Chapter 167

    LaylaAldo had missed another dinner.Or, rather, he was in the process of missing it. I sat at the head of the long dining table, where he’d normally sit; for some reason it felt wrong to leave it vacant. Beside me, Eli pushed food around his plate with his fork, and on his other side, Vanessa lean

  • The Mafia King's Regret   Chapter 166

    EthanI, once again, found myself at the precinct long after the rest of my desk-mates and cohorts had vacated for the night. I mean, the police precinct was never truly empty—it was New York City, so the place was always hopping—but the difference between day shift and night shift was, well. Night

  • The Mafia King's Regret   Chapter 165

    EthanI got to the coffee shop far earlier than was necessary—close to an hour before Vanessa and I had decided to meet—and proceeded to sulk in the corner like a loser, downing coffee.I’d long since stopped smelling the fresh-baked goods layered behind the glass counter, and I was far too nervous

  • The Mafia King's Regret   Chapter 164

    “But I’m funny and charming,” Ethan said, with a smile that was indeed quite charming. “It’s okay. I don’t blame you for not being able to resist.”I groaned, trying very hard not to smile myself. “This is the worst flirting I’ve ever seen.”“It’s not flirting!” Ethan protested, lifting his hands in

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