My foolish Godfather husband led me back to conquer New York Chapter 01

My foolish Godfather husband led me back to conquer New York Chapter 01

My stepmother told me the De Luca family had come with a marriage proposal.

She sat in the Hart estate’s first-floor parlor, holding a cup of black tea, smiling like the Madonna in a stained-glass church window.

But I knew she wasn’t a saint.

She was the kind of person who held a knife and still pretended to be merciful.

“Evelyn, your sister is already engaged to the Grayson family. This excellent match can only fall to you.”

An excellent match.

In the entire New York mafia circle, who didn’t know what had happened to the De Luca heir?

Nico De Luca.

Three years ago, he had been the youngest and sharpest successor on the East Coast.

At nineteen, he took over the port line. At twenty-one, he led men to purge traitors in Queens. At twenty-two, he was shot—and his mind was ruined.

Now, all he could do was smile foolishly.

They said he chased butterflies, mistook bullets for candy, and called everyone “pretty.”

No truly powerful family was willing to marry their daughter into that.

So they found me.

The Hart family’s illegitimate daughter.

A surplus existence—my mother dead, my father indifferent, my stepmother disgusted, my sister ready to step on me at any moment.

I lowered my gaze and said nothing.

My stepmother’s hand pressed down on the back of mine, her nails slowly digging into my skin.

She kept smiling, but her voice turned cold.

“Evelyn, the Hart family has raised you for twenty-two years. You should understand how to repay us.”

Repay.

I almost laughed out loud.

The year my mother died, I was ten.

She had a fever for three days. My stepmother blocked the doctor from coming, saying a mistress of no standing wasn’t worth troubling the family physician.

I knelt by the bed, watching my mother’s hands grow colder and colder.

After that day, the Hart estate was no longer my home.

I lived in the coldest attic, wore Sophia’s cast-off clothes, and ate whatever scraps were left in the kitchen.

My stepmother said an illegitimate daughter should know her place.

And now, she wanted repayment.

I lifted my eyes and looked at her.

“I’ll marry.”

She froze for a moment.

My voice was flat.

“But I have one condition.”

“Say it.”

“I’m taking Martha with me. And my medicine kit.”

My stepmother looked as if she’d heard a joke.

“Martha? That old maid? And those useless herbs of yours?”

“Yes.”

She waved her hand dismissively.

“Do as you like.”

I stood up and gave her a slight nod.

“Then from today on, I owe the Hart family nothing.”

The smile on her face stiffened.

I didn’t look at her again.

As I stepped out of the parlor, the maid Lena ran after me, her eyes red.

“Miss, are you really going to marry him? He’s an idiot.”

I paused and looked out the window.

The lawn was perfectly trimmed. A white marble angel stood beside the fountain.

But the place felt colder than a grave.

I said softly,

“Marrying an idiot is still better than staying here and waiting to die.”

On the day of the wedding, the De Luca motorcade blocked the entire street.

Black Rolls-Royces lined up one after another, silver family crests mounted on their hoods.

I had thought they would send just a single car to take me away.

After all, I was only the Hart family’s illegitimate daughter.

But they gave me the most formal procession.

A black carpet stretched from the estate entrance all the way to the car.

Twelve bodyguards stood in two lines, all lowering their heads in respect.

My stepmother’s expression was as ugly as if she had swallowed shards of glass.

Sophia stood at the top of the stairs in a champagne-colored gown. Her gaze moved from my wedding dress to the motorcade, then to the guns at the guards’ waists—her jealousy impossible to hide.

As I passed her, she whispered,

“What’s there to be proud of, marrying an idiot?”

I stopped and looked back at her.

“At least his family is willing to take me through the front door.”

Sophia’s face went pale.

I lifted my skirt and stepped into the wedding car.

The moment the door closed, I watched the Hart estate recede behind the darkened glass.

There was no reluctance.

Only a sense of relief—like finally leaving a cage.

The De Luca estate stood on the north shore of Long Island.

Gray-white stone walls, wrought-iron gates, and the distant sea wind carrying a sharp, salty chill.

When the car stopped, the main gates were already wide open.

A hand suddenly reached out in front of me.

It was clean, with long fingers—but the web between thumb and index finger was thick with calluses.

I hesitated for a moment.

Then I heard an excited voice.

“Darling!”

I looked up and saw Nico De Luca.

He wore a black suit, his tie slightly crooked, his eyes bright like a child’s.

When he saw me, he broke into a wide, toothy grin.

“Darling is so pretty!”

Laughter rippled through the guests.

Someone murmured,

“Such a shame. That face—and a ruined brain.”

Another said,

“The Harts are ruthless. Sending their illegitimate daughter to be a living widow.”

I stood still.

But Nico seemed not to hear any of it.

He grabbed my wrist tightly, as if afraid I might run.

“Darling, don’t go.”

I looked down at his hand.

It was warm.

I said softly,

“I won’t.”

He immediately beamed.

“Darling promised! Darling won’t go!”

The guests laughed even louder.

But I didn’t.

Because suddenly, I felt that this so-called fool—

was more human than every so-called sane person in the Hart family.