My Mafia Ex-Boyfriend Went Crazy After Learning of My Death Chapter 01

My Mafia Ex-Boyfriend Went Crazy After Learning of My Death Chapter 01: The Showdown at the Gala
The day we broke up, Dante Visconti and I cursed each other with the worst words we could find. We both said we hoped the other would die alone.

He left for Italy with nothing but hate, ready to take over his family. And I was finally free to die without any attachments.

Three years later, he became the most feared Don on the East Coast.

He came back with a fiancée who looked five-tenths like me. He showed up at the family’s annual gala, wanting to see me regret my choices and suffer.

But he didn’t know. I’d been dead for a long time.

I died three years ago. Stomach cancer.

I got sick and didn’t want to be a burden, so I broke up with him. I helped him leave for Italy to fight for the throne that was rightfully his.

The day he left was the day I died.

I still loved him. But he probably hated me.

On the day of the breakup, right there in front of everyone in Brooklyn’s Little Italy, I called him worthless and tore him down until he had no dignity left.

But he still got down on his knees in the dirty street and begged me to take him back.

I didn’t soften. I hooked my arm through some muscle from a rival family and vanished from his world.

That breakup nearly destroyed him.

For the three years I’d been dead, I imagined seeing him again a thousand times.

I never thought that when we finally met again, he’d be about to get married.

The family’s annual gala was held at a private estate in Long Island.

He walked in with his beautiful fiancée on his arm.

Three years had passed. He wasn’t the broke kid anymore, the one who used to come out of the underground fight club covered in blood.

Now he wore custom Brioni suits. He was the Don of the Visconti family, controlling all the underground business on the East Coast.

He was colder now. Stronger.

And I was still stuck three years in the past — the year we broke up.

I wore a wrinkled hospital gown stained with blood. My face was pale as a corpse.

Actually, I was a corpse.

I didn’t know why he agreed to come to this gala.

Everyone in the mafia circle knew he kept to himself. He hated family social events.

But things were different now.

He hated socializing, but every single person at that gala — from the Capos of the Five Families to all the big shots — lined up to clink glasses with him.

Marco, his Consigliere and the family’s number two, looked at the woman next to Dante. She looked five-tenths like me. He frowned and lowered his voice.

“Don Dante, when are you and Nora Rossi getting married?”

The second the words left his mouth, Dante and his fiancée both froze.

Because Dante’s fiancée was named Sophia Vitale. Not Nora Rossi.

Nora was me.

But you couldn’t really blame Marco. Sophia and I really did look a lot alike.

Three years had passed. It wasn’t strange that he’d misremembered.

Dante’s voice went cold. “She’s not Nora. I hope you never mention that woman again.”

The whole room went dead silent. Awkward as hell.

Marco coughed, embarrassed, and apologized to Sophia.

“Sorry. Had too much whiskey tonight. Mistook you for someone else.”

Other people jumped in to ease the tension.

“Come on, Marco. Nora dumped Don so heartlessly back then. Why would he still be with her?”

Marco smacked his own forehead. “Right, right. My mouth’s just asking for trouble.”

Someone quickly changed the subject.

“Hey, has anyone ever seen Nora on family turf?”

“No. These three years, she’s just vanished. No one’s heard a word.”

“Maybe she married some rich businessman and became a housewife. She left Don for money, after all.”

Right then, a soldier who’d once spotted Nora at a casino lowered his voice.

“Housewife? She was dealing cards in an underground casino, more like.”

People got curious and pressed him.

“What do you mean?”

The guy glanced at Dante. Seeing no reaction, he got brave.

“I saw her at the Hell’s Angel Casino. She was wearing a dealer’s outfit, low-cut, dealing to low-tier gamblers.”

Everyone started whispering.

“Hell’s Angel gets a lot of rich clients. Plenty of female dealers there get kept as mistresses.”

“That gold digger’s quick on her feet. It’s a shortcut to a rich man’s bed.”

“You think if Nora finds out Dante’s the Don of the Visconti family, she’ll be so sorry she could die?”

Everyone chimed in, voices overlapping.

Then Dante slammed his glass down on the marble table. It shattered.

The glass cut his palm. Blood streamed down his fingers.

Everyone shut up fast.

Rocco, his Enforcer, saw this and poured himself a shot of straight vodka. He raised it to Dante.

“Don Dante. Some people aren’t worth it.”

Dante didn’t move. Didn’t say a word.

The air around them felt frozen.

Under that pressure, no one dared speak.

Sophia’s face turned pale. She called his name softly.

“Dante…”

A few seconds later, he snapped out of it.

He picked up his glass and clinked it against Rocco’s. Then he downed it in one go.

“I forgot her a long time ago.”

But I knew he hadn’t.

Because he’d crushed the glass.

And his bleeding hand had clenched into a fist.