The Don’s Secret Wife Was Mafia Royalty Chapter 06

The Don’s Secret Wife Was Mafia Royalty Chapter 06

The sit-down of the Five Families made history – and then it made the front pages.

I followed it from the nursery, Stella asleep on my chest, while Katya translated the carnage in real time. Dante walked into that room as the most powerful Don on the East Coast. He walked out two hours later with his territories frozen, his vote suspended, and the other Families openly debating whether the Moretti name was worth protecting anymore.

But it wasn’t the Wolf who delivered the killing blow.

It was his wife.

Halfway through the sit-down, an envelope was passed down the table. Inside: my marriage certificate. The

twins’ birth certificates. And proof that the sacred Moretti-Russo alliance the wedding that two million people had watched – was bigamy. Invalid. An insult to the Russo family written in cathedral candles.

Old Marco Russo stood up at that table, looked Dante in the eye, and declared the alliance dead and the insult unforgivable.

“It wasn’t us,” Katya said immediately on the phone. “Your grandfather wanted the bigamy revealed in court,

where it protects you. Someone leaked it early. Someone who wanted it revealed there – in the one room

where it could get Dante killed.”

“Who?”

“My investigator traced it inside Dante’s own house.” A pause. “Aria… it was Camilla.”

The pieces clicked with nauseating clarity. Camilla had found my contract weeks ago – her lawyers had

been crawling through Salvatore’s estate papers. And instead of confronting her husband, she’d seen an

opportunity. With Dante disgraced and the alliance void, the Russo family could devour the Moretti territories

whole – and Camilla could walk away a widow in everything but paperwork, rich, wronged, and adored.

She hadn’t married a man. She’d married a target.

The same way he’d married a clause.

That night, the story jumped the wall from the underworld to the tabloids, and the world I’d hidden from for three years came looking for me.

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Every quote, every “anonymous insider, every grainy photo of me from my old nursing ID set next to Cama glowing at a gala – all of it bore her fingerprints. She was burning her husband at a table of kings and burning me in the court of public opinion, both in the same week

“Don’t read them,” Katya advised. “It’s noise.”

“It’s not noise to me.” My hands were shaking. They had printed my face. My name. In my grandfather’s world, a name in the papers is a name on a list.

“Aria. Listen. She wants you to panic, settle quietly, and vanish so she can collect the wreckage. If you react, you play her game. So we wait. We let the Russos and the Morettis tear each other’s throats out.” Katya’s voice was calm as winter. “And when the dust settles, we walk in and take everything.”

I hung up and stood over my daughters’ cribs for a long time, watching them breathe.

Once, I would have run. Found a small town, a new name, a quiet life – my father’s road. But my father ran for twenty-six years and the life still found him in a parking lot with two bullets.

Volkov women don’t run.

At dawn, my grandfather’s head of security knocked on the nursery door, his face carefully blank.

“Ma’am. There’s a situation at the front gate.”

“What kind of situation?”

“Dante Moretti. Alone. No car, no men, no weapons.” He hesitated. “He’s been standing in the rain for forty minutes. He says he’ll wait as long as it takes.”

My heart did something violent and unwelcome.

“He’s asking for you, ma’am. By name.” A pause. “Your real name.”