He Humiliated his Poor Ex, Unaware she's Now Married To The City's Most Ruthless Mafia Boss

At midnight, a violent autumn thunderstorm battered the coastline of Connecticut. Thunder rattled the reinforced windows of the Greenwich estate, and torrential rain swept across the manicured lawns in heavy, blinding sheets.

Inside the master suite, Julian stood near his dressing table, reviewing global shipping manifests on his tablet.

Suddenly, the red emergency indicator on his private phone began to flash silently.

Julian picked it up instantly.

“Boss,” came the hard voice of his tactical team leader outside. “We have an perimeter breach at the eastern gatehouse. Motion sensors tripped. Three armed hostiles on site.”

Julian’s face turned to carved granite. He set the tablet down smoothly.

“Identify targets,” Julian commanded coldly.

“One is Victor Vance,” the operative reported over the comms. “The second is Trevor Langley. They brought a hired shooter with them. They’ve bypassed the outer fence during the lightning strike.”

Julian didn't sound panicked. He sounded like a demon waking up from a long slumber.

“Do not shoot them on the lawn,” Julian ordered, his baritone voice dropping into a register of absolute, terrifying malice. “Let them reach the lower courtyard. I will execute them personally.”

In the adjoining sitting room, Hannah stepped out wearing a silk robe. She had seen the red indicator light on his phone.

“Julian?” she asked softly.

Julian walked over to her, grabbing his tailored leather shoulder holster from the chair, sliding his matte-black Sig Sauer pistol into place.

He walked up to her, placing his broad hands gently on her face, kissing her forehead.

“Stay in the safe room, my love,” Julian whispered gently. “Your past has returned for one final lesson. I am going to end it.”

Hannah looked into his dark, fierce eyes. She didn't cry. She didn't scream. She reached out, adjusting the collar of his shirt with steady, unyielding confidence.