No Mercy for the Matriarch

I married the Don of the Cole mafia family because he was disciplined, clean, untouchable. Until I saw him cutting steak for his assistant at dinner. So I brought ten perfectly cooked steaks and made him cut every single one in front of me. That was the first warning. Then came Claire Morgan. She sat in his passenger seat. Smiled at me like she belonged. Walked into his office like she owned it. And he let her. At a charity gala, he showed up with her at his side. That night, I stopped asking questions and started drafting divorce papers. But in this world, leaving a Don is never clean—and neither is the war that follows.