My Mafia Underboss Betrayed Me, So I Sent Him Back To The Arena

The first time I met Clinton, he was in the arena, fighting a lion barehanded. That raw, ruthless edge he had — I decided right then and there to bring him home. I trained him myself. In just five years, I turned him from a death-row nobody into the underboss of a mafia family. For those five years, we were inseparable. He was attentive, caring — like I was the only person in his world. Slowly, I stopped handling family business myself. Clinton took over everything. The night before we were supposed to get married, he told me he was heading to South City. He promised me that once he secured the transportation routes down there, he'd come back and give me the wedding of a lifetime. I waited three years. Three years later, he returned victorious — and knelt before me, offering a marriage contract. But it wasn't for me. "Chloe saved my life," he said. "I'm marrying her." I looked at the timid girl standing behind him — and reached for my gun. The next second, Clinton had his own gun aimed at my head. "Chloe is my wife. Touch her, and you touch me." I looked at him, calm and still, and let out a quiet laugh. "Seems like my underboss forgot who taught him everything he knows..."

Oleh summerfirefly