Requiem of Sin - A Mafia Romance

Ten years as childhood friends and three as husband and wife ended in her husband's betrayal, and her brothers' indifference. Diagnosed with mid-stage stomach cancer, Roselyn saw the truth of her life. She walked away from everything, rising from an overlooked office worker to a leading figure in the tech world. She outplayed her husband into signing divorce papers. When they met again, he begged, "I was wrong... take me back. I'd give you my stomach if I could." Her once arrogant brothers pleaded too, but she felt nothing. After all, love that arrived too late meant nothing to her now-she simply didn't care anymore. As they stood desperate, a man stepped forward and wrapped her in his arms. "Why waste time on them? Look at me instead."

For three years, I hid my identity as the sole heiress of a multi-billion dollar tech empire to live in a cramped apartment and support my boyfriend, Ben. But the day before our engagement, I stood outside a meeting room and overheard him talking to his wealthy boss, Haylie. "She's just a stepping stone," Ben laughed, his voice full of contempt. "A poor, ambitionless distraction while I work my way up to where I really belong." He mocked the cheap silver ring he gave me, calling it a necessary prop to keep a naive fool happy. He bragged about the multi-million dollar merger proposal he was presenting, planning to use it to secure his promotion and build a future with her. He had no idea that I had secretly negotiated that entire deal using my real connections just to give him his big break. I had sacrificed my family's comfort, my true identity, and my own career just to watch him rise. I poured my heart and soul into our humble beginnings, only to realize he saw my love as a pathetic joke and me as disposable trash. I calmly picked up a pen and voided the merger agreement, tearing my hard work into tiny pieces. I went home, slid the cheap ring off my finger, and dropped it into his mug of cold coffee. "Soon, you'll find out exactly who is nothing." Walking out the door, I pulled out my phone and texted my billionaire father. "I'm in. Announce the merger."

Kaylee's family was drowning in debt, and her stepmother locked her inside a freezing bedroom. To save their bankrupt company, they decided to sell her off to a sixty-five-year-old man with a disgusting reputation. They cut off her allowance and confiscated the only precious keepsake her dead mother had ever left her. "Put on the engagement dress, or I will smash your mother's crystal box into a million pieces." Terrified of the old man, Kaylee risked her life by jumping out of the second-story window into a violent storm. She hit the muddy ground hard, twisting her ankle and tearing her skin on rusted iron gates as she escaped into the pitch-black night. Dragging her bleeding bare feet across the cold sand, her lungs felt like they were filled with broken glass. She didn't understand why she had to be the sacrifice for their endless greed, or how they could be so cruel as to hold her dead mother's memory hostage. She had absolutely nowhere to go, and the old man's cars were already pulling into the estate to claim her. Cornered by the blinding headlights of a motorcade on the beach, she threw herself at the feet of Ernest Blackwell, the most ruthless billionaire in New York. "Marry me! You need a wife, and I need a husband right now!" To buy her freedom and crush the family that sold her, she chose to sign a twenty-million-dollar fake marriage contract with the devil himself.

Allegra woke up in a sterile alien hospital with no memory, no ID chip, and a terrifying snow leopard General claiming responsibility for her crash. But a routine ID scan at a local boutique shattered her fragile cover. The machine shrieked, flashing a fatal red warning: NO NEURAL LINK DETECTED. She was a "Ghost"—an illegal, unregistered biological entity in a ruthless Hybrid Empire. The boutique locked down instantly. Heavily armed police swarmed the plaza, laser sights painting her chest red. She was dragged into a subterranean military black site, where a manic geneticist tested her blood and discovered the impossible truth. She wasn't a Hybrid. She was a pure Homo Sapiens—an extinct race whose mere presence could cure the Hybrids' fatal Psyche collapse. To keep her all to himself, the scientist lied to the General, branding her a toxic, mutating bio-weapon. Forced by Imperial law, the General abandoned her to the scientist's cruel custody. Allegra was locked inside a reinforced glass cage in the deepest isolation ward, waiting to be dissected. She huddled on the floor, trembling in absolute despair. She didn't belong in this nightmare world. Why was she being treated like a monster? Why did this madman look at her like a prize to be torn apart? Watching the scientist's fox ears twitch in manic stress outside the glass, her human empathy momentarily overrode her terror. She stood up and pressed her palm against the glass, perfectly aligning it with his. "Don't be so nervous, Mr. Fox." Instantly, an invisible wave of human resonance flooded his core, shattering his genetic madness. The terrifying predator was reduced to a whimpering, devoted puppy, pressing himself against the window in absolute submission. Allegra slowly pulled her hand back, her heart skipping a beat. Well, she thought, that changes things.

Years ago, when I was very small, we lived in a great house in a long, straight, brown-coloured street, in the east end of London. It was a noisy, crowded street in the daytime; but a silent, lonesome street at night, when the gas-lights, few and far between, partook of the character of lighthouses rather than of illuminants, and the tramp, tramp of the policeman on his long beat seemed to be ever drawing nearer, or fading away, except for brief moments when the footsteps ceased, as he paused to rattle a door or window, or to flash his lantern into some dark passage leading down towards the river.

I am the biological daughter of the wealthy Fitzpatrick family, but I spent my childhood eating out of dumpsters. When I was finally brought back to the estate at age seven, I thought I would experience my parents' love. Instead, my biological parents looked at my dirty clothes with raw disgust. They only cared about Hallie, the fake daughter who lived like a princess. The moment I walked in, Hallie hurled a heavy ceramic cup at my head, slicing my hand open. "Get out of my house!" My father didn't even look at the blood. He raised his hand to strike me, accusing me of bringing trailer park rules into his home. In my past life, I dropped to my knees and begged for their forgiveness. I endured their abuse, hoping they would eventually love me. But they let the maids humiliate me, let Hallie steal my identity, and eventually threw me back onto the streets to die. Even my playboy Uncle Byron, the only person who ever showed me mercy, was driven to suicide by them. I didn't understand why my own flesh and blood hated me so much, or why a vicious liar deserved everything while I was treated like a jinx. Opening my eyes again, I was back on the exact day I first returned to the estate. As my father raised his hand to hit me, I didn't cower. Instead, I looked at the family patriarch and pointed directly at my notorious, alcoholic uncle. "I want him to be my new guardian."