His Ex-Fiancée Returned to Humiliate Her—The Mafia Boss Stood Up and Called Her “My Wife”

Clara’s breath hitched in her throat.

"Dominic..."

"I mean it, Clara," he said, his voice dropping to a low, raw whisper. "The contract. The twenty million. The seventeen clauses. I don't care about any of it. I just want you."

He reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a folded piece of thick parchment paper. It was the original marriage contract they had signed eighteen months ago.

Dominic didn't hesitate. He ripped the contract in half, then in quarters, letting the pieces fall to the bedroom floor.

"No more rules," Dominic promised, resting his forehead against her knees. "No more hiding."

Clara looked down at the man who commanded thousands of men, completely surrendering himself at her feet. The insecurities that had plagued her entire life—her size, her background, her worth—evaporated in the heat of his gaze.

She reached down, her fingers tangling in his dark hair. She tilted his head up and leaned in, pressing her lips to his.

It was an explosive collision.

Dominic groaned, his hands immediately gripping her thick thighs, pulling her flush against his chest as he stood up. He backed her toward the bed, kissing her with a desperate, consuming hunger that he had clearly been suppressing for a year and a half.

"You are beautiful," Dominic murmured against her neck, his hands mapping the curves of her body with absolute reverence. "You are perfect. Every single inch of you."

Clara melted against him, finally letting go of the fear. The penthouse was surrounded by enemies, but in that bed, wrapped in the arms of the mafia king, she had never felt safer in her entire life.