Left at the Altar I Chose the Underground Fighter

At the altar, right before we exchanged rings, my husband Julian stopped. "The heads of both families are here," he said. "Let's get this out in the open." A pause. "Seraphina Gallo... she's carrying my child. Three months" I stood there in my pure white, handmade gown. "What did you say?" He adjusted his cuff. So elegant. "The next heir to the Valenti family can't be a bastard." He looked at me with those blue eyes I used to drown in. "Don't worry. You'll still be my only woman. You just can't have the title of Donna. I'll sign over the Upper East Side penthouse. I'll take care of you." Take care of me? Ten years. An engagement ring. Now, a joke for the entire New York underworld. The antique Cartier cross my mother left me—our promise to each other—was still on his neck. I reached for it. He grabbed my wrist, frowning. "Alessia, don't make a scene. Don't embarrass your dying father." My father. Lying in a private suite, kept alive by a machine that cost a fortune. He'd mortgaged his life's work—his leather shop—for this wedding. Snickers from the guests. Julian's mother, matriarch of the Valenti family smirked. "Don't blame my Julian. A purse-maker's daughter marrying into a Cosa Nostra family? Pure fantasy." Through my tears, I saw a man leaning against the church doorframe. Caspian. Everyone knew him. The unkillable underground fighter from the docks. A plaything for the rich to bet on in their cages. He must have just come from a deathmatch—he smelled of motor oil and blood. He just stood there, watching this train wreck. The entire mob knew this beast. Came from the slums, no parents, lived in a leaky warehouse nobody dared go near. I ripped off my veil and pointed straight at him. "Julian Valenti, I'm not marrying you. I'm marrying him." Chapter 1 At my own wedding, I grabbed New York's most notorious fighter and ran to City Hall. We got married. "You take the bed." That night, his old leather jacket landed on the beat-up sofa. It was stained with dried blood and motor oil. Caspian pushed a bowl of instant convenience-store soup in front of me. He didn't even look back. I was still dragging my custom-made wedding gown. It was now caked in mud. My lips were pale. I grabbed the one flimsy pillow from the bed. I threw it at his broad back. "Get in the bed and sleep. Caspian, we're married." He was built like a brick wall. He froze. But he didn't turn around. His voice was dead calm. Rough like gravel. "You're angry, Alessia. You want revenge on Julian." "I don't—" "I'll wait," he cut me off. His voice was hard, but it held a strange obsession. "I'll wait until you're not." The wind howled through a broken window. It was freezing. I curled up on the stiff mattress. My hand clenched around that platinum Cartier cross. The one I’d ripped from Julian’s neck just hours ago. The cold diamond broke the skin on my palm. I buried my face in the covers. I cried myself to sleep. Through the crack under the door, the light in Caspian’s makeshift room stayed on all night. A war machine. A psycho fighting to the death for pocket change. But in this leaky warehouse, he gave me his silent protection. The next morning, the broken window was sealed tight. The rusty fridge was filled with my favorite white peach juice. I had mentioned it just once. That a coffee shop in Manhattan smelled amazing. The next day, a bag of their best coffee beans sat on the scratched-up table. Dinner was discount steak we bought from the corner store. I turned to grab the pepper. Just for a second. When I looked back, a perfectly cut piece of filet mignon was on my plate. It was the best part of his steak. Caspian kept his head down. He chewed on the gristly edges left on his own plate. He didn't even glance at me. My eyes burned. A beast who only knew fists and blood was carefully stitching my shattered pride back together. It was too much. I could never repay him. I couldn't accept it. The third afternoon, the roar of an engine shattered the quiet. Three black, armored SUVs screeched to a halt outside. The door opened. Julian. In that same expensive suit, with that same untouchable Don attitude. His leather shoes stepped right into a muddy puddle. "Alessia, open the door. Stop this nonsense." He spoke to the locked iron door. His voice was so sure of itself. It made me sick. "Seraphina is just politics. A business deal for the Gallo smuggling routes. You know our world. Business comes first." He lit a Cuban cigar. "Come with me. I bought you the penthouse on Central Park West. You're still my only woman." I pressed my back against the rusty door. I was afraid to even breathe too loud. What did he think I was? Some toy he could hide away? I closed my eyes. All I could see was Caspian giving me the best piece of his steak. I couldn't open this door. I couldn't do that to Caspian. Julian waited outside for a long time. He finally lost his patience when the sky went dark. He swore and sped off. An hour later, Caspian came home. He had a cheap bandage over his eyebrow. The skin on his knuckles was raw and bloody. He reeked of the fight pit. That suffocating smell of sweat and blood. He stopped at the door. He stared at the messy Maybach tire tracks in the mud. He didn't ask a thing. He just washed the blood off his hands and poured me a glass of milk. A few days later, an old man in a perfect suit knocked on the door. He looked like a butler from some old European family. He handed Caspian a letter. It was sealed with the wax crest of an ancient Sicilian family. Caspian read it. His jaw tightened. That night, he sat on the steps outside the warehouse. He smoked all night long. The next morning, for the first time, he opened my door. He walked to my bed and tucked the blanket around me. In the dim light, he looked me straight in the eyes. "Family business. I have to go back for a bit." His voice was low. My heart sank. Was the Valenti family coming after him? Was he in deep trouble because of me? "Be safe," I managed to say. He stood up and gave me one last, long look. "Wait for me." He left. On the table, he’d left an unmarked, untraceable black card. As he walked out, the old homeless woman next door grabbed my arm. "My God! That black motorcade that just picked up your man… those license plates were diplomatic. Untouchable. Straight out of Sicily!" I stared at the empty alley. A sick feeling grew in my stomach. I thought he was just laying low. But trouble was never done with me. Three days after Caspian left. The lock on the door was kicked in. Julian walked in, shaking rain from his handmade shoes. He had eight bodyguards with him. He looked around the ruined warehouse. A smirk on his face. "Your fighter husband ran for his life, Alessia?" He locked the door behind him. He backed me into a corner. "Now, there's no one else here. Let's talk about your father's ten-thousand-dollar-a-day hospital bill." Chapter 2 Rain dripped from Julian’s suit onto the floor. He tilted his head. The eight guards outside stepped back and shut the door. It was just me and him. He took off his wet jacket. He tossed it on the old sofa where Caspian had slept. Like he owned the place. "Ten thousand dollars a day, Alessia. You can't afford his life support system drawing cheap designs for the rest of your life." He backed me into a cold corner. He pulled a small velvet box from his pocket. Inside was a tube of custom-made healing cream. He grabbed my hand. His thumb rubbed the calluses on my knuckles. "Ten years ago, I ran all over Manhattan to find you cream for your frostbite. I told you, these hands are for designing wedding gowns. I can still give you the best of everything." I ripped my hand away. My stomach churned. "Don't touch me. You make me sick." He didn't care. He was used to being in control. "Divorce him. Now." The softest voice, the cruelest command. "Move into the penthouse. Be a good girl. After Seraphina has the heir and the alliance is solid, I'll bring you back to my side." "Back to your side?" I laughed. My voice shook. "As your secret mistress?" "My goomah. You'll have everything but the ring." He said it like it was obvious. His eyes were suffocating. "You gave me your best years. You can't survive without me." I grabbed a glass of water from the table. I smashed it at his feet. The sound of shattering glass was sharp. "Get out!" Julian gave me a long look. He stepped over the broken glass to the door. "You'll come begging." He thought this was some kind of game. For the next few days, expensive French macarons and rare design magazines piled up at my door. I threw them all in the trash. A week later, late at night, the door was kicked in again. Julian stormed in. He reeked of whiskey. He was like a madman. He slammed me against the door. His blue eyes were bloodshot. He stared at my lips. "Did that lowlife fighter touch you?" He ground his teeth, grabbing my chin. "Did he sleep with you? Answer me!" I swung my hand and slapped him. Hard. "He's my legal husband! It's none of your business!" Julian's head snapped to the side. But he wasn't angry. He turned back. A red handprint on his cheek, and he smiled. "You hit me. You're angry." He touched the mark. His voice was insane with arrogance. "Alessia, you still have feelings for me. If you really loved that gutter rat, you wouldn't even bother hitting me." The very next day, a phone call from the hospital shattered what was left of my pride. "Your father is crashing. He needs the private ICU, but we need a ten-grand deposit. Today." Ten thousand a day. The money I made from my all-nighters wouldn't even cover a fraction of it. The black card Caspian left was in the drawer. But I didn't have the PIN. And I would not use the blood money he earned in a cage to fill this black hole. Two hours later, Julian's assistant rang the bell. He handed me a medical bill. The first day's private ICU bill was stamped in red: PAID. "The boss wanted me to give you a message," the assistant said. His face was blank. "As long as you're willing to bend, the Valenti family will pay to keep your father alive." That night, the doctors said he might not make it to morning. I stood outside the private ICU. I looked at my father, rail-thin and covered in tubes. My pride was worthless compared to his life. I went back to the warehouse and found a beat-up suitcase. I numbly stuffed a few old clothes inside. My fingers gripped the key to the Central Park penthouse. The second I walked out that door, I was officially Julian's goomah. Suddenly, I heard footsteps outside. The sharp click of high heels in puddles. I thought it was the car Julian sent for me. I took a deep breath and pulled open the door. It wasn't Julian's assistant. Seraphina, her stomach barely showing, stood there with a crew of thugs. "Trash this place." Chapter 3 Seraphina stood at the door and gave the order. Eight huge guys stormed the warehouse. CRASH! My workbench was kicked over. Paint and scissors scattered everywhere. The gown designs I’d stayed up nights drawing were ripped to shreds. Seraphina walked in. "You stupid bitch." Her heel ground my sketches into the dirt. "Stay away from my husband." Neighbors crowded the doorway to watch. But no one said a word. The men wore the Gallo family crest on their suits. In this neighborhood, you don't mess with the mob. Suddenly, Seraphina clutched her stomach. Tears streamed down her face as she cried out to the crowd. "I'm carrying the Valenti heir! Why won't you leave him alone!" The crowd started whispering, pointing. Just then, a car pulled up. Julian strode in. I stared at him. I thought he would at least stop this circus. Leave me with a shred of dignity. He didn't even look at me. He walked straight to Seraphina and pulled her into a tight hug. "Are you okay?" he asked her softly. Then, he turned to me. His eyes were like ice. "Alessia. Apologize." I was stunned. The blood rushed to my head. "What did you say?" "Apologize to her," he repeated. So entitled. "She's carrying the future head of the Valenti family. You can't afford to cross her." I looked at him. The fire inside me just died. My father was in the hospital. Ten thousand a day. He was paying. I clenched my jaw so hard it hurt. I forced myself to look down. "I'm sorry." Julian smiled, satisfied. He put his arm around Seraphina and started to leave. Then he glanced back at me. I knew that look. It meant: Be good. I'll make it up to you tonight. Late that night. The warehouse window slid open. Julian climbed in, smelling of booze. He grabbed me from behind, burying his face in my neck. "Still mad?" He kissed my ear. "It was just an act. I had to save face for the Gallos." I froze. Ice in my veins. "Be a good girl," he whispered, grabbing my waist. "Once the alliance is solid, I'll move you into the penthouse." His hand touched my stomach. I flinched. My gut twisted. When I was twenty, I had been pregnant with his child, too. What did he say back then? "A bastard is a liability. It'll weaken my position in the family." That night, his men dragged me to a back-alley clinic in Brooklyn. They didn't even use real anesthetic. I almost bled to death on that table. And him? The next day, he flew to Vegas with Seraphina for a week. Tears fell, hot on his hand. Julian turned me around. He sighed, wiping my tears with his thumb. "Don't cry. It hurts me to see you cry." His voice was so gentle. After he left. I stood there and slapped myself. Hard. "Pathetic," I whispered. But my father's condition really did improve. Because Julian paid, the hospital's best machines never stopped for a second. I clutched the key to the penthouse. For my father's life, I’d be a goomah. I accepted it. A few days later, an invitation arrived. Seraphina wanted me to join her for prayers at the church. Julian's bodyguard delivered the message: "The boss says this is an olive branch. Take it." I had no choice. That Sunday, I went to the cathedral. It was packed. Seraphina stood by the statue of the Holy Mother, a smile on her face. "Alessia, come here," she beckoned. I walked over, closed my eyes, and clasped my hands. The second I finished my prayer and opened my eyes to stand up… "Ah!" Seraphina screamed. She fell straight backward. Her head hit the marble floor with a sickening thud. The next second… A wave of bright red blood spread from under her white dress. The church went silent. Then, men appeared out of nowhere and grabbed me. In front of hundreds of shocked guests, they pointed at me and yelled: "She pushed Miss Seraphina! She tried to murder the Valenti heir!" Chapter 4 "The account has been cut." The next morning, the hospital called. The Valenti family stopped paying. They kicked my father out of the private ICU. Dumped him in a general ward. I ran like a madwoman to the Valenti family's private casino suite. The door swung open. The room was thick with cigar smoke. Heads of several families were playing poker. Julian was leaning back on a leather sofa. Seraphina was lying with her head in his lap. He was reading the Bible to her flat stomach in that magnetic voice of his. The room went silent. "Learned your lesson?" Julian didn't even look up. He turned a page. "Kneel." I walked to the sofa. And I dropped. Straight onto the marble floor. "I pushed her. I was jealous. I was crazy. I admit it." I stared into his eyes, my voice shaking. "Please, turn the account back on. My dad is dying in the general ward." Julian smiled. Seraphina just snorted. "Not good enough. Do it again." I didn't hesitate. Thud. My forehead hit the floor. Hard. Once. Twice. The skin broke. Blood trickled down my face. "Still not enough." Seraphina threw a pen and a document at my face. "Sign it. Smear it with your blood. Make it official. Write it down, black and white, that you attempted to murder the Valenti heir." I picked up the pen. My hand was shaking too much to write. I forced the humiliating words onto the page. I bit my finger and pressed my bloody thumbprint on it. I held the paper up to them with both hands. "Now? Can you turn the account back on now?" Seraphina handed the confession to a guard. Her eyes darted around. "This is boring." She pointed to Julian's spotless leather shoes. "His shoes are dirty. Your clothes look absorbent. Don't you love him? Crawl over there and clean his shoes. I'd love to see that." I froze. I looked up at Julian. When I was eighteen, we got jumped by thugs in Brooklyn. He shielded me with his body and took three knife slashes to the back. He told me then, No one will ever touch you. Now, he just sat there, smoking his cigar, watching me be humiliated without saying a word. Fine. Just fine. I took a deep breath and crawled over like a dog. I used my own sleeve to wipe his shining shoes. Over and over. The room erupted in laughter. They pointed at me like I was the punchline to a great joke. I heard nothing. All I could think about was the line on my father's heart monitor. I stayed like that from noon until evening. The crowd in the room changed. Someone whispered, "Did you hear? Some big shot from Sicily is in town." "All the Dons went to the airport to greet him. Even the mayor had to show up. It was a huge deal." I was numb. Cold on the floor. What did that have to do with me? I just needed the money. I crawled over and grabbed Julian's pant leg. "It's getting dark… Julian, the account? Please…" CRASH! The main doors to the suite were thrown open. My friend stumbled in and collapsed next to me. Her face was streaked with tears. Her voice was hoarse from screaming. "Alessia! Stop! Stop begging!" She held me, sobbing. "Alessia! Your dad… he's gone! They pulled the plug! They couldn't save him!" Boom. The last thread in my mind snapped. The cross I clutched in my pocket felt ice-cold. Ten years of my life. Ten years of love. The fire that had burned in my heart for a decade was finally extinguished. Julian frowned. He kicked my hand away. His face was filled with irritation. "Alessia, you're getting more pathetic by the day. Now you're using your own father's death to lie?" He brushed off his pants. "You'd even make up a death to get out of a little punishment. I already had them turn the account back on." I collapsed onto the floor. The blood on my face was dry. I wasn't crying. I had no expression at all. I just stared at him. "My dad is really dead." The whole club went dead silent. Even the music stopped. Just then, the deafening roar of engines tore through the night outside. A symphony of screeching tires. The suite doors were kicked open by two rows of men armed with automatic weapons. They aimed at everyone in the room. A tall figure strode in. He was backlit by the hallway light. He was radiating pure violence. He wasn't wearing the cheap, bloody leather jacket anymore. He was in a perfectly tailored, black cashmere coat. It was Caspian. He moved like a god of death. He pushed everyone aside and walked straight to me. He dropped to one knee. He saw the blood on my forehead. The raw skin on my knees. The murder in his eyes could have burned the room to the ground. He didn't say a word. He just pulled my broken body into his arms. "Take me home," I whispered. I used my last bit of strength to grip his coat. "Caspian, take me away." He swept me up into his arms and turned to leave. Julian shot to his feet. He roared like a cornered animal. "A low-life cage fighter dares to storm my territory? Who the hell do you think you are! Take them down!" Caspian stopped. He didn't turn around. But his voice slammed into every person in that room. Cold as a death sentence. "In three days. At the funeral. Every breathing Valenti will be on their knees at my father-in-law's grave. If one of you is missing... I will bury you alive in the concrete of the East River."