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My Mafia Ex Forgot Me, So I Became His Biggest Rival
Novelix
Completed
Dante Lucchetti was my first love. At eighteen, he swore he would marry me. Then a car crash erased every memory he had of me. While he forgot our love, his family sent me to a remote compound, where I was forced to work for three years without pay. Then I discovered the truth. I was the hidden daughter of the Sinclair Syndicate's former boss—and the heir to a Mafia empire. I returned stronger, took control of my father's syndicate, and made the Lucchettis pay for everything they did to me. Then Dante remembered. He wanted me back. But I was no longer the girl who waited for him.
Chapters (3)
第1章
Dante Lucchetti thinks I'm a gold digger chasing his family's money.
So he and his mother team up. They force me to sign a sick piece of paper — a three-year "servitude" contract.
Then they ship me off to the Lucchetti compound in the Adirondacks, deep in the mountains, hours from the nearest town.
No signal. No neighbors. No one who knows my face.
Every day, they bark orders at me like I'm a dog. I sleep in the basement. They feed me scraps. That first winter I wash laundry by hand until my knuckles split open.
"In three years, I'll marry you," he says. Flat. Cold.
The next week, he gets engaged to someone else.
Because he forgot. He forgot everything.
He forgot that at eighteen, he knelt in a rainstorm and begged me not to leave. He forgot he carved my name into his wrist with a switchblade. He forgot the exact words he swore to me:
"If I ever betray you, may God strike me dead."
Then he wrapped his Ducati around a telephone pole, hit his head, and lost all of it.
Three years later, I walk into his boardroom. Not as his slave. As the new head of the Sinclair Syndicate.
He digs up his old diary from when he was eighteen. He goes crazy and runs into my meeting like a man on fire.
I smile at him.
"Mr. Lucchetti. Your offer is thirty percent higher than your rival's. That's not how business works."
---
A few years ago.
The engagement party.
Dante stands under the chandeliers with his fiancée on his arm.
He raises his champagne glass. Then he announces — loud, clear, in front of two hundred guests — that I'm his family's "personal servant." That I signed a three-year contract. Willingly.
The room laughs.
Somebody throws peanut shells at my face. "Look at this trash. She really thought she could hang onto Dante for three years?"
I'm on my knees on the marble floor, picking up scattered chocolates. My kneecaps hit stone. Dull thuds.
Dante looks down at me. His eyes are empty.
"Get lost."
I look up.
The scar is still there on his wrist. He cut it himself when he was eighteen — the letters "R-A-V-E-N," crooked and jagged. My name.
He forgot.
He crashed his bike. He hit his head. And he forgot every single thing about me.
---
Rewind three years.
The Lucchettis sent me to their mountain compound. His mother arranged it herself.
"Raven, honey. Dante doesn't remember you. If you stay near him, you'll ruin his future."
She's sitting on her white couch, sipping bourbon. She slides a folder across the coffee table. "Sign this. Three years up in the mountains. When it's done, I'll introduce you two again. Fresh start."
I shake my head.
She smiles. Slow. Ugly.
"You don't sign? Fine. I'll leak the story about your mother being a homewrecker.
Every tabloid in the country will run it. Think about your Nana. Think about what that'll do to a seventy-year-old woman in a small town."
I freeze.
My mother had me out of wedlock. My grandma raised me alone.
She still doesn't know who my father is. If she drops that story, my grandmother is finished. Church ladies. Neighbors. Everyone.
I sign.
The second the ink dries, her people take my phone, my laptop, everything I have. All they leave me with is one thing. A yellowed photo.
Eighteen-year-old Dante. On his knees. In a rainstorm. Soaked through. Gripping my hand like his life depends on it.
On the back, his handwriting:
"Raven. Don't go. Wait three years. I'll marry you."
Then they drive me up to the Adirondacks.
---
第2章
No cell service. No internet. Not even cable TV. The only thing to do at night is watch DVDs on an old TV from the nineties. Same six discs. Over and over.
My job is simple. Serve whoever runs the compound.
Except nobody runs it.
I'm just dumped up there and used as free labor.
I'm up before sunrise every day. Scrub the whole house. Wash. Cook. Prune the garden.
Every two weeks, Ma Lucchetti sends her butler to inspect. If he finds one thing wrong, he docks my "pay." The contract promises me three grand a month. I never see a cent.
First winter, I hand-wash every curtain in the house. My hands stay in ice water for hours. My knuckles crack open. Blood in the suds.
The butler tosses me a tube of ointment.
"Ma Lucchetti says if you can't handle it, you can walk. Same deal, though. You walk, your Nana's story hits the papers."
I don't walk.
The following spring, I try to climb the wall. Too high. I fall. I snap my shin. I lie in the grass for half an hour, biting my sleeve so I don't scream. The guards find me and drag me back. Seven days in the cellar.
One meal a day. Cold oatmeal. Stale bread.
I lie in the dark, feeling the bruises bloom on my leg, and I think: "If I die down here, will Dante finally remember me?"
Then I get it.
He doesn't even remember I exist. How the hell would he mourn me?
By the third summer, I stop fighting.
I plant tomatoes in the garden. Raise a few chickens. Fix up the basement so it doesn't feel like a grave. And one night, I finally put on the one DVD I never touched.
It's a documentary. about the Sinclair Syndicate.
On screen, the founder of the Sinclair Syndicate walks into a charity gala. Black tuxedo. Warm smile. A man who could burn a city down and still get invited to the mayor's dinner.
I stare at the screen. Something inside me shifts.
The Sinclair Syndicate.
That's my biological father's syndicate.
My mother told me before she died. His last name was Sinclair. He used to run the entire East Coast. He never knew I existed. He never would.
But I know him.
I watch that documentary twenty times. I memorize every name. Every face. Every business front.
Once a week, Ma Lucchetti lets me call my grandmother. "Just to check in," she says. Really, so Nana doesn't file a missing person's report.
I use that call.
My grandmother knows a lawyer back home — the best family attorney in the county.
I tell her, "Nana, I need you to pass a note to him. Please. Don't ask questions."
The note is one sentence:
"I'm Nikolai Sinclair's daughter. I need help."
Three months later, the lawyer tracks down the new head of the Sinclair Syndicate—my half-brother, Roman. He just took over the family business. He's not buying that some random girl is his sister.
I send a DNA sample.
The day the results come back, Roman calls me. His voice cracks.
"Where the hell are you? I'm coming to get you."
"Wait," I say. "I still have eight months on the contract."
"What contract?"
"A slave contract."
Silence on his end. Then, very quiet: "Say that again."
---
When the three years are finally over.
Ma Lucchetti's butler shows up right on schedule. He hands me a check.
"Ma Lucchetti says this is your compensation. Two hundred grand. As of today, you have no connection to the Lucchetti family."
I take the check.
I rip it in half.
"Tell Ma Lucchetti," I say, smiling, "I'll come collect what I'm owed myself."
He blinks. Doesn't answer. Turns and walks away.
I pack my bag. Not much to pack. I came here with the clothes on my back and one photograph. I'm leaving with one extra thing — a beat-up leather diary.
Dante's. From when he was eighteen. I stole it from his room before they shipped me out. I wanted something to hold onto.
Now?
Now it's just a joke.
---
第3章
I walk out the compound gates.
A black Maybach is parked on the shoulder.
Roman leans against the car door. He looks me up and down. His jaw tightens.
"This it?"
He takes in my washed-out T-shirt. The frostbite scars on my wrists. His face hardens.
"The Lucchettis did this?"
I don't answer. I open the door and slide in.
"Hospital first." Roman says, starting the engine. "Your hands need work. Now."
I agreed, but I couldn’t help thinking of Dante.
Three years.
One thousand and ninety-five days.
I waited for him.
He didn't remember.
Fine. Let him never remember.
---
Six months later. Manhattan.
Top floor of Sinclair Tower. I stand at the window, looking down at the whole city.
Roman pushes the door open.
"The Lucchettis are here."
"Let them wait."
"Ms. Sinclair," Roman raises an eyebrow. "Look at you. All grown up."
I turn and smile. "In a negotiation, whoever waits longer loses."
He shakes his head. Slides a folder across my desk.
"The Lucchetti buyout. Their latest offer—twenty percent higher than last week. And Dante came himself. He wants to talk to you."
Dante.
I roll the name around on my tongue. When I say it out loud, nothing inside me shakes.
"Send him in."
---
The boardroom.
Dante sits across from me. Sharp black suit. Sharper eyes. Three years harder around the jaw.
The second he sees me, his eyes widen.
"Raven?"
I flip open the folder. Don't look up.
"Mr. Lucchetti. Pleasure."
"How are you here?" His voice is rough. He's staring like I'm a ghost. "You're supposed to be at the compound."
I lift my eyes. Calm.
"My three years are up. Didn't you know?"
His mouth opens. Nothing comes out.
I notice something: the corner of a yellowed piece of paper sticking out of his suit pocket. Folded. Unfolded. Folded again. So many times the edges are frayed soft.
I don't ask.
"Let's hear your offer, Mr. Lucchetti."
He doesn't move. His eyes are glued to my face. Like he's trying to dig something out of it.
"You've changed."
"Three years does that." I close the folder. "Your offer is thirty percent above your rival's, Mr. Lucchetti. That's not a deal. That's a mistake."
He's quiet for a beat. Then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out that yellowed thing. Pushes it across the table.
I see it clearly now.
His diary. From when he was eighteen.
My pupils shrink.
He found it.
"I read it last night," Dante says. His voice is tight. Every word clipped. "Your name is on every damn page."
I don't speak.
"Raven. I wrote that I was going to marry you."
"But you forgot."
"I remember now."
"Too late."
I stand up. Gather the papers.
"Mr. Lucchetti. We can't accept your offer. Please leave."
He shoves back from the table. His chair screeches across the floor.
"Raven!"
I don't turn around.
"I read it. All of it." His voice is shaking now. "I was on my knees in the rain, begging you to stay. I carved your name into my wrist. I said — if I ever betrayed you, may God strike me dead."
I stop walking.
His footsteps come closer. He's coming after me.
"Those three years. What did they do to you up there? What did my mother do? Why the hell did I let them send you?"
"Go ask your mother yourself. Don't come crawling to me."
I push the door open.
Behind me: "Raven! Let's start over!"
The door swings shut.
In the hallway, Roman is leaning against the wall. Watching my face.
"You crying?"
"No."
"Your eyes are red."
"It's the AC."
Roman sighs. "What did he say?"
I step into the elevator. Check my mascara in the mirror. Make sure the wetness is gone.
"Nothing. He said nothing."
---
