Shattered Vows: Escaping My Mafia Husband

On our wedding day, my brother made a joke.

"For every minute the groom is late, he pays five hundred dollars!"

Enzo, the city's most feared mafia Don, was six minutes late.

He laughed and handed over three thousand dollars in cash without blinking.

Seeing his generosity, my father confidently entrusted my life to him.

But the moment the wedding ring was on my finger, Enzo looked at me with a dark, chilling smile.

"Your family likes this game, right?" he whispered coldly.

"From now on, every minute you are late, I deduct five hundred dollars from your allowance."

Year one: I was three minutes late to a Syndicate dinner. He deducted fifteen hundred dollars.

Year two: I was twelve minutes late to my doctor's appointment. He deducted six thousand dollars.

Year four: On our anniversary, my father suffered a massive brain hemorrhage.

I rushed him to the hospital in the pouring rain and arrived at the restaurant forty minutes late.

Enzo glanced at the cold steak on the table and smirked.

"Twenty thousand dollars. It comes out of your account tomorrow."

I didn't argue. I just nodded.

When we got home, he carelessly tossed his tablet to me, asking me to check the parking fee.

But the moment the screen unlocked, a new notification popped up.

[Transferred $5,000 to Valentina. Memo: An apology for making you wait ten minutes.]

My hands trembled as I opened his chat history.

When she was one minute late for their date, he sent her five hundred dollars.

When she didn't show up at the hotel, he wired her ten thousand to coax her.

And this very afternoon, while I was begging the doctors to save my dying father, Enzo was in a luxury suite, paying his mistress an apology fee.

Scrolling up, I found over a thousand transactions for custom lingerie and luxury hotels, dating back six years.

He had been with her two years before he even married me.

The next morning, I wired him the exact twenty thousand dollars for my anniversary fine.

Then, I booked a Syndicate severance lawyer.

Chapter 1

Gemma POV

The screen of my phone flashed green: Transfer Successful. $20,000.

The bathroom door opened. Enzo stepped out, a towel slung low around his waist, water dripping from his dark hair.

He glanced at the notification on his phone and let out a low, mocking chuckle.

"You are actually learning obedience," he drawled.

I stared at the man I had loved for four years.

I remembered how, during our first year of marriage, he had flown his private jet through a storm just because I had a high fever.

But that tender man had long been replaced by the cold, calculating stranger standing before me.

I pulled myself out of the memory and locked my phone screen. "I paid my debt."

He carelessly tossed his damp towel at me.

In the past, I would have rushed to catch it, terrified the water would ruin the hardwood floor and cause him to frown.

This time, I didn't move. The wet towel landed with a heavy thud at my feet.

Enzo's smirk vanished. His jaw tightened. "You have been growing quite a temper lately, Gemma."

Before he could press the issue, my phone rang. It was the hospital.

"Mrs. Moretti, your father's condition has worsened. The scans show a ruptured aneurysm following the brain hemorrhage. We need to operate immediately, but we require a deposit of one hundred and fifty thousand dollars."

My blood ran cold. I checked my personal account. I only had sixty-three thousand dollars left.

When we got married, Enzo had demanded I transfer all my savings and income into the Family's joint trust. He controlled the master access; I was only given an allowance.

I held out the hospital's message to him. "Transfer one hundred thousand from the joint account. Consider it a loan."

Enzo didn't even look at the screen. He casually poured himself a glass of whiskey.

"The moment your father is in the hospital, you suddenly remember the Family trust?" he sneered. "Two years ago, your family's house renovation was also an 'emergency'. Your family's emergencies are quite expensive."

"My money is in that account too," I said, my voice trembling.

He picked up his phone and opened the calculator app. The tapping sound was agonizingly loud in the quiet penthouse.

"You were forty minutes late to our anniversary dinner. That is twenty thousand dollars," he calculated coldly. "And you were thirteen minutes late coming home last night. That is another six thousand and five hundred dollars. I haven't even deducted that yet."

"Enzo, my father is waiting for life-saving surgery!"

"I never said I wouldn't pay." He set his phone down, his dark eyes locking onto mine with chilling authority. "But rules are rules, Gemma. Every time you have an emergency, you think you are the exception to Syndicate law."

He was holding a grudge over a wedding joke from four years ago, weaponizing it while my father was dying.

I didn't say another word. I grabbed my bag and headed for the door.

Suddenly playing the role of a caring husband, Enzo picked up my coat from the rack and draped it over my shoulders. He even adjusted the collar with his perfectly manicured fingers.

"It is freezing rain outside. Wear this," he murmured, his breath brushing my ear. Then, his tone dropped into a lethal whisper. "Curfew is at eleven. Every minute you are late, it is another five hundred dollars."

Just as my hand touched the doorknob, his phone chimed.

It was a voice message from Valentina. The volume was loud enough for me to hear her sickly-sweet, whining tone.

"Enzo, I don't want to go back to my empty apartment tonight."

Enzo didn't even hesitate. He typed a reply instantly: "Then don't. I will come keep you company."

A bitter taste flooded my mouth. I slammed the door behind me, walking into the freezing downpour.

I paid the hospital my sixty-three thousand dollars. I called my best friend, Clara, who rushed over with fifty thousand in cash.

It still wasn't enough.

Desperate, I went to an underground broker three blocks away and pawned my grandfather's vintage watch--the only heirloom I had left.

The broker gave me a hesitant look. "Selling this now is a huge loss. Are you sure?"

"Yes. I need the cash immediately," I insisted.

I should have known better. The broker was connected to the Syndicate. Less than ten minutes after the money hit my account, my phone rang.

"You sold the watch?" Enzo's voice was a low, furious growl that usually made grown men tremble. "Send me the address. I will have my men buy it back."

"It was mine to sell."

"If you needed money, why didn't you just come back and talk to me properly?" he roared. "Did you have to pawn your things just to spite me?"

He paused, his tone shifting back to that arrogant, condescending drawl. "Just submit, Gemma. Beg for my forgiveness. When have I ever truly left you out in the cold?"

He always did this. He pushed me to the edge of a cliff, waiting for me to break down and beg. Once I submitted, he would act like a benevolent god showing mercy.

"No need," I said, my voice completely dead. I hung up.

At exactly 11:01 PM, my screen lit up.

[One minute late. $500 deduction.]

At 11:02 PM.

[Two minutes late. $1,000 deduction.]

I switched the phone to silent and sat by my father's bed, watching the rise and fall of his chest until dawn broke.

At 7:00 AM, the final notification rested on my screen.

[480 minutes late. Total penalty: $240,000. Insufficient funds for next month. Debt will roll over.]

I survived the longest night of my life watching my father cling to life. And for that, I now owed the most ruthless mafia Don a quarter of a million dollars.