The Mafia’s Scapegoat Bride: A Stolen Life Chapter 04
I moved before I could think.
I lunged at her and clamped my hands tight around her throat.
“How could you? He was your own father!”
Grace leaned back against the wall, eyes glistening as she laughed.
It was the look of a condemned man within the family—accepting death with utter calm.
“A mix-up is just a mix-up. I was born for wealth and status. What right did he have to come looking for me? He’s not even worthy.”
“Olivia, everyone who cares about you deserves to die.”
Warm liquid trickled from my nose.
My time was running out.
Fine. I’d take her down with me. In this family, dragging your enemy to the grave alongside you was the last shred of dignity left.
Crack!
A sharp slap twisted my head to the side, and I crashed into the wall.
Matthew stood frozen, slowly lowering his hand. It was never rage. It was a warning — a Don reminding his traitor of her place.
“Have you caused enough trouble?”
“Grace’s health has suffered after saving me. You spent a few years in prison for her. What do you have to complain about?”
“You will always be my wife, the Donna of the Gambino family. With that title, no one dares speak against you.”
He paused, brushing the blood from the corner of my mouth with his fingertip. His voice dropped to a murmur.
“Your foster father Jonathan… Grace looked after him for a long time. She arranged his funeral and bought his burial plot. She has long since atoned for her sins.”
“Matthew! She killed him!”
Silence hung thick in the air, broken only by my ragged, desperate gasps.
He let out a sigh.
“There’s no need for this.”
“I told you, you’re my wife. Don’t try to frame her.”
He pulled out his phone. The screen lit up, showing our old wedding photo.
We stood on the grounds of the Gambino estate, me in a white gown and him in a black suit. His right hand rested over his chest, the traditional family oath gesture.
I snatched the phone and hurled it to the ground.
It shattered into pieces, and a shard sliced open my ankle.
“Look at this hideous face of mine.”
“How can I ever be your wife again?”
I shoved him away, nearly screaming.
“Get out! All of you, get out!”
He reached for me, but Grace grabbed his arm.
She dropped to her knees before me and bowed her head hard against the concrete. The dull thuds echoed like funeral bells from the church.
“Sister! If you resent what was done to your face, I’ll disfigure myself right now. Just don’t turn against Matthew!”
Weeping, she picked up a dagger from the floor and held it to her cheek.
The blade stopped half an inch from her skin. She made no move to cut.
I let out a cold laugh.
“Go on then.”
Matthew knocked the knife from her grasp, his brows knotted tightly.
“Forcing her to hurt herself—what kind of game is this?”
Grace spoke softly.
“I’ve studied cosmetic surgery with top specialists for years, all to make amends. If you hate this face, sister, let me fix yours back to how it was.”
I flinched and tried to pull away.
Before I could react, a brutal pain exploded across the back of my head. I heard it clearly—the heavy thud of a rifle butt striking flesh.
When I opened my eyes again, I was strapped down to Matthew’s operating table.
The nightmare from five years ago had returned.
I could not scream, could not move.
Voices murmured beside me. It was Grace’s personal nurse, a plant working for the Lucchese family.
“Miss Grace… no anesthesia at all? This could kill her.”
“Quiet. Death would be a mercy.”
“I spent years learning this craft just to make sure Matthew never softens his heart. The thought of her dying wearing my face disgusts me.”
The nurse hesitated. “The Don will find out eventually.”
“So what?”
Grace laughed, a shrill sound like nails scraping across glass.
“Once she’s gone, I’ll shed a few tears. That man and his son would hand over their hearts to me if I asked.”
My blood turned cold inch by inch.
I thrashed wildly against the restraints, but they held fast.
“Olivia, you have nothing left to fight me with.”
The knife pressed against my cheek.
No anesthesia.
Slice after slice, as if flaying the skin from my bones.
The pain was so overwhelming I could not make a sound.
My vision blurred little by little.
My breath grew shallow and faint.
At the Gambino family headquarters, Matthew stared absently at Olivia’s phone on his desk.
The screen lit up with an incoming call, and he answered.
A harsh voice burst through the line without pause. The caller worked for the cemetery, a low-ranking affiliate of the family.
“You’ve dragged your feet over this burial plot long enough! How many times do I have to call?”
“Broke tramp. One last time—are you taking it or not?”
“You’ve already lost one kidney. Only one left now. Shame you can’t sell that too to afford a decent grave!”
“Cat got your tongue? Say something!”
