The Mafia’s Scapegoat Bride: A Stolen Life Chapter 03
“What did you just say to her?”
Matthew spun around sharply and seized Mark’s wrist, his eyes raking over the boy.
He looked exactly like a Don interrogating a traitor, as if ready to demand how his victim wished to die.
Mark struggled free at once, pressed my medicine into my hand, then stepped in front of me.
A four-year-old child stood facing the Don of the Gambino family, like a tiny wolf cub staring down a pack of hungry beasts.
“You bad man! Don’t hurt my mom!”
“Get out! This is our home!”
Matthew’s fist tightened briefly before he relaxed.
For the first time, the Gambino Don held back against a small boy. It was not because he could not fight back. The child’s eyes were an exact copy of mine, from years ago.
He glanced at Mark and said nothing.
After a long silence, his voice rumbled out, rough as sandpaper.
“Whose kid is he?”
My chest clenched tight. The pain stole my breath away.
My phone rang suddenly. It was the agent from the cemetery lot office.
“When are you going to settle the rest of the payment…”
Matthew snatched the phone and ended the call mid-sentence, his jaw tight with rage.
“So you’d stoop to men like this just to get back at me? Someone who only ever hounds you for money?”
My throat burned, and I broke into a coughing fit.
Matthew’s brows drew together. His warm palm settled on my back, patting me gently.
“No wonder you never struck back all these five years.”
“Olivia, you’re destroying yourself just to cut me deep.”
A bitter smirk tugged at my lips.
A dying woman had no strength left for hatred.
In this world of families, revenge demanded power—money, men, guns. I had none of those. Even the face on my body was not truly mine.
He took hold of my hand, his resolve clear as the day he condemned traitors to death.
“I’ll make arrangements for the boy.”
“Come home with me.”
He lifted his gaze to me, and his eyes finally glistened.
“Let the past stay buried. Please?”
“Olivia, I’ll find the boy a good home. Come back, and I’ll let all that happened go.”
I pulled my hand free and pushed him toward the door.
“Matthew.”
A soft laugh drifted from outside.
My fingers curled into tight fists.
Grace Lucchese stood in the doorway.
Dressed in a custom designer gown, she seemed to belong to a world entirely separate from this run-down metal shack. The necklace around her neck had sold for three million at the family auction the year before—bought with my money.
She slipped her hand into Matthew’s and shook her phone playfully.
“You spoil Evan so much. I just finished cooking, and here you are, promising to buy him hot dogs.”
“My guards told me you’d come here, so I hurried over.”
Her gaze finally landed on me, and her smile froze.
“Olivia…?”
Matthew nodded.
She froze for a second, then her eyes welled up instantly. Those were nothing but crocodile tears.
“I’m so glad I finally found you!”
“I made dinner. Won’t you join us?”
I stared straight at her.
“Dine with a murderer who set fire to her own birth father?”
Grace’s face turned pale, and her eyes welled up. She feigned distress.
“Dear sister, I never meant for any of that to happen. I suffered too back then. They feared I would be discovered, so they locked me away in a high-rise safe house on the ninety-ninth floor. Not a single window in the place.”
She let out a hollow laugh and looked up.
“You rotted away in prison. I was trapped in a different kind of cell.”
I coughed too hard to speak. Mark rushed forward and shoved her.
“Leave now, or I’ll call the cops!”
Grace blinked, then glanced at Matthew.
She reached out and took Mark’s hand. Her nails were painted the deep crimson exclusive to the Gambino family, the color of fresh blood.
“Well, well. Sister has an illegitimate child out here?”
“He’s just like you—running to the police at the first sign of trouble.”
She saw Matthew’s darkening expression and quickly added in a falsely sweet tone.
“Pay no mind, Matthew. Nothing matters more than the family being together. I’ll clear out Evan’s room right away for—”
Matthew cut her off sharply.
“Enough. If she hadn’t insisted on running to the police and picking fights over every little thing back then…”
He shot me a cold look.
“She brought all those hard years on herself.”
Grace closed the distance and took my hand. She leaned in until her lips brushed my ear, her voice a faint hiss like a venomous snake.
“I’ll take good care of your son, sister.”
She paused.
“Just like I took care of your foster father, Jonathan.”
My eyes widened in shock.
“I showed him every second of the surgery where they remade your face to look like mine.”
“He could have survived. But his spirit broke completely. That very night, he bit through his oxygen tube.”
“He choked himself to death.”
