My Husband Sold Me To The Mafia King Who Turned Out To Be My Daddy Chapter 03
Damon shoves me. Hard. His eyes go dark.
“Cora. Where the hell did you get that piece of junk? You don’t keep shit from me. You hear me?”
I steady myself. And I laugh.
“You heard the guard at the door, didn’t you?”
“It’s the Whitmore family heirloom.”
Damon freezes. Something ridiculous flickers across his face.
Vivian snorts.
“Aww, sweetie. You’ve really lost it, haven’t you? You picked up some fake off the street and thought you’d scare people with it? Pathetic.”
I don’t even look at her.
My eyes sweep the room. Every corner is familiar.
On the solid gold cabinet in the corner sits one photo. The only one in the whole room. A family portrait.
Right next to it — a lopsided little clay heart. The Father’s Day craft I made for my dad when I was ten.
Damon’s eyes lock onto the gold cabinet. The crystal chandelier. His pupils dilate. Pure greed.
“Vivi, baby — look at this place! One night. That’s all it takes. Get her into his bed, and after tonight? Nobody in this city touches us. Nobody.”
Vivian giggles and curls into his chest. Shoots me a poisonous look.
“Sweetie. You better work hard tonight. Really earn it. Our wedding of the century? It’s all riding on this pretty little body of yours.”
I stand in the middle of the room. Watch these two clowns. Blank-faced.
“Damon. A wedding paid for by selling your wife’s body. You not scared God’s gonna strike you dead in your sleep?”
His hand flies up. Slaps.
I duck. Slam into the cabinet behind me.
The family portrait crashes to the floor. Glass everywhere.
Vivian screams.
“You crazy bitch! Did you just break Mr. Whitmore’s stuff on purpose?! You want to die, don’t drag us with you!”
Damon goes white as a sheet. He drops to his knees, hands shaking, scrambling to pick up the photo.
Then he stops.
Frozen. Staring.
“This… this woman in the picture… why does she look just like—”
“What the hell is all this noise?!”
A woman’s voice cuts him off. Sharp. Arrogant.
The heavy door swings open again.
A woman struts in. Tight red dress. Layers of makeup. Four bodyguards flanking her.
Serena Lockwood.
The woman who tried to crawl into my dad’s bed years ago — and got thrown out like garbage.
She’s twirling my black-gold ring between her fingers.
“So somebody’s out here playing dress-up with a fake and running their mouth. Let’s see who—”
Her eyes catch the broken glass on the floor.
Her whole face goes cold.
“Who did this?!”
Damon and Vivian point at me in unison. Their voices are shaking.
“Her! It was her! The ring, the picture, all her! We had nothing to do with it!”
Serena scoffs. Finally, her eyes land on my face.
The second she gets a good look at me, her whole expression cracks.
Ugly. Twisted. Jealousy — the raw, chewing kind — floods her face.
She has no idea who I am.
But she can see it. My face is prettier than hers. And there’s something in my eyes — the exact something Vincent Whitmore has always been weakest for.
“This is what you two are calling premium?”
Her hand shoots out. Long, pointed nails dig into my jaw.
“You think that homewrecker face is gonna get you into Mr. Whitmore’s bed? Some used-up piece of trash, already broken in by another man? You disgust me.”
Before she can blink —
I slap her across the face. Hard.
Serena staggers back. Half her face lights up red.
“You — you hit me?!”
She grips her cheek. Her eyes bulge like they might pop.
I stare her down. Ice cold.
“You’re a lapdog the Whitmores keep for scraps. Who told you you could bark in this room?”
Serena goes feral.
“Do you know who I am?! You dare lay a hand on me?!”
I laugh in her face.
“Who am I? I’m the girl whose head he’d never let anyone touch. His whole world.”
“You touch me again, and Vincent Whitmore will bury you.”
Every reckless thing I’ve done these past years, my dad’s been quietly cleaning up behind me. If that doesn’t make me his whole world, what does?
Damon absolutely loses it.
“Cora, are you insane?! You want to get us all killed?! Shut up! Shut the fuck up!”
He charges. Slams his foot into my stomach.
The force throws me backwards. I crash through the glass coffee table behind me.
“Ms. Lockwood, ma’am! She’s out of her mind! Please — don’t blame us!”
“Cora! Get on your knees! Apologize! Now! Or I swear to God, I’ll strip you naked and let every guard outside have a turn with you first!”
Serena’s smiling now. She reaches down and pulls a combat knife from a strap on her thigh.
“Apologize? Too late for that.”
She walks over. Presses the cold blade against my cheek.
“You came to the wrong room, sweetheart. Let me teach you a lesson.”
“Starting with that pretty little mouth of yours.”
Damon pins me down. Grins up at her like a dog begging for a treat.
“Teach her, Ms. Lockwood! Don’t hold back! Just leave her breathing, yeah?”
The tip of the blade drives at the corner of my mouth —
I whip my head to the side. Grab her wrist. Twist.
And I slash the blade right back across her arm.
“AAAH!”
Serena clamps a hand over the gushing cut and screams.
I look at all of them from the floor. Cold smile.
“When that door opens? I want to see which one of you ends up begging on the floor.”