The Viper Donna：Stepmother’s Mafia Justice Chapter 01
The Blood Red Wedding
By twenty-eight, my name was so toxic in New York that no man would marry me, so my family sold me to a widowed Don.
I entered the Moretti house ready to make them fear me.
Then a little girl tugged my sleeve and whispered, “Are you… are you my mommy? Do I really have a mommy now?”
My throat closed.
She looked so pitiful.
For one second, I was eight years old again, standing in my father’s house after my mother died, waiting for someone to want me.
No one ever did. To my stepmother, I was trouble.
And the day she finally got rid of me, she put on quite the show.
She drove me to the church herself, even squeezed out a tear at the curb.
“Oh, Sloane, baby, I’m gonna miss you so much.”
Not a single drop actually fell. I smiled at her.
“You know what, Mom? If it doesn’t work out, I’m coming back home. Keep my room exactly how it is.”
Her face went white. She shoved me toward the church doors so fast I nearly tripped on my own dress.
“Go, go, go—God bless you, sweetie, GO.”
The dress was blood red. Silk. I picked it myself.
If I was going to marry a ghost, I might as well look like I meant it.
Because there was no groom at the altar.
Don Dominic Moretti was feared, filthy rich, and untouchable.
He was somewhere in Eastern Europe, handling a shipment that couldn’t wait.
In his place stood a framed photograph, Dominic’s consigliere, and a signed proxy contract.
The guests whispered. Some laughed behind their hands.
*Poor thing. Can’t even get a real husband to show up.*
*Well, what did she expect? She’s lucky anyone took her at all.*
I signed my name without hesitation. The consigliere stamped the papers.
His ring was placed on my finger by proxy. No kiss. No vows from him.
Just ink, paper, and a crowd waiting for me to break.
Done.
I walked back down the aisle alone, chin high, heels clicking on marble.
Every pair of eyes pitied me. I let them.
Let them pity me. I didn’t need a husband.
I needed a house, an empire, and two walls between me and my family forever.
The Moretti estate car pulled up outside. A driver in a black suit opened the door.
I slid in, kicked off my heels, and leaned back against the leather.
The mansion appeared twenty minutes later.
Iron gates. Stone walls. Security cameras blinking red in the dark.
Nobody greeted me at the door. No flowers. No welcome banner.
Just a cold front hall that smelled like money and neglect.
A housekeeper led me upstairs without a word.
The master bedroom was cold and untouched. I stood in the middle of it and waited.
Then I heard it.
A small knock. So quiet I almost missed it.
I opened the door.
A little girl stood there, maybe five years old, dark curls, enormous brown eyes, wearing a nightgown two sizes too big.
She was shaking. She reached up and grabbed the edge of my sleeve.
“Are you… are you my mom now?” Her voice cracked. “Do I really have a mom?”
My chest split open.
Twenty years ago, I was her. Eight years old, standing in a hallway, watching my new stepmother walk through the door and praying,*please, please be kind to me.*
She wasn’t.
I knelt down until we were eye to eye.
“Yeah, kid,” I said. “You’ve got a mom now.”
Behind her, half-hidden in the hallway, a boy watched.
Older. Maybe ten. Arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes full of something I recognized instantly.
Distrust.
He didn’t say a word.
And somewhere in the dark house, I heard a woman’s heels clicking closer.
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