Chapter 1 - My Fiancé Stole Our Honeymoon for His Mistress—Then His Mafia Boss Best Man Revealed Ryan Had Been Living in Someone Else’s Penthouse, Driving Someone Else’s Bentley, and Spending Money That Was Never HisFour hundred and twelve people watched my fiancé abandon me at the altar for my maid of honor.
But that wasn't the moment that shocked Manhattan.
That came seconds later, when Ryan's best man—the Mafia boss people crossed streets to avoid—walked toward me, slipped a key ring onto my finger, and quietly said:
“Then everything he just threw away belongs to you.”
Gracewell Chapel had been perfect until Ryan Whitmore took the microphone from the officiant.
White roses covered the altar.
A string quartet had finished playing.
Sunlight poured through stained-glass windows.
My father had kissed my cheek ten minutes earlier and whispered that he'd never seen me look happier.
Then Ryan destroyed everything with four words.
“I can't marry you.”
The whispering started immediately.
My mother stopped breathing.
My father rose halfway from his seat.
And beside the chapel doors stood Sophie Lane carrying two suitcases.
My Sophie.
College roommate.
Emergency contact.
Best friend.
Maid of honor.
The woman who had zipped me into my wedding dress less than an hour earlier.
Ryan looked at her.
“Sophie and I are in love.”
My bouquet suddenly weighed a hundred pounds.
“We didn't mean for this to happen,” he continued.
That nearly made me laugh.
Affairs requiring passwords, hotel rooms, lies, schedules, and luggage did not simply happen.
“How long?”
Ryan froze.
The microphone carried my voice through the chapel.
“How long have you been sleeping with my best friend?”
“Olivia—”
“How long?”
Sophie closed her eyes.
“Seven months,” Ryan finally admitted.
Seven months.
She had helped choose my invitations while sleeping with him.
She had cried when I found my wedding dress.
She had organized my bridal shower and raised a champagne glass two weeks earlier, telling thirty women she hoped someone would someday love her the way Ryan loved me.
My knees almost buckled.
Then Ryan gave me something stronger than heartbreak.
“We're leaving tonight.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“Sophie and I have tickets to Europe. We need space.”
My voice came out almost frighteningly calm.
“You're taking our honeymoon?”
Ryan looked away.
That answered everything.
Then a chair scraped behind him.
The entire front row went silent.
Gabriel DeLuca stood.
Ryan's best man.
Most guests believed Gabriel owned shipping terminals, nightclubs, construction companies, and private security firms.
Manhattan knew another version.
Gabriel DeLuca was the man politicians denied knowing while accepting his phone calls.
Ryan had known him since childhood because their fathers had once done business together, though I had never understood why Gabriel agreed to stand beside him today.
At forty-one, he rarely raised his voice.
He never needed to.
Gabriel walked toward us in a black suit, stopping beside Ryan.
“You're taking her honeymoon?”
Ryan stiffened.
“Stay out of this.”
Gabriel's expression didn't change.
“You asked me to stand beside you while you made vows you already knew were lies.”
“This is between Olivia and me.”
“No,” I whispered. “Apparently it's between Ryan, Sophie, and half of Europe.”
Someone actually coughed to hide a laugh.
Gabriel looked at me.
Then he reached inside his jacket.
Ryan suddenly went pale.
“Gabriel. Don't.”
A small silver key ring appeared between Gabriel's fingers.
Three keys.
One electronic fob.
He took my shaking hand and slipped the ring carefully over my finger like a wedding band.
“What is this?” I whispered.
Gabriel's eyes never left Ryan.
“The Manhattan apartment.”
Ryan swore under his breath.
“The Bentley,” Gabriel continued. “The Hamptons house. And access to the account paying for the honeymoon.”
My heart stopped.
Ryan stepped forward.
“You can't give her those.”
Only then did Gabriel smile.
“Actually, Ryan…”
He turned toward me.
“…he never told you who really owns any of them, did he?”
I stared at him.
“What are you talking about?”
Gabriel looked at Ryan.
“Tell her.”
Ryan's face had gone white.
“Not here.”
I laughed.
It sounded broken.
“You were comfortable announcing your affair here.”
“Olivia.”
“Tell me.”
Ryan looked at the hundreds of people watching us.
Then at Gabriel.
“You're enjoying this.”
“No,” Gabriel said.
The smile disappeared.
“If I were enjoying this, you'd know.”
Something in Ryan's posture changed.
Fear.
Real fear.
Gabriel turned to me.
“The penthouse where you've lived for the past two years belongs to DeLuca Holdings.”
I blinked.
“No. Ryan bought it.”
“No.”
“The Hamptons house?”
“Mine.”
“The Bentley?”
“Mine.”
I looked at Ryan.
“What about Whitmore Capital?”
Gabriel's silence was worse than an answer.
Ryan stepped forward.
“That's different.”
“How?”
“Olivia, let's discuss this privately.”
“I'm beginning to hate that word.”
I looked at Gabriel.
“How?”
“Ryan's father borrowed heavily from my father twenty-four years ago. When Whitmore Capital nearly collapsed six years ago, Ryan came to me.”
Ryan snapped:
“Gabriel.”
Gabriel ignored him.
“He needed liquidity.”
“How much?”
“Initially?”
“Yes.”
“Eight million.”
My stomach dropped.
Ryan had told me his company was worth nearly sixty million.
Gabriel continued.
“Then eleven. Then fourteen.”
I stared at my almost-husband.
“You owe him fourteen million dollars?”
“Not anymore,” Gabriel said.
I looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because three years ago Ryan exchanged controlling interests in several Whitmore assets to restructure the debt.”
The chapel became strangely quiet.
I thought about every cocktail party where Ryan had introduced himself as a self-made financier.
Every magazine profile.
Every interview.
Every time he'd joked that I had married above my pay grade.
Except we hadn't actually married.
Thank God.
“So Ryan owns…”
“Less than he allows people to believe.”
Ryan's jaw tightened.
“You've made your point.”
Gabriel looked at him.
“I haven't started.”
Sophie finally moved.
She approached Ryan.
“Can we just go?”
Gabriel glanced at her luggage.
“You should.”
She looked relieved.
Then Gabriel added:
“But you won't be using my plane.”
Sophie froze.
Ryan's face turned red.
“You said the jet was available.”
“It was.”
“You can't cancel it now.”
“I just did.”
“What about the villa?”
“My property.”
Ryan stared.
Gabriel nodded toward the chapel doors.
“Enjoy Europe.”
Someone laughed openly this time.
Sophie looked humiliated.
For one tiny, ugly second, I enjoyed it.
Then I hated myself for caring.
I pulled the key ring from my finger and tried handing it back.
“I don't want these.”
Gabriel didn't take them.
“They're yours for thirty days.”
“What?”
“Use the penthouse. Use the car. Use the Hamptons house. After thirty days, decide what you want.”
“Why?”
His gaze met mine.
“Because you're about to discover that Ryan didn't only betray you emotionally.”
A chill moved through me.
“What did he do?”
Ryan exploded.
“Enough.”
Gabriel turned.
Ryan stepped closer.
“You made your point. Stay out of our finances.”
Our finances.
I looked at him.
“We don't have finances anymore.”
“Olivia—”
“You're leaving with Sophie.”
“Things are complicated.”
“No.”
My voice steadied.
“You made them very simple.”
I removed my engagement ring.
Ryan stared.
I held it out.
He didn't take it.
So I placed it on the altar.
“Go.”
“Olivia.”
“Go take my honeymoon.”
Sophie started crying.
I looked at her.
“Please don't.”
She wiped her face.
“I never wanted to hurt you.”
“Then you failed spectacularly.”
“I love him.”
“Then congratulations.”
My voice shook.
“You won a man who could look at me this morning, kiss my forehead, tell me he'd see me at the altar, and then walk into this chapel planning to humiliate me in front of everyone I've ever known.”
Sophie stopped crying.
I looked at Ryan.
“If that's what winning looks like, enjoy the prize.”
Then I turned away.
I made it exactly seven steps.
My legs gave out.
Gabriel caught me before I hit the marble.
Not dramatically.
One arm around my waist.
The other steadying my elbow.
“Easy.”
“Don't.”
He immediately loosened his hold.
“Sorry.”
That surprised me.
A man feared by half of Manhattan apologized because I'd asked him not to touch me.
My father reached us.
“Olivia.”
That was when I finally cried.
Not elegantly.
Not silently.
My father wrapped his arms around me.
My mother joined us.
Four hundred and twelve guests watched.
For once, I didn't care.
Twenty minutes later, I sat in the chapel's private dressing room with mascara down my face and champagne in my hand.
My mother wanted to murder Ryan.
My father wanted to help.
My younger sister wanted to post everything online.
Gabriel stood near the door.
Silent.
Waiting.
Eventually, I looked at him.
“You said Ryan betrayed me financially.”
My father stiffened.
Gabriel said:
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Are you sure you want this today?”
I laughed bitterly.
“My fiancé just left me at the altar with my maid of honor and stole my honeymoon. I think the day's already ruined.”
Gabriel approached.
He placed a folder on the table.
I opened it.
Bank statements.
Transfers.
My name.
Ryan's name.
Sophie Lane's name.
I frowned.
“What is this?”
“You created Whitmore Events four years ago.”
“Yes.”
I had built the company's luxury event division from nothing.
Ryan said it would be ours.
Technically, it belonged to Whitmore Capital.
I managed everything.
Weddings.
Corporate events.
Charity galas.
Private dinners.
Last year, my division generated $6.2 million.
Gabriel tapped one statement.
“Ryan has been transferring money from accounts controlled by your division.”
“How much?”
“Over eighteen months?”
“Yes.”
“Approximately $2.4 million.”
My father swore.
My hands went cold.
“Where?”
Gabriel pointed.
A shell company.
Then another.
Then payments.
Hotels.
Jewelry.
Travel.
An apartment.
Sophie's apartment.
I stopped breathing.
“He used my company to pay for his affair?”
“Partly.”
My humiliation became something harder.
Rage.
“How did you find this?”
“Ryan asked me for another loan three months ago.”
“And?”
“I reviewed his books.”
“You knew?”
His expression changed.
“I knew money was disappearing.”
“Did you know about Sophie?”
“Not until three weeks ago.”
My head snapped up.
“Three weeks?”
“Yes.”
“You knew three weeks ago and didn't tell me?”
The room became silent.
Gabriel didn't retreat.
“Yes.”
I stood.
“You stood beside him today.”
“Yes.”
“You watched me walk down that aisle.”
“Yes.”
“You knew.”
“I suspected he might stop the wedding.”
“Suspected?”
“I confronted him yesterday.”
My hand moved before my brain did.
The slap cracked across the room.
My mother gasped.
My father stepped forward.
Gabriel didn't move.
A red mark appeared across his cheek.
“I deserved that.”
“You think?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because Ryan told me he had ended it.”
“And you believed him?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
Gabriel looked at me.
“Because I made the mistake of thinking I could control the situation.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Men seem to make that mistake around me.”
“Yes.”
His honesty infuriated me more.
“I thought if I forced Ryan to return the money and tell you himself before the ceremony, you'd have the choice without me interfering.”
“You let me put on a wedding dress.”
“Yes.”
“You let my father walk me down the aisle.”
“Yes.”
“You let four hundred people watch me.”
His jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
“Get out.”
Gabriel nodded.
He walked toward the door.
Then stopped.
“The keys remain yours for thirty days.”
“I don't want your charity.”
“They aren't charity.”
“What are they?”
“Collateral.”
I frowned.
“For what?”
“For what Ryan owes you.”
Then he left.
That night, I didn't return to the penthouse.
I stayed with my parents.
At 2:13 a.m., I woke because my phone wouldn't stop vibrating.
Messages.
Notifications.
News alerts.
Someone had uploaded the wedding video.
By sunrise, Manhattan had watched Ryan abandon me millions of times.
But the clip going viral wasn't Ryan's confession.
It was Gabriel slipping the keys over my finger.
Headlines appeared.
MAFIA KING GIVES ABANDONED BRIDE MILLIONS AT ALTAR.
WHO IS OLIVIA BENNETT—AND WHY DID GABRIEL DELUCA DEFEND HER?
WHITMORE HEIR HUMILIATED AT OWN WEDDING.
Then another headline appeared.
This one wasn't funny.
WHITMORE CAPITAL DENIES FINANCIAL IMPROPRIETY AFTER CANCELED WEDDING.
I opened it.
Ryan's spokesman claimed I'd mismanaged company funds.
I read the sentence three times.
Then my phone rang.
Ryan.
I answered.
“You accused me of stealing?”
“Listen to me.”
“You used my company to finance your affair.”
“You don't understand the accounting.”
“I understand numbers.”
“You've always been emotional about business.”
I laughed.
There it was.
The Ryan I should have recognized years ago.
“You left me at the altar yesterday.”
“Because our relationship wasn't working.”
“You were sleeping with Sophie.”
“I'm trying to prevent this from destroying the company.”
“No.”
I got out of bed.
“You're trying to destroy me before I can expose you.”
Silence.
Then Ryan's voice changed.
“You need to stay away from Gabriel.”
That caught me.
“Why?”
“He isn't helping you.”
“Interesting advice from the man who stole two million dollars from my division.”
“You don't know DeLuca.”
“And apparently I didn't know you.”
“He wants Whitmore Capital.”
“Maybe he should have it.”
Ryan became quiet.
Then:
“Olivia, if Gabriel asks about Project Bellamy, don't tell him anything.”
I frowned.
“What is Project Bellamy?”
Ryan hung up.
Thirty seconds later, someone knocked downstairs.
My father called:
“Liv?”
I walked into the hallway.
Gabriel stood inside the front door.
Black coat.
No bodyguards visible.
A bruise remained on his cheek where I'd slapped him.
My mother was staring at him as though deciding whether to offer coffee or call the police.
He looked at me.
“Ryan called you.”
“How do you know?”
“He called me too.”
“What did he say?”
“That you'd stolen confidential information.”
“I haven't.”
“I know.”
I crossed my arms.
“What is Project Bellamy?”
Gabriel became very still.
“Where did you hear that?”
“Ryan.”
“When?”
“Thirty seconds before you arrived.”
Gabriel looked toward my father.
“We need privacy.”
“No.”
I descended the stairs.
“Anything involving me gets discussed in front of whoever I choose.”
Gabriel studied me.
Then nodded.
“Fair.”
My father almost smiled.
We entered the kitchen.
Gabriel placed another file on the table.
“Bellamy was your grandfather's company.”
I stared.
“My grandfather was a schoolteacher.”
“Your mother's father was.”
He looked at my dad.
“Olivia's paternal grandfather, Samuel Bennett, owned a construction supply company.”
My father went pale.
I turned.
“Dad?”
He sat.
Gabriel continued.
“Samuel Bennett entered a partnership with Anthony Whitmore—Ryan's grandfather—and my grandfather, Vittorio DeLuca, in 1978.”
“For what?”
“Waterfront property.”
My father whispered:
“Oh God.”
I looked at him.
“You knew?”
“Not everything.”
“What?”
My father rubbed his face.
“Your grandfather died when you were two. Afterward, your grandmother told me never to ask about Bellamy.”
Gabriel opened the file.
“Bellamy Holdings purchased fourteen acres along the Brooklyn waterfront.”
I stared.
“That property is worth hundreds of millions now.”
“Yes.”
“Who owns it?”
“That is the problem.”
Gabriel slid a document toward me.
Three signatures.
Samuel Bennett.
Anthony Whitmore.
Vittorio DeLuca.
Each family owned one-third.
My pulse accelerated.
“What happened to my grandfather's share?”
“According to Whitmore records, Samuel sold it before he died.”
“And according to you?”
Gabriel placed another document down.
“The signature appears forged.”
Silence.
My father stood.
I stared at the paper.
Ryan hadn't only been stealing from my company.
His family may have stolen from mine decades earlier.
“How much is my grandfather's share worth?”
Gabriel's eyes held mine.
“Current valuation?”
“Yes.”
“Approximately one hundred and eighty-six million dollars.”
My mother sat down hard.
I couldn't speak.
Gabriel continued.
“Ryan discovered the original partnership documents eight months ago.”
Seven months.
Sophie.
Eight months.
Bellamy.
My skin went cold.
“You think he stayed engaged to me because of this.”
“I think we need proof.”
“Don't protect my feelings.”
His expression softened.
“I wasn't.”
“Then say it.”
Gabriel paused.
“I believe Ryan intended to marry you because marriage would give him a path to challenge any claim you made against Whitmore assets.”
My wedding.
The apartment.
The honeymoon.
The affair.
Suddenly something even uglier appeared beneath the betrayal.
“What happens if we'd married?”
“Depending on what Ryan persuaded you to sign afterward, he could have complicated ownership significantly.”
I remembered.
The prenup.
Ryan had pushed it across our kitchen counter two months earlier.
I'd signed without reading every page because Sophie told me I was lucky Ryan wasn't asking for anything unreasonable.
My stomach turned.
“The prenup.”
Gabriel's eyes sharpened.
“You signed one?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have a copy?”
“Ryan's attorney does.”
Gabriel stood.
“We need it.”
“Why?”
“Because I think Ryan didn't abandon you yesterday because he suddenly discovered courage.”
He looked at me.
“I think something scared him into leaving before the marriage became legally binding.”
A sound came from outside.
Glass shattered.
Gabriel moved instantly.
He pulled me down.
A gunshot tore through the kitchen window.
My mother screamed.
My father hit the floor.
Gabriel covered me with his body.
Another shot.
Then silence.
Men shouted outside.
Gabriel's security appeared from nowhere.
I lay beneath him, heart hammering.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
He checked anyway.
His hands stopped inches from my face.
“May I?”
Even now.
He asked.
I nodded.
He touched my cheek.
No blood.
Then one of his men entered.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“We found this outside.”
A black envelope.
Inside was a photograph.
Me walking down the aisle.
Across my white dress, someone had drawn a red X.
On the back were six words.
SHE WAS NEVER SUPPOSED TO KNOW.
Gabriel read them.
Then looked at me.
The man Manhattan feared had gone frighteningly calm.
“Pack a bag.”
I stared at him.
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere Ryan can't reach you.”
“You mean your house.”
“Yes.”
“I don't take orders.”
His jaw tightened.
Then, with visible effort, he tried again.
“Olivia.”
“What?”
“Will you please come somewhere I can keep you alive long enough for us to figure out why someone just shot through your parents' kitchen?”
I stared at him.
Then at the bullet hole in the wall.
“Fine.”
He exhaled.
“But this doesn't mean I trust you.”
“I know.”
“And I'm not your responsibility.”
“I know.”
“And don't call me sweetheart.”
“I've never called you sweetheart.”
“Good.”
Gabriel almost smiled.
Ten minutes later, I climbed into his armored SUV.
I had started the previous morning expecting to become Mrs. Ryan Whitmore.
Thirty-six hours later, my fiancé was in Europe with my former best friend, someone had tried to shoot me, my grandfather apparently owned a fortune no one had told me existed, and I was being driven through Manhattan beside the most feared Mafia boss in New York.
But none of that frightened me as much as the question growing inside me.
If Ryan had discovered my family's $186 million claim eight months ago…
and begun sleeping with Sophie seven months ago…
then why had Sophie spent those same seven months doing everything possible to make sure I still married him?
The answer came twenty minutes later.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
A photograph appeared.
Sophie.
Not in Europe.
She was standing inside Ryan's office.
Beside her was his father.
And the message beneath it read:
YOUR MAID OF HONOR WAS NEVER RYAN'S MISTRESS. SHE WAS HIS FATHER'S EMPLOYEE.
I stopped breathing.
Gabriel looked over.
“What?”
I handed him the phone.
He read the message.
His face changed.
“Turn the car around.”
“Why?”
Gabriel looked at me.
“Because your wedding wasn't ruined by an affair.”
May you like
His voice became deadly quiet.
“It was interrupted by a plan.”
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