The Mafia Boss Stopped Her Wedding Because Her Fiancé Had Already Chosen Her Prison Cell

Grant Whitmore hurried across the wet pavement, clutching a leather briefcase to his chest, while his mother, Lorraine, followed closely behind in her designer trench coat, her face twisted with bitter panic.

"Hurry up, Grant!" Lorraine snapped, glancing nervously toward the perimeter fence. "If DeLuca’s people find us before this plane takes off, we’re finished!"

"I’m moving as fast as I can!" Grant hissed, pulling the hangar door open.

As they stepped onto the private boarding stairs, the sudden wail of sirens pierced the night air.

Three black SUVs tore through the security gates of the tarmac, their high-beam headlights blindingly bright, cutting across the wet asphalt and boxing in the Gulfstream from all sides.

Grant froze, dropping his briefcase. "No... no, how did they find us?!"

The doors of the lead SUV flew open. Federal marshals in tactical gear poured out, accompanied by two of Roman’s senior associates.

And walking calmly between them, dressed in a sharp charcoal coat with the collar turned up against the wind, was Roman DeLuca.

Beside him walked Evelyn.

She didn't look like the woman who had stood in tears at the altar three nights ago. She walked with her head held high, her posture commanding, her gaze fixed entirely on the two people who had tried to destroy her life.

"Grant Whitmore! Lorraine Whitmore!" a federal marshal called out through a megaphone, stepping forward with arrest warrants in hand. "Step away from the aircraft! You are under federal arrest for wire fraud, money laundering, and interstate securities violations!"

Lorraine shrieked, clutching her pearls. "This is an outrage! Do you know who my family is? My husband built half the municipal buildings in this city!"

"Your husband’s estate was seized forty minutes ago," Roman’s voice cut across the tarmac, cold and heavy as lead.

Grant turned, his face turning the color of ash as he saw Evelyn approaching.

"Evelyn... please," Grant stammered, taking a desperate step down the stairs toward her. "It was a mistake! Mother made me do it—she handled the accounts—you know how she controls everything! We can fix this, Evelyn! We were going to be married!"

Evelyn stopped three feet away from him. She looked down at the man who had spent two years belittling her, undermining her confidence, and plotting to send her to prison.

"Grant," she said softly, her voice carrying clearly over the whine of the jet engines. "I spent twelve months believing I was lucky to have you. I spent every day shrinking myself so you wouldn't feel threatened by my competence."

She stepped closer, her hazel eyes locking onto his terrified pupils.

"Turns out, I wasn't lucky at all. I was just the best accountant you ever hired."

Before Grant could utter another word, the federal marshals moved in, snapping heavy steel handcuffs around his wrists and leading him toward a waiting cruiser. Lorraine was detained moments later, shouting empty threats into the Boston night air.

Evelyn watched them go until the cruisers melted into the distance.

The wind whipped her hair across her face, but she didn't shiver. She felt lighter than she had in her entire life—as if an invisible anchor she had carried for decades had finally been cut away.

A warm, heavy wool coat settled over her shoulders.

She turned to find Roman standing close beside her.

"Well," Roman murmured, his dark eyes softening as he looked down at her. "That is certainly one way to handle an ex-fiancé."