He Gave My Supercar to Her—So I Married the Mafia Don

My fiancé handed my wedding supercar—the one built from the last thing my mother left me—to my adopted sister. When I tried to walk away from the engagement, he forced me barefoot over burning coals and sneered, “Who else would want you after eight years with me?” But his laugh died before the coals cooled, when a black armored convoy tore into the raceway and the most feared Mafia heir stepped out, saw my burned feet, and said, “She’s not yours anymore.”