From Tortured Wife To Mafia Queen

I posted a photo of baby shoes to celebrate my pregnancy. Two hours later, my husband was holding jumper cables.

Kaeden, the Mafia Capo who swore to protect me, stood under the buzzing fluorescent lights of the basement.

He didn't look like the man who brought me vanilla lattes. He looked like a monster.

His "fragile" childhood friend, Clemmie, had convinced him that my innocent post was a signal to our enemies.

"Discipline," Kaeden muttered, refusing to look at my weeping face. "She needs to learn the cost of her voice."

He ordered low voltage—just enough to scare me.