He Looked Down on His Poor Ex—Never Knowing She Was Married to the Most Feared Mafia Boss

By the end of the week, Trevor’s life was entirely unrecognizable.

His luxury car had been repossessed in the middle of the night. His landlord had served him with a heavily expedited eviction notice due to "breach of contract." He was sleeping on a cheap mattress in a motel on the outskirts of the city, eating fast food paid for entirely with loose cash he had scraped together from his apartment.

He had hit rock bottom at terminal velocity.

Sitting on the edge of the stained motel bed, Trevor stared at his phone. He had one option left. He had to beg.

He didn't have Roman Mercer’s number, but he knew how to find Sadi. Before he was fired, he had seen an invitation on his boss's desk for the highly exclusive Obsidian Charity Gala, hosted by a philanthropic front company known to be run by the Mercer family. Sadi was listed as the co-chair of the event.

The gala was tonight.

Trevor looked at his reflection in the cracked mirror of the motel bathroom. He looked terrible. He hadn't shaved in days. His suit was wrinkled and smelled faintly of stale smoke. He looked exactly like the vagrant he had accused Sadi of being just a week ago.

“I just need to talk to her,” Trevor muttered to himself, splashing cold water on his face. “She’s soft. She always forgave me. If I can just get to her, she’ll call him off.”

He left the motel and took a public bus to the city center, his stomach twisting with humiliation every time someone looked at him.

The Obsidian Charity Gala was being held at the Grand Plaza Hotel. The street was lined with black armored SUVs and stretch limousines. Photographers flashed their cameras as the city’s elite stepped onto the red carpet.

Trevor hid in the shadows of an alley across the street, waiting for his moment. He watched as a massive, custom Rolls-Royce pulled up to the entrance.

The doors opened, and Roman Mercer stepped out, adjusting his tuxedo. Then, Roman turned and offered his hand.