I Lost Seven Times to the Mafia Don’s Wife – It was the second year I’d remarried Don Ryder De Luca. He’d cheated on me again. With the same woman as before. I’d finally had enough. I went to confront her, and she threw the marriage contract in my face. “I’m legally married to Ryder,” she said coldly. “You’ve been his mistress for years. I never came after you. Now you show up at my door like you have any right.” I froze. It couldn’t be true. I picked up the contract and rushed to Ryder’s casino. I was about to kick open his office door when I heard laughter inside. “A fake marriage license, and he’s got two women wrapped around his finger. Don Ryder is something else.” Fake? My heart dropped. Which one was real—mine, or Jessica’s? “Caroline said marry me or nothing,” Ryder’s tired voice said. “Jessica… she’s my childhood sweetheart, my first love. I’ll never divorce her.” He sighed. “But I can’t let Caroline go either. She’s my rose. I really do love her. So I lied. I gave her fake papers.” My eyes flew wide open. I stood there, shaking all over.
After a long moment, I pulled out my own marriage license. In the photo, Ryder and I sat side by side, smiling happily. But it was fake. All of it was a lie. I tore the license to pieces. Then my phone rang. It was Ryder. “Baby,” he said in that warm, honeyed tone. “How are you feeling today? Is the baby bothering you?” His gentle voice stabbed right through my chest. My mother had been tricked by a married man—my father. She’d had me without knowing, and I’d grown up a bastard child, carrying that shame everywhere. Ryder knew everything. How could he say he loved me, then push me down the same path as my mother? How could he let me carry a child doomed to repeat my miserable life? I hung up, tears streaming down my face. With shaking hands, I scheduled an abortion. But when I lay on the operating table, I changed my mind. I couldn’t give up the baby I’d prayed for over three years. I couldn’t let go of the seven years I’d spent with Ryder. Outside the operating room, I broke down crying. My phone wouldn’t stop ringing. It was Ryder. I didn’t answer. Then texts flooded in. Ryder: [Why aren’t you picking up? Did something happen?] Ryder: [Caroline, did I make you mad? Baby, pick up the phone.] Ryder: [Caroline, answer me. I’m really worried.] I stared at the screen, barely breathing.
Why was the person who loved me the most the one who hurt me the deepest? I sat there numb, crying, when my phone buzzed again. It wasn’t Ryder this time. It was his wife, Jessica. “Ms. Carter, I’ve known about you this whole time. I stayed quiet because I didn’t want a divorce. I didn’t want my three-year-old twins to lose their father.” In that moment, I heard my own heart shatter. When I told Ryder I was pregnant, he’d been overjoyed—tears in his eyes, barely able to contain himself. He’d said it was his first child. But that was a lie too. He wasn’t just married. He had kids. Three-year-old twins. “I used to think you were just a shameless mistress,” Jessica went on. “But now I see you didn’t know Ryder was married.
So I’ll give you a fair chance.” “I’ll give Ryder seven chances to choose between us. If he picks you even once, I’ll divorce him. If he never chooses you… you leave.” I froze. After a long silence, I accepted the bet. I already knew I was going to lose. If Ryder had ever truly meant to choose me, he wouldn’t have tricked me with a fake marriage license. Even if I somehow won, I could never be with him again. I just couldn’t let go yet. I needed a reason to walk away for good.
The first bet started right away. We both texted Ryder at the same time. I said I’d been in a car crash, and I was losing the baby. Jessica said one of her kids was having a febrile seizure, and the hospital had issued a critical alert. I wanted to see which one he’d choose. Ten minutes passed. My phone was silent. I smiled bitterly. But then—hurried footsteps outside the hospital room. The door burst open. Ryder stood there, pale and terrified. The second I saw him, my whole world shook. He came. He’d chosen me.