

My father was one of the first dons to rise out of the Naples mob. My mother was an iron-fisted businesswoman with a reputation that made grown men flinch. When I was ten, somebody had the nerve to hijack one of my father's freight ships. He had the man's arms and legs broken with a crowbar, then stuffed a handful of gold rings down his throat — told him to count his money while he crawled. When I was fifteen, some scheming woman tried to get her claws into my father. My mother hired the filthiest pimps off the docks, shipped her down to a back-alley bar in Marseille, and told her to make her own way. And me — I grew up running the streets of Naples like I owned them. The sons of every other family knew to call me Miss Ferrante and keep their hands to themselves. Then I met him. A rough, quiet man fresh out of the army. For him I put down the knives, traded the silk for plain cotton, and followed him back to that little nothing of a coastal town, Porto Scuro. Today my mother-in-law and my husband went down to the dock warehouses to settle a dispute. They held her face down in a barrel of rotting fish guts. They kicked in three of his ribs. I stared at the salt fish I'd been slicing on the kitchen board, let out a cold laugh, and brought the knife down so hard the oak split in half. Then I dialed my father's private line.
![[ENG DUB] Her Pride, His Rise: Stepped On, Now on Top](https://acfs3.goodshort.com/dist/src/assets/images/pc/common/f901131c-default-book-cover.png)
For three years, Sean Yale lives as a powerless husband, cooking and cleaning for his CEO wife without ever earning her love. When she hands him a prenatal report and says, “Sign it. Be the father,” he realizes she has never cared. Heartbroken, he strikes back. She soon discovers that the husband she humiliates is the heir to Axton Corp—and that her first love has destroyed her family.

For three years, Sean Yale lives as a powerless husband, cooking and cleaning for his CEO wife without ever earning her love. When she hands him a prenatal report and says, “Sign it. Be the father,” he realizes she has never cared. Heartbroken, he strikes back. She soon discovers that the husband she humiliates is the heir to Axton Corp—and that her first love has destroyed her family.

Josie is the daughter of Chief Commander Choi, and her husband, Gordon Hodges, hails from the Snoylor tribe. Their marriage was only a ceremonial affair—no formal paperwork was ever signed. Shortly after the wedding, Gordon returned to the military camp, and Josie's pregnancy news was delivered to him by letter. Seven years passed without the couple ever reuniting. That is, until their son, Freddie, cried out, desperate to see his father. Josie, determined to fulfill her son's wish, decided to take him to visit Gordon. But when they arrived at the military camp, Josie was shocked to find that Gordon had remarried. Labelled as a "homewrecker," Josie and her son were brutally beaten. In that desperate moment, Josie shouted her father's name. Her father's men immediately rushed her and her son to the hospital, while he went to seek out the Commander. At the hospital, Gordon's new wife, Claire, feigned stomach pains. Gordon, cold-hearted and furious, dragged the doctor away to attend to Claire instead. Tragically, Freddie died on the operating table. When Josie's parents arrived, Gordon and Claire were thrown into prison. But Gordon escaped, and in a fit of madness, he mercilessly shot and killed Claire's mother, Marsha...

My father was one of the first dons to rise out of the Naples mob. My mother was an iron-fisted businesswoman with a reputation that made grown men flinch. When I was ten, somebody had the nerve to hijack one of my father's freight ships. He had the man's arms and legs broken with a crowbar, then stuffed a handful of gold rings down his throat — told him to count his money while he crawled. When I was fifteen, some scheming woman tried to get her claws into my father. My mother hired the filthiest pimps off the docks, shipped her down to a back-alley bar in Marseille, and told her to make her own way. And me — I grew up running the streets of Naples like I owned them. The sons of every other family knew to call me Miss Ferrante and keep their hands to themselves. Then I met him. A rough, quiet man fresh out of the army. For him I put down the knives, traded the silk for plain cotton, and followed him back to that little nothing of a coastal town, Porto Scuro. Today my mother-in-law and my husband went down to the dock warehouses to settle a dispute. They held her face down in a barrel of rotting fish guts. They kicked in three of his ribs. I stared at the salt fish I'd been slicing on the kitchen board, let out a cold laugh, and brought the knife down so hard the oak split in half. Then I dialed my father's private line.