From Mafia Wife To Free Woman

Elara POV:

The party was a blur of fake smiles. The entire Chicago elite was there, vultures circling a celebration of their king. I stood by Dante's side, the diamond collar cold and heavy against my skin, a constant reminder of my cage.

Isabella, draped in red sequins, glided towards Dante, whispering something in his ear. He glanced at me, then gave her a curt nod. My blood ran cold. The plan was in motion.

A moment later, she approached me, a champagne flute in her hand.

"Elara, darling," she cooed, her eyes glittering with malice. "You look pale. A little toast will bring the color back to your cheeks."

"I'm not drinking," I said, my voice firm. "For the baby."

"Nonsense," she insisted, pushing the glass towards me. "It's a celebration. One little sip won't hurt." Her voice was sweet, but her eyes were hard as steel.

I tried to step back, but I was cornered. I looked to Dante, a foolish, reflexive action. He was watching, his expression unreadable, but he did nothing. He had approved this.

"I don't want it," I said, louder this time.

Isabella's smile turned into a sneer. "Still playing the victim? You're a Bratva wife now. You do as you're told."

She feigned a stumble, sloshing the champagne onto the front of my dress. The crowd gasped.

Isabella put a hand to her mouth in mock horror. "Oh, I am so sorry! How clumsy of me."

Dante finally moved. He stepped forward, his presence silencing the murmurs. He took the glass from Isabella's hand and then took another from a passing tray. He held one out to me.

His eyes were chips of ice. "Drink," Dante's voice was low, a silken threat against my ear. "Toast with me, my love. For our heir."

I knew I had no choice. To refuse here would be an act of defiance he would punish in ways I couldn't imagine. I took the glass, my hand shaking.

I raised it to my lips, the sweet smell making my stomach roil. I took the smallest possible sip, praying it was a bluff.

The fire started instantly. It was a searing, chemical heat that spread through my veins with terrifying speed. My vision blurred. My legs turned to water, and the flute slipped from my fingers, shattering on the marble floor.

A brutal cramp seized my abdomen, so violent it stole my breath.

"What... what was in that?" I slurred, clutching my stomach as a wave of agony washed over me.

I collapsed to my knees, the room spinning. I looked up at Dante, my vision tunneling. His face was a mask of shock. The blank indifference was gone, replaced by dawning horror as he looked from my pain-wracked body to his sister.

"Isabella," he snarled, his voice a low growl. "What did you do?"

Isabella laughed, a sharp, triumphant sound. "I did what you were too weak to do. I solved your problem. She's of no use to us now."

His face contorted with a rage I had never seen before. This wasn't part of his plan. He wanted a docile wife, not a dead heir.

"No," I tried to scream as another vicious cramp tore through me. I felt a horrifying, warm gush between my legs. "My baby..."

Dante lunged for Isabella, but her personal guards, men loyal only to her, stepped in, blocking him. They moved toward me, their faces grim. They were going to drag me away, hide the evidence.

"Dante," I begged, my last coherent thought directed at the monster who was my husband. "Don't let them."

He was fighting his own men, a caged animal, his roar of fury echoing as they dragged me from the room. His eyes, filled with a terrifying, murderous rage, were the last thing I saw.

Then, darkness. A thick, suffocating blanket filled with flashes of pain, a violation being seared into my soul. And a single, piercing agony deep in my abdomen that felt like my world being torn in two.