His Heartless Betrayal: My Escape from the Mafia
For three years, I was the wife of Damian Costello, a feared mafia underboss who I believed was my savior. I lived in a gilded cage, mistaking his possessive passion for love.
Then, on the day my father was executed, I discovered my marriage was a lie. A photo proved my husband was in Paris, not for business, but to chase the one woman he had always loved: my aunt, Isabella.
I was just a substitute, a younger version of her he could own. He had staged the ambush where he "saved" me, and he only wanted a child with me for my family's eyes.
His obsession was absolute. When a tureen of scalding soup flew toward us in a restaurant, he didn't shield me, his pregnant wife. He threw himself in front of Isabella.
He even screamed at me in front of everyone, "In my heart, Seraphina will never be as important as you!"
I realized my child wasn't a product of love. It was the final piece of his collection—a living trophy.
So after he carelessly signed the annulment papers, I had an abortion. On the day he went into surgery to donate his second kidney to her, I left him a box containing the surgical report and our annulment decree. Then, I boarded a plane and vanished.
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Chapter 3
Seraphina POV:
After dinner, Damian was drowning in expensive whiskey. The rest of our family saw a man submerged in grief over his father-in-law's death. I saw a man drinking to numb a pain that had nothing to do with me.
I enlisted a maid's help, and between the two of us, we managed to steer him to a guest room. As soon as the door clicked shut, he pulled me close, his breath a hot cloud of whiskey. His eyes were unfocused, looking at me but seeing someone else.
"Isabella," he breathed, his hand tangling in my hair. "Did you come back for me?"
Ice flooded my veins. I didn't pull away. I needed to hear it.
"Who were you drinking for tonight, Damian?" I whispered.
His answer was a death blow, delivered with a drunken, heartbreaking sincerity. "For you, Isabella. It will always be for you."
I wrenched myself from his grasp and stumbled into the adjoining bathroom, locking the door behind me. I slid down the cold tile wall, wrapping my arms around myself as a brutal, internal storm broke inside me. I stayed there for what felt like an eternity, riding out the aftershocks. I waited for the pain to do its work, to cool and harden and crystallize into something useful. Something sharp.
When I finally emerged, the bedroom was empty. The motion-sensor light on the balcony outside had just winked dark. I moved toward the glass doors, silent as a ghost.
And I saw them.
Damian, sobered by the night air and his obsession, had Isabella cornered against the railing.
"Why did you change your mind?" he demanded, his voice low and raw. "Why aren't you going back to Paris?"
Isabella's voice was strained, laced with accusation. "Why did you marry my niece and not tell me?"
His hand clamped around her wrist. "I married her because she looks like you!" he hissed. "It was the only way I could have a legitimate reason to see you again. I flew to Paris, I waited for days on end, just to catch a glimpse of you from across the street!"
"I'm going insane without you," he confessed, his voice cracking. "I need you here. Even if I have to see your face on her... I'll take it." His lips twisted into a cold, cruel sneer. "Seraphina is just a stand-in. If I feel anything for her, it's only because she has your face."
My hand pressed against my flat stomach, a protective gesture that came an eternity too late.
"I've even chosen the name for the baby," he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that sliced right through me. "Damiano. A combination of my name and yours."
The pain was a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs. The gilded cage wasn't just shattered. I was going to grind it to dust.
As I turned to leave, I heard Isabella's nervous hiss. "Damian, what if she finds out? What if she heard you?"
Damian's voice was arrogant, dismissive, laced with the casual cruelty of a king who believed his power was absolute. "She loves me. She would never leave me."
A bitter smile—a tragic, knowing thing—touched my lips.
Watch me.
I didn't wait for his reply. I turned, a ghost slipping back into the shadows of the house. He wouldn't come looking for me tonight; his obsession was on the balcony. I returned to our bedroom and packed a single bag, my movements silent and precise. On the nightstand, I left the wedding ring. In the pre-dawn gloom, it looked less like a jewel and more like a gilded handcuff.
I was gone before the sun crested the horizon. The next morning, I returned to the city alone and went straight to the immigration office to finalize my papers.
As I walked out, my new life tucked into an envelope, my phone rang. It was Isabella. She wanted me to join her at the cemetery to visit my parents' graves.