Leaving The Underworld For True Love

Evelina POV

None of the armed soldiers guarding the estate dared to stop me, and the maids kept their heads bowed as I passed.

They all knew the consequences of crossing the Don's wife.

I took a cab back to my parents' heavily guarded territory, under the naive assumption that my own blood would offer sanctuary.

When I walked into their lavish compound, I found my father sinking into his leather chair, chain-smoking his imported cigars.

Across the room, my mother lounged on the sofa, undergoing a luxury beauty treatment from a private aesthetician.

Taking a deep breath, I told them I was leaving Dante.

My father bluntly crushed his cigar into the crystal ashtray, not even bothering to look at me.

"Our family's illicit businesses rely entirely on the Don's backing," he stated coldly. "A divorce means Dante pulls his resources. Our faction will be slaughtered by the end of the week."

Waving the aesthetician away, my mother fixed me with a piercing glare.

"You are being ungrateful, Evelina," she scolded. "Dante is a powerful man. He is worthy of your submission."

She walked over, her manicured fingers digging harshly into my shoulders.

"Turn a blind eye even if the Don has a mistress. Being the Mafia Queen is a blessing you should not throw away."

The leather of the sofa beneath me seemed to lose all its support. I maintained a straight posture, but felt as if my organs were sinking, pulled by a dead weight toward the floorboards.

My parents viewed me solely as a pawn for power and profit.

Suddenly, I remembered how Dante had bailed my father out of multiple botched operations over the years.

I calmly looked at them, my voice devoid of emotion. "What do you expect me to do?"

"I already messaged Dante," my father revealed, casually lighting another cigar. "He is on his way. You will go back and be a dutiful wife."

My mother chimed in immediately. "Use your pillow talk tonight. Secure that lucrative downtown territory for your younger brother. He needs it."

In that room, heavy with the cloying scent of my mother's perfume and my father's smoke, I fully grasped the reality of my existence.

In my father's ledger, I was never a daughter, but a bargaining chip to be pushed across the gambling table in exchange for a few city blocks for my brother.

Suddenly, the front doors swung open.

Dante arrived swiftly, his dark hair uncharacteristically disheveled.

He wore a rare look of anxiety on his usually stoic face, his dark eyes scanning the room until they locked onto mine.

He walked straight to me and firmly grasped my hand.

I tried to pull away, but his grip was like a steel vise-unyielding and possessive.

Turning to my parents, he offered a perfectly crafted, apologetic smile. "I take full blame for upsetting my wife," Dante said smoothly, though the tension in his jaw betrayed his calm tone.

My father eagerly stood up, immediately ordering the staff to serve the Don their finest liquor.

My mother, desperate to keep him longer, insisted on having the kitchen prepare a lavish late-night supper.

Standing between them, I felt entirely alienated.

I was a ghost in a room where no one cared for my soul, only for the political currency my body provided.

Ultimately, with no allies left, I was forced to return to the estate with him.

Just before we got into his waiting armored SUV, my mother pulled me aside.

She covertly shoved a small vial of pink liquid into my hand.

"It is a syndicate aphrodisiac," she whispered conspiratorially. "It ensures a husband's loyalty."

I stared at her in absolute horror.

"A man's straying is partly the wife's fault," my mother warned, her tone chiding. "Drug him. Make him addicted to your bed. It won't harm the baby."

I refused to close my fingers around the vial, staring at her with the eyes of a stranger.

In that moment, I saw not a mother, but a creature of cold, transactional cruelty.

Seeing my hesitation, she forcefully shoved the drug deep into my coat pocket.

Nearby, my father fawningly attempted to light Dante's cigarette.

Dante merely raised a hand, refusing the light. "Secondhand smoke is bad for my pregnant wife," Dante stated flatly, his voice brokering no argument.

My father laughed awkwardly, hastily apologizing for his oversight and tossing the lighter aside.

I watched the exchange in silence from the shadows of the SUV.

The entire scene was sickeningly absurd.