Mafia King's Debt: My Family's Fury
At my husband's nephew's christening, I saw him across the ballroom holding a newborn with another woman. I was four months pregnant with his heir, but he was presenting her son as his own.
He had built a criminal empire, and our marriage was a strategic alliance. But now, the men who toasted our wedding were congratulating him on another woman's child, their gazes sliding right past me. My mother confirmed my worst fears: he'd been paying for his mistress's apartment for months.
His mistress, Selena, cornered me, her voice dripping with venom. "He chose me. And our son." The stress brought on sharp, agonizing cramps, but when my husband, Dante, rushed over, he took her side. "Calm down," he commanded. "You're making a scene."
He accused me of being hysterical, of cornering his fragile mistress who had just given birth. Through a haze of pain, I watched him shield her from me, his wife, telling me to go home and "be rational."
The public humiliation was absolute. In the lawyer's office, Selena slapped me, then knocked over her own baby's carrier and screamed that I had attacked her child. Dante believed her without question. As I collapsed from the pain, the last thing I saw was his back as he walked away with his new family.
I woke up in the hospital. He arrived with his mistress, not to see if I was okay, but to demand I apologize to her.
That was the moment the woman he married died. And in her place, someone new was born.
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Chapter 4
Seraphina POV:
The lawyer's office was cold and impersonal, the polished mahogany table a stage for the final act of my humiliation. Dante was there. And of course, so was she. Selena sat beside him, a new diamond on her finger, playing the part of the supportive fiancée to perfection.
"I just want it on record," I said, my voice steady as I signed the legal separation agreement, "that Moretti Holdings would not exist without my family's seed money and my mother's connections."
Selena scoffed. "Dante is a genius. He would have made it with or without you."
I ignored her, pushed the papers across the table, and stood to leave. My part in this farce was over. But she rose with me, blocking my path.
"You're pathetic," she hissed, her voice low. "Playing the victim."
Then she slapped me. Hard.
The sound cracked like a whip in the silent office. My head snapped to the side, my cheek exploding with heat. I looked past her, past the lawyer's stunned face, to Dante.
He just sat there. He did nothing.
In his silence, in his cowardly consent, whatever was left of my love for him shattered.
Before the ringing in my ears faded, Selena shrieked. She lunged, not at me, but at the baby carrier in the corner, knocking it over with a theatrical shove. The infant, startled, began to wail.
"She tried to hurt my baby!" she screamed, spinning to face Dante, her eyes wide with manufactured terror.
Dante was on his feet in an instant, his face a mask of pure rage, his eyes locked on me. "What did you do?" he growled.
"I didn't touch him!" I cried, but my words were lost as a violent, twisting cramp doubled me over, stealing the air from my lungs. "Dante, please," I gasped, a primal fear for my baby gripping me. "Something's wrong."
He shot me a look of pure disgust. "Stop the performance." He turned his back on me completely, going to comfort Selena.
The plush carpet rushed up to meet me as my knees gave out. The last thing I saw before darkness swallowed me was Dante's back as he walked away with his new family. I woke in a sterile white hospital room, my mother holding my hand.
"You and the baby are both okay," she said, her voice a balm.
Moments later, the door swung open. It was Dante and Selena. He looked uncomfortable. She looked triumphant.
He stepped to her side, his jaw tight. He looked at me not with concern, but with cold, hard judgment.
"You owe Selena an apology," he demanded.