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Mafia King's Debt: My Family's Fury

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 5

Seraphina POV: "Apologize?" The word was a shard of glass in the sterile air. A bitter, hollow laugh tore from my throat. Dante's face hardened. "Don't make this difficult, Sera." "You have no idea what difficult is," I said, my voice unnervingly steady. "But you're about to find out." My eyes met his, and I let him see the absolute finality in them. The woman he married was gone. He had killed her. "There will be no apology," I said, my voice as cold and dead as my heart. "There will be a divorce. A very public, and very thorough, divorce. I'm doing this for my child. To get him away from your poison." I held his gaze. "Now get out. The sight of you both makes me sick." He hesitated, but my mother took a silent step forward, her presence a wall of ice he couldn't breach. He turned and left, dragging a sputtering Selena with him. The door clicked shut, leaving a profound silence in its wake. The war began from my hospital bed. My mother's legal team, a pack of silent sharks, moved with terrifying speed. They didn't make threats; they sent polite notifications to the board members of Moretti Holdings—men my mother had introduced to Dante. Inquiries into reputational risks. Reminders of fiduciary duties. I made my own calls. I had a car take me to my photography studio in Chelsea. I wrote my two loyal assistants severance checks that made their eyes go wide. "I'm closing the studio," I told them. "Indefinitely." That evening, my phone rang. It was Dante. His voice was tight, strained, stripped of its usual arrogance. "Did you say something to my investors?" he demanded. "I didn't say a thing, Dante," I replied calmly, folding a soft cashmere sweater into my bag. "Don't lie to me! Arthur Cole just pulled out. He said he was 're-evaluating his portfolio'!" "Perhaps," I said, my voice even, "they're just seeing the inherent risks in doing business with a man like you." "This company is my life!" he yelled, his control finally snapping. "I thought Selena and your new son were your life," I retorted, and hung up before he could reply. The foundation of his empire was my family's money and influence. He was about to find out what happened when I pulled it out from under him.
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