Pregnant with My Dead Lover's Heir

When the mafia heir, Marco Gallante, barged into the family vault with his mistress, I was standing before the Virgin Mary statue, cross-checking bloodstained ledgers.

Fiore Albero cowered behind him, pointing at the ledgers in my hands and shrieking, "Marco, I'm scared..."

I did not even bother looking up, just flicked the ash off my cigar. However, Marco kicked the desk over with one swift boot.

"Chiara Moltisanti, Fiore can't stand the sight of all this blood and violence. Sign the divorce papers, now!"

I stared at the mess scattered across the floor, thinking back to the pregnancy report the family doctor had handed me just ten minutes ago.

The Gallante bloodline was dying out in this generation. Ever since the eldest son, Luca Gallante, died in that accident, Marco became the sole heir.

The Don, Carmine Gallante, dreamed of nothing more than a legitimate boy of pure blood to carry on the family name and glory.

So, I smiled, bright and sharp, with unmistakable mockery. "Perfect. Since you want true love, then the Don's throne will never be yours."

Besides, I never wanted Marco, that useless fool. What I wanted was the Gallante empire, a mafia dynasty spanning three continents with 100 years of roots, and the control that left him with nowhere to run and no legs to stand on.

This time, I would cut him out completely, keep the bloodline, and sit at the head of the family.

The warehouse at Barklesfield Docks was surrounded by the Russo family. Over 100 men stood ready, and the air reeked of gunpowder.

When I arrived, Marco Gallante's phone was still going straight to voicemail. The senior family members were all stone-faced, their expressions grim.

Tony Bianchi, the Russo family's mad dog, gave me a cold smile that did not reach his eyes. "Chiara Moltisanti, where's Marco? Hiding behind a woman? Is that seriously your family's future Don?"

I ignored him, pulled my phone out of my purse, and made a video call. Soon, a boy in an elementary school uniform appeared on the screen.

"Dad, when are you coming to pick me up? The teacher said our classes are ending earlier today."

I turned the screen toward him, smiling sweetly. "Tony, your son is out of school. He's asking why you haven't picked him up yet."

Tony's fake smile froze instantly, and the killing intent in his eyes was sharp enough to cut. After a full minute of silence, he ground his teeth and forced out two words.

"Pull back!"

Just like that, a bloodbath was avoided.

When I returned to the Ivywood Estate, covered in cold sweat and reeking of blood, fireworks were exploding brilliantly outside the windows.

It turned out Fiore Albero had learned how to bake cupcakes, and Marco had thrown her a grand fireworks show in a restricted zone just to celebrate.

I walked into the living room, feeling exhausted. However, Marco just frowned and covered his nose in disgust.

He hissed, "Chiara, what the hell is that smell? You reek like the sewer. You're making Fiore sick!"

Fiore cowered behind him timidly, her gaze innocent yet carrying a hint of provocation. She mumbled, "Chiara, don't blame Marco. He's just worried about me... But maybe you shouldn't spend all your time with guns and thugs. No wonder Marco doesn't like you."

Marco glanced at her fondly, then turned back to me with disgust. "Chiara, let's get divorced. The Gallante family is transitioning into politics. What kind of example does it set for the future Donna to act like a hitman? Fiore is better suited for that position."

I laughed out of sheer anger. He was the heir to the family, yet both cowardly and stupid.

Without me, could he have handled a situation like tonight on his own, or was Fiore supposed to drown Tony with her tears?

A sharp, stabbing pain shot through my abdomen, but I forced myself to endure it and retreated to the first-floor bathroom.

There, I took off my coat, and a half-foot-long gash on my arm was still bleeding, cut by a dagger during the chaos earlier.

I poured whiskey over the wound, trembling from the pain, but kept one hand protectively over my belly. I whispered, "Be strong, my child..."

Outside the door, I heard Marco's gentle murmurs to Fiore. "Don't worry. I already switched the vitamins that the old hag takes with birth control. I swear to God, she'll never carry my child. Not in this lifetime."

I sneered. My hands kept moving–of course I knew he had switched the pills.

If I could not see through such a simple trick, what kind of consigliere would I be?

Three months ago, on the night of the IVF procedure, I had arranged a setup and made sure Marco drank himself unconscious. The next morning, when he woke up with no memory, I acted embarrassed and accused him of being too passionate the night before.

Besides feeling guilty, he was mostly pleased with himself about it. From that day on, I used the excuse of not feeling well to sleep in separate rooms.

Once I was done, I walked out of the bathroom, my expression calm and composed.

I said, "Fine. I'll consider the divorce."

Right in front of them, I slid the diamond ring off my finger and casually tossed it onto the coffee table.

Marco looked stunned, clearly not expecting me to agree without tears or hysterics.

Without sparing them another glance, I headed straight upstairs.

Back in my room, I gently stroked my belly and whispered softly, "Luca, our baby is three months old now... The show is about to begin."

Luca Gallante was the Gallante family's long-dead eldest son, and the only man I had ever loved.