Pregnant With the Don’s Heirs, I Disappeared

Vittoria leaned in, her breath reeking of expensive vodka and cruelty.

"He's been mine since Christmas," she whispered, her lips brushing my ear like a viper's kiss. "All those nights you thought he was managing the docks? He was in my bed at the Plaza. If he hadn't been so careful, I'd already be carrying his heir—unlike you, with your useless, barren womb."

My blood turned to ice. "What?"

"You can never give birth, can you, Elena?" She smiled, eyes dropping to my stomach with predatory precision. "Alessandro is disgusted by your broken body. He told me he's been counting the days until he can discard you like the defective toy you are. After all, the Family needs an heir. A real Donna." She leaned closer, her diamond earring scratching my cheek. ""Don't worry, little bookkeeper. When I'm pregnant with his true heir, you'll be the first to know. You can serve as our midwife."

"Vittoria!" My voice cracked, tears blinding me. "You shameless—"

I shoved her. She stumbled back with a theatrical cry, crashing into the champagne tower. Crystal exploded. The sacred chalice used to seal the alliance shattered against the marble, red wine spreading like arterial spray across the floor.

Silence swallowed the room.

"Elena!" Alessandro's roar cut through the crowd. He pushed through the Family elders, his face a mask of fury. He didn't look at the broken chalice, or at Vittoria's fake tears. He looked at me—with resentment so sharp it could have cut glass.

"What the hell are you doing?!"

"I didn't... I barely touched her..." I whispered, trembling as every eye turned to stare.

Alessandro knelt to lift Vittoria, cradling her in his arms like a broken saint. The sight of his hands on her waist—the same hands that had held me last night—sent a blade through my chest.

"Let's leave," Vittoria sobbed. "She's been unstable since the Rossi massacre... I don't want her humiliated in front of the Family."

Alessandro's jaw tightened. He saw the cameras—the Bratva enforcers recording everything. His reputation, the alliance, his image as a Don who controlled his house.

"Elena," he growled. "Follow me. Now."

He didn't take her to the bridal suite. He turned toward the service stairs, descending to the cellar. The Hole—cold concrete, a single bulb, the smell of rust and old bleach.

He shoved me inside. Vittoria followed, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk.

"Clean the wine off her shoes," Alessandro commanded, nodding at Vittoria's stained Louboutins. "You broke the chalice, you lick the mess."

"I will not," I choked out, my heart pulverized. "I won't bow to her."

Alessandro's eyes darkened. He moved so fast I barely saw it—his hand caught my shoulder, shoving me down. My knees crashed against the concrete. I clutched my belly instinctively, terror shooting through me as I thought of the twins.

"You ungrateful—" he snarled, fingers digging into my arm. "The Family saw you attack her! They expect punishment!"

"She threatened to take my children!"

"And she should!" Alessandro bellowed. "Look at you! A Rossi ghost, a broken soldier who can't even control her temper! Even if you bore those twins, do you think the Family would let them rule? You'd doom them to assassination by age five!"

He leaned down, his face inches from mine, blue eyes blazing with anger and something like desperate concern. "Vittoria can give them legitimacy. Safety. A pure bloodline. You? You'd just get them killed. Is that what you want?

"Besides, you can’t even have children. All this screaming and raging from you is completely meaningless."

I stared at him, devastated. He truly believed this.

"Don't be too harsh," Vittoria said from the doorway. "She's just... emotional. It's not her fault she was raised in the gutter."

"Shut up," I hissed.

Alessandro's hand moved. Not an open palm—the butt of his gun, cracking against my cheekbone. The impact sent me sprawling, my head ringing, blood filling my mouth.

I lay on the cold concrete, tasting copper, the betrayal cutting deeper than the blow.