Rejected by the Mafia Don, Claimed by His Rival

Alessia POV:

The text I'd sent back, "Yes, my Don," was a mask. A shield of cold, hollow compliance I was only just learning how to wear. I knew it would unsettle him more than any tears or accusations.

And it did.

Days later, the entire Moretti estate buzzed with preparations for Dante's own birthday party-the event he had chosen for my public execution. He paraded Isabella around the city, buying her jewels and clothes, a public spectacle for the entire underworld to witness. The whispers followed me everywhere; the pitying glances, the smirks. I ignored them. I was a ghost in my own home, my spirit already packing its bags.

The night of the party, I dressed in a simple, pale dress. No jewelry. No artifice. I was a blank canvas, wiped clean of the vibrant colors of hope and love I once wore for him.

When Dante made his grand entrance, the room fell silent. He stood there, a king in his domain, with Isabella clinging to his arm. She was beautiful, all sharp angles and predatory grace. At her side stood a small, quiet child with wide, vacant eyes. His heir.

Dante's gaze swept the room and landed on me. I saw a flicker of something in his eyes-not guilt, but a strange disquiet. He expected a scene. He expected me to be a broken, weeping mess.

I gave him a placid smile.

He strode towards me, the crowd parting before him like the Red Sea. He stopped, towering over me, his presence a physical weight.

"Alessia," he said, his voice smooth as polished steel. "I'd like you to meet Isabella. My chosen woman." He gestured to the child. "And this is my son. My heir."

They were daggers, each word meant to kill a part of me. I refused to let them draw blood.

I dipped into a graceful, formal curtsy, my eyes lowered in a perfect picture of submission. I addressed not him, but her.

"It is an honor," I said, my voice even and clear. "My future Mafia Queen."

Isabella's perfectly painted lips curved into a triumphant smile. She hadn't expected this, either. She'd wanted a fight.

"How gracious of you, Alessia," she purred, her voice dripping with false sympathy. She leaned in, the cloying scent of her cheap perfume an invasion. "You must come to our official union ceremony next month. It would mean so much to Dante."

I raised my head, my gaze finally meeting Dante's. His eyes were dark, searching, trying to decipher the new, empty landscape of my face. He found nothing.

"I would be honored to attend," I replied, my voice a hollow echo.