The Abused Wife Is A Mafia Heiress

That night, my father's absence turned the estate into a hollow cavern. The air sat still and cold, pressing against the walls.

By midnight, fever took hold of me. My skin burned to the touch.

My mother kept vigil at my bedside, pressing a damp cloth to my forehead while she dialed my father's burner again and again. Each call met the same dead void.

When dawn broke and the fever hadn't broken with it, she stopped waiting for the estate guards to stir. She hoisted me onto her back and marched into the biting morning air, carrying me to the Family-affiliated clinic downtown.

The hallway blurred past me. A ceiling vent hummed its low mechanical note. Somewhere, a wheelchair peeled across worn linoleum with a sticky, sucking sound. I drifted in a feverish haze, my heavy head resting against my mother's shoulder.

Then a familiar voice cut through the quiet.

Elena.

I forced my eyelids open. My father stood outside an examination room. Elena beside him. A little boy—Leo—clutched my father's hand.

My father was deep in conversation with the underground mob doctor. "Yes, I'm acting as Leo's guardian," he confirmed. "His biological father is out of the picture."

The words landed in my stomach like cold stones.

My father turned his head. His eyes met my mother's. The three of us stood frozen in that narrow corridor.

Elena stepped forward, her mouth stretching into something sweet and false. "Leo just had a little accident," she said, her voice dripping with airy innocence. "Vincent was only helping."

My mother's gaze passed over her like she was furniture. Instead, she raised her hand and gently pressed the back of it to my forehead.

Without warning, Leo dropped my father's hand, charged forward, and shoved me hard in the chest.

My feet tangled. I fell sideways. My hip struck the linoleum with a crack that echoed through my bones.

"You little bastard!" Leo yelled. "Stop trying to steal my father!"

Elena let out a sharp cry. Her own hand flew up and slapped her cheek with a theatrical crack. She collapsed into tears instantly, apologies flooding the hallway.

"I'm so sorry, Sophia!" she wailed. "The boy doesn't know the rules!"

My father shot my mother a look of profound irritation. "Stop giving them attitude, Sophia. You're making a scene."

Elena gasped. Her eyes fluttered closed. She began to swoon, her body tipping gracefully toward the floor.

My father lunged, catching her in his arms. His face arranged itself into manufactured panic as he rushed her into the examination room. He didn't look back.

Leo smirked down at me before running after them.

My mother said nothing. She reached down, took my trembling hand, and helped me to my feet. She turned her back on that examination room, and we walked out of the clinic together, leaving my prescription unfilled.

As we moved down the hallway, the doctor's voice drifted through the open door.

"Congratulations, Mr. Moretti. Elena is nearly three months pregnant."