The Don’s Daughter’s Revenge

On his deathbed, my father, the Don of the Rossi family, placed my life and future in the hands of my husband, Hans Otto.

"Bella, he will protect you in my stead."

Hans knelt before my father, sobbing uncontrollably. He swore to love and be loyal to me for the rest of his life.

But not long after, my morning sickness grew so severe I could barely stand, vomiting constantly and requiring round-the-clock medical care.

He stood before my bed, his face expressionless.

"Bella, I've sent the family's private doctor to take care of Sienna."

"Her husband died, leaving her all alone with a child. It's a pitiful state of affairs. You should try to be more understanding."

That night, I commanded the family's Consigliere.

"Empty it."

"Everything in that penthouse that came from the Rossi family—shred it."

I left him a note:

"This apartment belongs to the Rossi family. Since she's so pitiful, you two can get out and sleep on the streets together."

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1

I was just three months pregnant.

The violent morning sickness was debilitating; I hadn't slept for more than ten minutes at a time in days.

Hans, my husband, sat stiffly by my bedside.

His brow was furrowed, his expression troubled.

"Bella, I've sent Dr. Anderson's team to take care of Sienna."

I pushed myself up against the silk sheets, my stomach churning violently again.

Dr. Anderson's team, legendary in the medical world, was the private medical staff my father had retained for me before he passed away.

And Sienna was the "old friend" Hans often mentioned, whose "husband" had died, leaving her to raise their two-year-old son alone.

I stared at him, my throat tight. "You sent them to take care of Sienna?"

"Yes." Hans motioned for a servant to bring a glass of water as he steadied my shoulders. "It's too hard for Sienna to raise a child all by herself. The boy had a high fever yesterday, and then she fell ill, too. There's no one around to even lend her a hand."

He sighed. "It's so pitiful."

I looked at him, feeling as though everything before me was an absurd farce.

"She's pitiful, but what about me? Hans, look at the state I'm in. Am I not pitiful?"

My voice trembled with weakness.

A flash of impatience crossed Hans's face, but he quickly replaced it with a facade of tenderness.

He gently stroked my back. "How can you compare yourself to her? You have me, the entire Rossi family, and countless servants. But her? She has nothing."

"Don't worry, I've already instructed the kitchen to prepare nourishing meals for you. Just bear with it for a little while. Once Sienna is better, I'll have Dr. Anderson come back."

With that, he picked up his suit jacket from the sofa, preparing to leave.

"Where are you going?" I called out to him.

"Sienna hasn't eaten yet. I'm taking some food over to her, and I'll check on the boy while I'm there," he answered, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

My heart sank into an icy abyss.

So that was it. In his heart, I—his pregnant wife—mattered less than some nobody with a sob story.

My father's final words, the blood oath Hans had sworn, now felt like a resounding slap in the face.

I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, they were completely calm.

"Fine," I said, my voice flat.

Hans seemed very pleased with my "sensible" response. He leaned down and pressed a perfunctory kiss on my forehead.

"I knew my Bella was the most magnanimous. You get some rest. I'll be back soon."

His hasty retreat held an air of undisguised glee.

I picked up my encrypted phone and dialed a number.

"Marco, it's me."

"Round up your men. Get to Hans's penthouse. Now."