The Mafia Don’s Runaway Baby

I got pregnant by Alessio Moretti—my brother's best friend, and the youngest, most handsome Don in New York. Then his old flame, Bianca, the one who ghosted him, came back.

I thought he’d drop me for her.

But he just smirked. "She left without a word. There's no going back."

My brother, Gianni, was even colder. "She's not a Ricci anymore. My only sister is you."

I believed them. For three years, they'd shown me a warmth and love I'd never known.

Then a video of my drunk foster father beating me went viral.

The world mocked the noble Ricci princess, once tortured like a beggar.

I shattered. I ran to find the only two men I trusted.

But I stopped cold at their study door, frozen by Bianca's sickly sweet voice.

"Gianni, Alessio... leaking that video? Wasn't it too cruel? Marcella's pregnant."

My brother's reply was instant. "That's the point. Pregnancy is supposed to soften her. But she's been running around like she owns the place, keeping you out."

Alessio just laughed. "Don't worry about Marcella. She can't touch us. And she's too soft-hearted to ever hurt our child."

Tears streamed down my face. A sharp pain shot through my heart.

He's right. The baby is my treasure. I'd never hurt him.

But Alessio... I won't let you control me.

I walked away, numb. I booked a flight.

I will slip through their fingers, take my baby, and disappear from their world forever.

After I found out Alessio and my brother Gianni were the ones who leaked my humiliating video, I touched my stomach. It was just starting to show. I decided to take my child and disappear for good.

I'd just booked the ticket when my phone buzzed like crazy.

Alessio's name flashed on the screen.

Usually, I'd answer in a heartbeat. This time, I just watched until the screen went dark.

Then, Gianni called.

They took turns, one after the other, more than a dozen calls. They sounded like a real family, worried sick.

Who would've guessed they were the ones who broke me?

On the twentieth call, I finally wiped my tears, calmed myself, and answered.

"Marcella!" Alessio's voice was tight with panic. "Where the hell are you? I've looked all over the estate!"

"Just out for a walk," I said, my voice flat.

"I'm handling the video," he said, his voice urgent. "It's being wiped from every site. You don't have to worry—"

Hearing the concern from the man I loved, my nose started to burn again.

I almost lost control. I almost screamed at him.

If you love me so much, why did you do it?

If you love Bianca more, why are you still playing this game with me?

But the words wouldn't come out.

I swallowed the questions and just mumbled, "I know."

Alessio sensed something was wrong. "What is it?"

When I didn't answer, my brother's voice cut in, sharp with blame.

"Marcella! You answer me right now!" Gianni sounded furious. "How could you just disappear? We were worried sick!"

Before I could reply, his tone got harsher.

"You shouldn't have left like that. We promised Dad we'd take care of you! And you're pregnant!"

Take care of me. The words felt like a knife twisting in my gut.

Gianni, you're my own brother. You call this taking care of me?

I gave a non-answer and hung up.

In the back of the car, I closed my eyes. The past came rushing back, a tidal wave of betrayal.

Twenty-one years ago, the wife of a low-level Ricci family soldier made a crazy decision. Her husband had been caught skimming at the casino. My father, the Don back then, had made an example of him. He took his pinky finger.

So, the night I was born, she stole me from my cradle and put her own daughter in my place.

Bianca got the life of a princess. My life.

And I was thrown into the slums to rot. Eighteen years of hell. Fists, belts, bottles. Hunger, cold, fear.

Three years ago, on her deathbed, the woman confessed. The truth came out.

By then, my real mother, the kind Donna, was already gone. My goddamn foster father vanished the second he heard the news. My real father, drowning in grief, brought me home. He gave me everything, loved me fiercely, but he died of a sickness a year later.

And Bianca?

She threw a few tantrums, realized she couldn't stop me from taking her place. Then, she broke Alessio's heart, ditched him, and ran off with some French painter who'd been chasing her.

That night, Alessio got drunk off his ass.

I walked into his room with a cup of tea.

He looked up, his normally cool eyes filled with pain and desperation.

I put the tea down to comfort him, but he pulled me down onto the bed.

He devoured me with his kisses. A storm of pure desperation.

The moment he was inside me, I closed my eyes and let myself drown with him.

I thought he felt it too. That we were two broken souls finding comfort.

How naive. Now I know the truth.

I was the only one who drowned.

The car stopped at the gate of the Ricci estate.

The butler came to the door. "Miss Hanson, you've returned."

Miss Hanson.

I stopped. I looked at the old butler who had served the Ricci family for thirty years.

What a fucking joke.

I'm the true daughter of the Ricci family, but he calls me Miss Hanson.

Three years ago, when I first came home, Gianni said, "You've been Marcella Hanson for so long. It's just a name, no need to change it."

Alessio nodded. "Right. You're used to it."

Now I get it.

They didn't want me to change my name back to Ricci. It wasn't about what I was "used to."

It was an unspoken message to everyone: Bianca was the only Miss Ricci in their hearts.

And I would always be the outsider, the replacement with the Hanson name.

But I don't care anymore.