The Mafia King's Unwanted Pregnant Wife

Alessia POV:

The walk back to our wing of the house felt like traversing enemy territory. The scent of him, of them, was everywhere. Serena’s cheap floral perfume mixed with Dante’s masculine scent of leather and spice. It was a violation, an invasion that made my stomach churn.

This wasn’t my home anymore. It was a cage tainted by lies.

When I pushed open the door to our bedroom, the combined scent was so strong it felt like a slap. I saw her things—a silk robe draped over my reading chair, a pair of her shoes by the bed.

Something inside me snapped.

A raw, desperate energy surged through me. I stalked into the room, grabbing the silk robe and flinging it out into the hallway. Then her shoes. A book she’d been reading. I didn’t care who saw. I didn’t care what they thought. I was cleansing my space, exorcising her presence with a fury I didn’t know I possessed.

I was in the middle of dragging Dante’s clothes from the closet, intent on throwing them out too, when a sleek black car pulled up to the front entrance.

Dante emerged, Serena clinging to his arm. He was holding her child, whispering soothing words to him.

“This will be your new home now, little one,” I heard him say, his voice carrying on the still night air. “I’ll protect you both.”

An elderly pack member, Mrs. Bianchi, was walking by and stopped, her face breaking into a warm smile. “Don Rossi! What a beautiful family. Congratulations on your heir.”

Serena beamed, preening under the praise.

My blood ran cold. The lie was spreading. It was becoming truth in the eyes of our people.

Dante didn’t correct her. He didn’t even hesitate. He simply nodded, a possessive hand coming to rest on Serena’s waist, pulling her closer. It was a clear, public declaration.

In their eyes, I was already replaced.

He finally looked up and saw me standing in the doorway, his clothes in a heap at my feet. A flicker of annoyance crossed his face.

“Alessia,” he said, his voice tight. “I thought I told you to wait for me.”

It was such a blatant lie, such a transparent attempt to paint me as the disobedient one, that a bitter laugh almost escaped my lips.

“Why didn’t you tell her the truth, Dante?” I asked, my voice dangerously quiet. “Why didn’t you tell her that child isn’t yours? That I am the one carrying your heir?”

“Don’t make a scene,” he hissed, his eyes darting around to see if anyone was listening.

The baby in his arms began to fuss, a thin, reedy cry that instantly captured all of Dante’s attention. He turned his back on me completely, focusing on cooing at the child.

“Serena and the boy will be staying here,” he said over his shoulder, his voice devoid of any emotion. “In the master suite. You can take the guest room at the end of the hall.”

The guest room. The omega’s quarters. It was the lowest-status room in the house, reserved for visiting members of no importance. It was a public and deliberate humiliation.

He was not just replacing me. He was demoting me. Erasing me.

Any lingering flicker of hope, any tiny, stupid ember of the love I once felt, was extinguished. There was nothing left now but a hollow, aching void.

He wanted to put me in my place. Fine.

I would find a new one.