The Pregnancy I Faked, His Empire I’ll Break

My voice made Enzo flinch so hard he almost dropped the bassinet.

A loud wail tore through the quiet room.

A corner of the blanket slipped, revealing a tiny face, fragile from a premature birth.

And a pair of eyes that stood out, even in the dim light… ice-blue eyes.

Morozov eyes.

In that instant, the expression on Enzo’s face shifted.

From the terror of being caught red-handed, to a fleeting flicker of guilt, and finally, settling into cold, hard resolve.

This was his only way out.

He took a sharp step back and slammed the bassinet down at the foot of my bed.

“My God! Marcella!”

Enzo let out a deafening roar as his performance began. “Look what you’ve done! You gave birth to… a child with Morozov eyes!”

Startled by the sudden jolt and the shouting, the baby cried even harder.

I watched it all, cold and still. My gaze went past the crying infant, nailing Enzo to the spot.

“Nice performance,” I said, my voice flat. “But the night is young.”

But my voice was drowned out.

The door burst open. Eliana, who had been waiting in the hall, rushed in.

She was in a hospital gown, pale and weak, but her voice was surprisingly loud.

“What is it? Enzo, what’s happened?”

Eliana ran to the bed. When she saw the ice-blue eyes in the bassinet, she let out a well-rehearsed, dramatic scream.

She covered her mouth, fake tears instantly welling in her eyes.

“Oh, Holy Mother… Sister Marcella…”

She pointed a trembling finger at me, her eyes full of feigned disbelief and heartbreak. “How could you? For power… you betrayed the family and slept with those filthy Morozovs?”

Right on cue, the hallway flooded with people. Doctors, nurses, family Capos, soldiers.

Clearly, they had all been invited to watch the show.

Every eye was fixed on the bassinet, on the pair of eyes that did not belong to the Falcone family.

Shock.

Then, overwhelming fury.

“A Morozov bastard!”

“We’re out there bleeding for this family, and our Donna is sleeping with the enemy!”

“Kill her! Kill the traitor!” The crowd was a sea of rage.

The soldiers’ eyes glinted with murder, low growls rumbling in their chests.

In wartime, there was no greater crime than siding with the Morozovs.

Enzo stood in the center of it all, his back ramrod straight.

He looked at me with a mask of anguish, even squeezing out a few crocodile tears.

“Marcella, I loved you, I trusted you… and you bring this shame upon me.”

He took a deep breath, using his Don’s presence to quiet the chaos. “As the Don of the Falcone family, I will not tolerate this betrayal that taints our bloodline!”

Enzo raised his right hand, pointing his finger at my nose, his voice cold and merciless.

“I hereby strip Marcella of her title! She is no longer Donna! She is no longer one of us!”

Eliana, hiding behind him with a faint smirk on her lips, was still crying out, “Enzo, she must have been confused… can’t you spare her?”

“Traitors don’t deserve to live!” Enzo cut her off righteously, then roared at the doorway, “Enforcers! Seize this traitor and throw her in the dungeons!”

The death sentence was passed.

Everyone expected me to cry, to beg for mercy.

I didn't.

I just sat there calmly, as if the person being condemned was a complete stranger.

Just then, Eliana’s gaze shot to my bed.

To the slight lump under the covers.

She finally realized it. Her perfect drama was missing a key prop.

A heartbroken mother needed to be clutching her ‘stolen’ child to make the accusation stick.

She gasped, her face twisting into a perfect portrait of victimhood.

“My baby!” Eliana shrieked, her voice cracking with a panic so real it was chilling.

She pointed a shaking finger at me, her performance hitting its crescendo as tears streamed down her face. “She has my baby! Enzo! She swapped our children! She was jealous that I gave you a pure-blooded heir!”

The sudden accusation stunned everyone into silence.

“She’s hiding him! Give me back my son!”

Eliana became a madwoman. She lunged for the bed, shoving a nurse aside and clawing at the sheets, her hands reaching out in desperation.

“My baby…” she murmured, her hands closing around the swaddled cloth.

She lifted the bundle.

And froze.