Traded To The Bratva: My Husband's Betrayal

Dante Moretti POV

I didn't shoot. Not immediately. Death was too easy for them.

I holstered my gun and stepped out from the shadows. The deliberate click of my Italian leather shoes on the concrete was the only warning they got.

"Dante!" Lucia shrieked. She scrambled off the crate, dropping the apple. It rolled across the floor, a hollow sound that died at my feet.

Marco went for his gun.

A mistake.

I was faster. I put a bullet in his kneecap before his hand even touched his waistband.

The sound of the gunshot was deafening in the enclosed space. He screamed and collapsed, clutching his shattered leg as blood began to pool beneath him.

Lucia backed away, her face draining of color. She looked from Marco to me, her eyes wide with primal terror.

"Dante, thank God! He forced me! He threatened the baby!"

I looked at Marco writhing on the floor. Then I looked at Lucia.

"I heard you," I said softly.

Lucia froze.

"I heard about the money," I said, stepping closer. "I heard about the paternity."

"No," she whispered, shaking her head frantically. "You misunderstood. I was playing along! To save us!"

"Unlock your phone," I said.

"What?"

"Unlock. Your. Phone."

She fumbled with it, her hands shaking so hard she almost dropped it. Finally, the screen lit up, and she handed it to me.

I scrolled. Texts to Marco. Photos. Dates.

*Plan B is a go. Make the call about Seraphina first. Confuse him. Then grab me.*

*He’s so stupid. He actually believes the asthma attack story.*

*Can’t wait to leave this boring life. Just need the payout.*

I scrolled back further. Seven months ago.

*Positive test. It’s yours, Marco. We hit the jackpot. I’ll pin it on Dante.*

I looked up. The rage was a cold, solid thing in my chest. It wasn't fire. It was ice. Absolute zero.

I had destroyed Seraphina. I had broken her body, her spirit, her trust. I had sent her to hell and back. For this. For a lie wrapped in a pretty face.

"Where is Seraphina?" I asked, my voice dangerously calm.

"I don't know!" Lucia cried. "She left! She's gone!"

"You staged the Russian kidnapping too, didn't you?"

Silence.

"Answer me!" I roared, the sound echoing off the metal beams.

"Yes!" she screamed. "I told Marco where she'd be! I wanted her gone! She had everything! The name, the status, you! I was just the bastard sister living in her shadow!"

I looked at Marco. He was whimpering, clutching his ruined knee.

"Get up," I told Lucia.

"Dante, please, the baby..."

"The baby isn't mine," I said. "And neither are you."

I dragged Marco by his collar, leaving a thick trail of blood. I grabbed Lucia by the arm.

"We are going home," I said. "And then, I am going to find my wife."

My phone buzzed in my pocket. My assistant.

I ignored it. It buzzed again. And again.

I pulled it out, annoyed. A video link.

*Boss. You need to see this. It's circulating on the encrypted networks.*

I clicked it.

It was a video from a club security camera. Time stamped eight months ago.

Lucia. In a VIP booth. With Marco. And two men from the rival cartel. The very cartel I was fighting when Seraphina was taken.

She wasn't just cheating. She was selling secrets. She was the leak.

I looked at her. She wasn't just a liar. She was a traitor.

And in our world, traitors don't get divorces. They get erased.

I shoved her toward the exit.

"Walk," I said. "Before I drag you."

I had to find Seraphina. I had to tell her she was right. I had to beg.

But deep down, I knew the look in her eyes when she left the apartment.

I wasn't just a husband who cheated. I was the enemy. And she was never coming back.