A Mafia Wife’s Wrath

Everyone knew I, Isabella Marino, was Vince Moretti's greatest weakness—the one thing the mafia boss would never tolerate being touched.

Years ago, when I was kidnapped, Vince disarmed himself at gunpoint, risking death to get me back, even paying his entire fortune for my ransom. To keep me from harm, he walked a razor's edge, navigating danger at every turn.

After I got pregnant, he waited on me hand and foot, barely letting my feet touch the ground.

There were rumors that he kept a pampered mistress outside—some woman he spoiled rotten. I never believed them.

But then she flaunted herself in front of me. To beg for my forgiveness, Vince cut off his own finger.

The next day, that woman slapped her pregnancy test results in my face, sneering, "Vince wanted a baby with me so badly, he just couldn't help himself!"

I was already frail. The shock and rage sent me into a miscarriage.

"Vince just had to have a baby with me," Sophia Castellano said, her voice syrupy and smug. "He couldn't get enough of me last night. The pregnancy test results are out, and guess what?"

I stared at the fresh bruise blooming along her neck and the pregnancy test results she waved in front of my face. It felt like Vince Moretti had stabbed me from behind.

This wasn't her first time showing up. Yesterday was the first.

She came to me with a video—her and Vince tangled together—and tossed a black-gold credit card onto the table like it meant nothing.

Then she draped herself across a lounge chair, tilted her sunglasses down just enough to look at me with disdain. "No wonder Vince's not in love with you anymore," she sneered. "You're all used up. There's a million on that card. Take it and leave him."

Then came the declaration. "Honestly, he doesn't love you anymore. I didn't have to come, but Vince wants to give me a wedding. That means you two need to get divorced."

I almost laughed at that.

We needed to get divorced? Did Vince even know about this?

"Does Vince know you came to talk to me?" I asked, watching her casually.

She lifted her chin, confident that her place in Vince's heart was unshakable. Then she called him.

"Vince, come over, would you? There's a woman here you need to deal with."

Vince did come. Quickly, too. That much was true.

But the moment he saw me, his expression froze.

Sophia didn't notice. Or maybe she didn't care. Proud of her ability to summon him, she picked up a cup of hot tea from the table and poured it over my head.

I gave her a cold laugh. "Who gave you the guts to provoke me?"

The next moment, Vince stormed forward.

Sophia thought he was there to back her up. She smiled at him, right until he grabbed her by the hair and kicked her, again and again.

She couldn't even straighten up. Her face twisted with disbelief as his men finally dragged her out.

Until yesterday, the entire Macallum City border had been buzzing—rumors of a soft, pampered woman Vince doted on. They said he took her everywhere. Said she fainted at the sight of blood, so he kept her away from anything ugly. Said he spoiled her beyond reason.

I never believed it.

When I was kidnapped, Vince risked a bullet to the head and gave up everything to bring me home. When I went missing near the city border, he searched for me through the mountains, seven days and seven nights. Came back with his leg mangled from an animal attack. And still, all he did was hold me and whisper, "Isabella, don't be scared. I'm here."

All these years, he walked on knives for me. Every scar on his body told that story. Just to keep me safe.

So when Sophia stood before me, flaunting that video of them, I held it in trembling hands and choked out the words, "So the rumors... they're all true?"

He panicked. "I'm sorry, I'll take care of her, okay? I'll make her disappear—just please forgive me, Isabella..."

The hospital lights were the next thing I saw. I'd fainted from the shock.

I was already weak. Pregnant. The doctor warned me—emotional distress could easily lead to a miscarriage.

For years, no one in Macallum City's underworld dared touch me, not with Vince's power behind me. And now it was he who had sent me to the ER.

On the gurney, before they wheeled me into the emergency room, one thought kept repeating, 'This version of Vince is filthy. I don't want him anymore.'

But when I came out, he was on his knees.

No words. Just a knife.

He raised his hand and, with one swift motion, severed his own pinky finger in front of me.

"Isabella, it's my fault. I betrayed you. Please, forgive me. Just this once. I'm begging you."

We'd been in love for ten years. Of course, I felt the pain. So I gave him another chance.

And now, today, I was staring at the fresh bruises on Sophia's neck and the pregnancy test results she'd just slapped in my face.

Vince said he was going to "handle her." Apparently, that meant crawling back into her bed.

Reality landed like a slap—hard, final. It shattered every last piece of softness I had left.

The heartbreak was sharp, cutting through me like glass. And it brought with it a deep, tearing pain in my belly.

I felt it—blood, warm and sudden.

I knew.

My child wasn't going to make it.