A Taste of the Mistress' Revenge

It was a breezy afternoon when Jenny arrived, her face pale and her eyes darting nervously. She clutched a rolled-up newspaper in one hand as if it carried a weight too heavy for her to bear. I should have known then that her visit would change everything.

“Alicia,” she said, her voice trembling. “You need to see this.”

I was sitting on the porch, humming a tune while arranging a bouquet of daisies. Life had been simple, quiet. The bump in my stomach reminded me of the small miracle I was carrying. But as I looked at Jenny, the blood drained from my face.

“What is it?” I asked cautiously, my hands stilling.

She thrust the newspaper into my hands, and I unrolled it. My eyes locked onto the headline: “Serena De Santis-Russo and Antonio Russo Announce Pregnancy on Fifth Wedding Anniversary.”

My heart sank. Antonio Russo? My mind refused to connect the dots, but my eyes betrayed me. Right there, smiling like he hadn’t shattered my world, was Paolo—no, Antonio—standing beside an elegant woman, her hand resting on her small, but noticeable baby bump.

“No...” My voice cracked as I staggered back, the newspaper slipping from my hands. “This can’t be real.”

Jenny’s hand gripped my arm. “I tried to tell you, Alicia. I went to the city and dug around. Paolo—Antonio—he’s not who he said he was. He’s married. He’s part of the De Santis family. You… you were just a distraction.”

A distraction. The word sliced through me. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. The man I had fallen for, the father of my child, was nothing more than a lie. Every moment we shared, every whispered promise, was a cruel joke.

I stumbled back into the house, clutching my stomach as if it would keep me grounded. The baby. My baby. What had I brought them into?

Before I could even process the betrayal, there was a sharp knock on the door. Jenny and I exchanged a panicked glance. The knock came again, harder this time.

“Alicia Costa?” a gruff voice called out.

My heart raced. Something was wrong. I hesitated, but Jenny, braver than me in that moment, opened the door.

A group of men in dark suits stood there, their expressions cold and unforgiving. The leader, a burly man with a scar running down his cheek, stepped forward. “You messed with the wrong family. You should’ve stayed out of it.”

I felt my legs turn to jelly. “I don’t understand,” I stammered. “What do you want?”

“Antonio Russo,” the man sneered. “You thought you could carry his child and get away with it? Serena doesn’t take kindly to mistresses, especially ones who think they’re important.”

Mistress. The word burned. I hadn’t even considered myself one. But before I could defend myself, they stormed inside. Chaos erupted. Jenny screamed, trying to shield me, but one of the men shoved her aside. My mother came running from the kitchen, her voice rising in panic.

“Leave my daughter alone!” she shouted, stepping between me and the men.

The leader pulled out a gun. Everything froze. “Stay out of this, old lady,” he growled.

“Don’t you dare,” my mother spat back.

The crack of the gunshot echoed in the small house. My mother’s body crumpled to the ground, lifeless. A scream tore from my throat as I lunged toward her, but another man grabbed me, pinning my arms behind my back.

Jenny tried to fight them, but she was no match. A second gunshot rang out, and she fell too. Blood pooled around her.

“No! Please, stop!” I begged, tears streaming down my face. My body trembled with rage and grief, but I was powerless.

The men dragged me out of the house.

“You should’ve known better,” the leader hissed. Behind us, I heard the roar of flames. They had set the house on fire.

I thrashed against their hold, desperate to escape, but it was no use. The baby inside me stirred, a painful reminder that I had to survive this. For them. For my child. The last thing I saw before they shoved me into a van was the life I had known reduced to ashes.

As the van doors slammed shut and the engine roared to life, I made a silent vow. Whoever these people were, whoever they thought they were, Antonio and Serena Russo, they had taken everything from me. My mother. My best friend. My home. But I wasn’t done.

I clutched my stomach protectively, my tears drying as anger hardened my resolve. They would regret this. They all would.