Bleeding to Death, I married the Enemy of my Mafia Husband

He tightened his bruising grip on my arm, fully intending to drag me away by force.

Panic flared in my chest. I desperately scanned the sprawling ballroom. Through the glass double doors of the mezzanine VIP lounge at the top of the grand staircase, I saw the imposing silhouette of the man I was looking for. My husband. He was in a private, high-stakes sit-down with the city's commissioners, completely unaware of what was happening below.

I yanked my arm with all my strength, the sudden, violent movement catching Ralph off guard just enough to break his hold.

I bolted toward the VIP staircase. "Let me through!" I shouted, trying to reach the steps.

I just needed him to see me. I just needed to call out to him.

But before I could even reach the first marble step, two of Ralph’s massive Syndicate guards—along with the venue's own oblivious security team—stepped into my path, forming a wall of muscle.

Because my husband had kept my identity fiercely protected and hidden from the underworld for the last three years, these men had no idea who I truly was.

To them, I wasn't a Queen. I was just Don Ralph's discarded, hysterical ex-wife causing a scene.

"Back off, lady. VIPs only," one of the venue guards sneered.

Without a second of hesitation, he raised his hands and shoved me hard in the chest.

The violent push sent me flying backward. My heels slipped on the polished floor. I crashed hard to the ground, my knees slamming into the unforgiving stone.

The sickening sound of my custom emerald silk tearing echoed in the silent room.

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd, but no one moved to help me. Kate stood a few feet away, a twisted, triumphant smile spreading across her face as she looked down at my pathetic state.

Before I could push myself up, Ralph stalked over. He crouched down and grabbed my jaw, his fingers digging into my cheeks like steel vices, forcing me to look into his dark, hateful eyes.

"You think you're strong now?" he whispered, his voice dripping with pure, concentrated venom. "You're nothing. You let our baby die inside you because you were weak. You couldn't even protect your own child. Do you really think this mysterious man in the VIP lounge loves you? They don't even know who you are. You think a real Don wants a broken, barren incubator?"

The words hit me like a barrage of bullets.

My chest heaved, and despite my desperate vow to never shed another tear for this monster, a single, hot tear slipped down my cheek. I felt entirely broken all over again.

Ralph smirked, satisfied that he had finally shattered me. "He's just using you, Entice. And when I'm done with him, I'll lock you in a cage where you belong."

He gripped my arm again, hauling me halfway off the floor.

"Mommy!" A tiny, frantic voice suddenly pierced the heavy silence.

A little boy in a perfectly tailored miniature tuxedo broke through the terrified crowd, sprinting across the marble and throwing his arms around my waist.

As I wrapped my arms protectively around my son's warm, tiny body, Ralph's cruel taunt—You let our baby die—echoed in my mind, colliding violently with the horrific truth of that night three years ago.

I hadn't miscarried. I had gone into premature labor.

As I lay bleeding out on the delivery table, terrified and alone, I had remembered the chilling words I overheard Ralph say in his study weeks prior: “Once the kid is born, I'll get rid of her.” I knew with absolute certainty that if Ralph got his hands on my baby, he would kill me and hand my child over to Kate to raise as her own.

The man who was now my husband—had been at the hospital that night. With his limitless wealth and power, he had paid off the corrupt doctors to falsify the death certificates.

While Ralph was busy comforting a crying Kate in the waiting room, my fragile, premature baby was being smuggled out the back doors in a private, state-of-the-art transport incubator.

Ralph froze. "What the hell is—" He reached down to roughly yank the kid away, but stopped dead.

His brow furrowed in furious confusion as he looked at the child's face.

But before Ralph could even process what he was seeing, a deafening CRACK shattered the room.

The security guard who had shoved me was violently thrown through the air like a ragdoll, crashing directly into a towering champagne pyramid.

The heavy mahogany doors of the VIP lounge above were kicked completely off their hinges.

A man descended the grand staircase.

"Take your hands off my wife," my husband commanded, his voice vibrating with a murderous, demonic intent that made the chandeliers rattle. His ice-cold eyes shifted to Ralph's hand hovering over the boy. "And my son."