Divorcing the Mafia Heir

Aria’s POV

When I opened my eyes again, I almost wished I hadn’t.

Every inch of my body throbbed as if I had been beaten from the inside out. There was a hollow weight in my chest, a strange emptiness that felt worse than pain.

“Mrs. Russo… you’re awake.”

A female doctor stood beside the bed, relief flickering across her face. “We were afraid we might lose you.”

My throat felt scorched raw. My limbs were heavy, bruised, foreign. I blinked against the harsh hospital lights, disoriented. For a few seconds, I didn’t understand where I was or why my body felt like it had survived a war.

Then it all came back.

The transfusion. Enzo’s order. The dizziness. The shouting. The darkness swallowing me whole.

My heart began to pound.

I turned my head slowly toward the doctor, dread crawling through my veins.

She was trying to maintain a professional expression, but I saw it—the sympathy.

“My baby…” The words scraped out of my throat. “Is my baby…?”

She hesitated.

That single pause told me everything.

My stomach dropped as though I were falling from a great height. The doctor inhaled carefully and shook her head.

“I’m very sorry,” she said softly. “We tried everything. But the pregnancy couldn’t be saved.”

For a moment, the world went silent.

Then the sound that came out of me didn’t feel human.

It tore from somewhere deep and broken. My chest constricted violently, as if someone had punched straight through my ribs. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t accept it.

I had thought I was beyond tears.

I was wrong.

I sobbed until my body shook, until my throat burned, until the grief felt like it might split me open. I cried for the child I had already imagined holding. For the tiny heartbeat that had existed inside me. For the miracle I had chosen too late.

And for the man who had stolen it from me.

A part of me wished I had gone through with the abortion that morning, before I allowed myself to hope. Losing the baby now—after choosing it—felt like being carved open alive.

The doctor stayed quietly by my side, giving me space to break.

Eventually, the sobs faded into ragged breathing. I wiped my face with trembling hands, though the tears kept coming anyway.

Dominic.

The thought cut through the fog.

“What day is it?” I asked hoarsely.

“It’s Thursday,” she replied gently. “You’ve been unconscious for two days.”

Two days.

I calculated quickly. The three days Dominic had given me were nearly gone.

“I need my phone,” I said urgently, trying to sit up despite the sharp pain that protested through my abdomen.

“It’s in the drawer beside you,” she said, moving to help, but I was already reaching for it.

My hands trembled as I typed.

—I accept. Meet me at the orphanage in three hours.—

The response came almost immediately.

—Finally. I was starting to think you would hesitate forever.—

I stared at the screen for a moment before replying.

—I won’t.—

The doctor studied me carefully. “Is there anything else you need?”

I forced a brittle smile. “Did anyone come to see me?”

Her expression shifted slightly.

“No,” she admitted. “No one.”

Of course not.

Enzo hadn’t come. Camilla hadn’t come. The so-called family I had sacrificed everything for hadn’t bothered to check if I was alive.

Strangely, I didn’t feel the sharp sting I expected.

I felt nothing.

Just an emptiness where something precious had once been.

I turned my face toward the wall and lay there quietly until I heard the soft click of the door closing behind her.

After a while, I pushed the blanket off.

Every movement sent a surge of pain through my body. My stitches pulled. My muscles screamed in protest. I ignored it all.

A nurse entering the room froze when she saw me attempting to stand.

“Mrs. Russo, you shouldn’t be out of bed. You’ve lost significant blood. You need more rest—”

“I’m leaving,” I said evenly.

She blinked. “You’re not cleared for discharge. We haven’t even completed—”

“I’m not asking for permission,” I cut in, my voice steady but devoid of warmth. “Bring me whatever forms you need signed.”

She hesitated, clearly torn between procedure and something in my expression that warned her not to argue.

After a moment, she nodded and left.

When she returned with the paperwork, I signed without reading.

Standing upright felt like walking through fire. My legs trembled under my own weight. My back ached with every step. But pain was easier to endure than staying in that room another second.

I gathered my belongings and stepped into the hallway.

Halfway down the corridor, something made me slow.

Through the glass window of a private suite, I caught sight of Enzo.

He stood beside Camilla’s bed, his posture relaxed. She was sitting upright now, laughing softly at something he had said. Her cheeks were no longer pale. There were no machines beeping frantically around her.

They looked… comfortable.

Untouched by the chaos that had nearly killed me.

Enzo leaned down and kissed her forehead.

And neither of them looked even remotely concerned.