Dumped by My Ex, I Married His Mafia Don Father

I thought it was Lorenzo, rushing back from Sicily the moment he got the news. Instinctively, I called out in a soft, spoiled whine:

"Caro, it hurts..."

"If it hurts, maybe you'll learn your lesson. Know your place."

The cold voice snapped me back to reality instantly.

Standing by the bed wasn't the imposing man I expected, but Marco.

"Why are you here?" My face went cold. "The cops didn't lock you up?"

"Elena!"

Marco sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed and trying to take my hand.

"Stop making a scene. Do you have any idea how much Frank paid to bury this? Do you want all of New York laughing at our family?"

He switched to a look of deep concern.

"Why didn't you tell me you were pregnant? Do you know how dangerous that was?"

I ripped my hand away from his.

"If you hadn't been screwing around in my house and then shoved me, would the baby be in danger?"

Marco’s eyes looked conflicted, as if he were weighing a decision.

"I'm sorry, but I still can't marry you."

He took a deep breath, his tone shifting to one of matter-of-fact entitlement.

"I know you love me. I know you renovated the house and got pregnant on purpose just to trap me. But I gave my word to my father that I'd marry Bella. The family needs a pure bloodline."

"But don't worry. Bella is kind; she'll tolerate you. You can be my comare (mistress). I'll set you up in an apartment in Brooklyn, and I'll come see you two days a week..."

I laughed out of sheer anger.

He actually thought I got pregnant to win him back? And he wants me to be his side piece?

"I refuse," I cut him off coldly.

"Why! Do you have to push me like this?!" Marco shouted, his shame turning into anger.

"If you're not with me, who else is going to want damaged goods like you? Especially with extra baggage?"

I grabbed the pregnancy report from the bedside table and smashed it into his face.

"Open your damn eyes and look! This baby has nothing to do with you!"

"And who I choose to marry has nothing to do with you either!"

"You want me to be your mistress? Keep dreaming!"

Marco held the report, stunned.

I sneered, "Three months. Marco, surely you haven't forgotten what happened three months ago?"

Hearing this, Marco’s face instantly went pale.

Three months ago was my birthday, the day he was supposed to propose.

I waited for him at a Michelin-starred restaurant for four solid hours.

All I got was a text: "Urgent business came up. I'll be late."

Finally, the restaurant closed, and I was kicked out into the pouring rain in a thin dress.

On the ride home, I scrolled past Bella’s Instagram.

"I told him I was scared of the thunder, so Marco bailed on a multi-million dollar deal just to keep me company."

The photo showed him feeding her soup, wearing the engagement ring I had picked out on his finger.

That night, in despair, I went to the family’s private club to drink my sorrows away.

Marco disappeared for the entire next day. When he finally came home, we had a massive blowout fight. He acted completely self-righteous: "She's your sister! She just got back and isn't adjusted yet. What's wrong with me taking care of her? Why are you so jealous?"

In the end, he took off the ring and threw it out the window.

"Since you feel that way, then let's just forget the wedding! If you hadn't taken Bella's spot, she was the one I was supposed to marry anyway!"

My heart died completely in that moment.

"Fine. I hope you get what you want. The engagement is off."

Marco paused as he was leaving, then said indifferently:

"Suit yourself."

That same day, Bella’s Instagram updated with photos from Paris.

Marco was holding her waist intimately, kissing her under the fireworks at the Eiffel Tower.

For three whole months, Marco was with her.

So how could the baby in my belly possibly be his?

"Three months..." Marco muttered to himself. Then his face turned from pale to red—the rage of humiliation.

Slap!

Another strike across my face.

"Elena, you slut! You slept with some random guy just to get back at me?!"

He grabbed my jaw in a death grip, his eyes murderous:

"If I had known you were carrying some bastard's spawn, I never would have brought you to the hospital!"

"Who is he?! Forget it, it doesn't matter! You're coming to the operating room with me right now. We're getting rid of this mistake!"