He Let Our Daughter Die for His Ex’s Child!

I was dead. At least, that’s what the world would believe soon enough.

The divorce papers were still in my hand when I walked out of the De Luca estate for the last time, my face stinging from Lorenzo’s slap, my heart a hollow shell in my chest. The guards didn’t stop me. No one did. I was nothing now. Not a wife. Not a mother. Just another discarded woman in the mafia’s brutal world.

I gritted my teeth and clutched the small duffel bag tighter—Amara’s things. Her favorite stuffed bear, her tiny shoes, the last traces of her existence. Lorenzo could take everything else. The money, the title, the house I built with him. But I would never let him erase my daughter.

I walked until my legs burned, my mind replaying everything—the slap, the accusations, the disgust in his eyes. The way he let Isabella and that bastard child humiliate me. I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat. This wasn’t over.

I dialed a number with shaking fingers. The line rang twice before a familiar voice answered.

"Valeria?"

“Ronan,” I breathed, the weight of the night crashing down on me. “I need you.”

A pause. Then—"Where are you?"

“Doesn’t matter. I need a car, a body, and a fire.” My voice was steel now. “I need the world to think I’m dead.”

Another pause, then a low chuckle. "You finally woke up, huh?"

A sharp exhale left my lips. “Just tell me you can do it.”

"I can."

"Good. Make it convincing."

"Consider it done. You just focus on disappearing."

I ended the call and threw my phone into the nearest storm drain. I was no longer Valeria De Luca. That woman died tonight.

The plan was simple. Ronan, a man I had once saved from death, owed me more than a few favors. He got me a stolen car, a fresh set of documents, and most importantly—a corpse. The body belonged to a woman of my height, my build. A nameless girl who had met a cruel fate in the hands of some low-level thugs. I would have felt guilty if I still had the capacity for guilt. But right now? Survival mattered more.

We drove the car to the outskirts of the city, an abandoned stretch of road near a cliff. Ronan positioned the corpse in the driver’s seat, doused everything in gasoline, and lit a cigarette. But there was one last thing I had to do before I vanished.

One last call. To say goodbye.

To him.

I pressed Lorenzo’s number, my heart pounding. It rang. Once. Twice. Then—

“Lorenzo isn’t available,” a sickeningly sweet voice purred.

My stomach twisted. “Isabella.”

She laughed softly, and it sent ice down my spine. “You really are pathetic,” she sighed. “Calling him one last time, hoping he’d change his mind? How tragic.”

I gritted my teeth. “Put him on the damn phone.”

“Why?” she taunted. “So he can slap you again? So he can tell you how much of a whore you are?”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, gripping the phone so tight my knuckles turned white. “You think you’ve won?”

“Oh, Valeria,” she giggled. “I already have.”

I stayed silent, my pulse hammering in my ears. And then she said something that shattered what was left of my restraint.

“Funny how your daughter died,” she mused, her voice thick with mockery. “When the truth is—Dante was never sick.”

The world tilted. My breath caught. “What?” I whispered.

She laughed. A cruel, victorious laugh. “We just pretended,” she continued, the amusement dripping from her tone. “And Lorenzo? He fell for it like a fool.”

I couldn’t breathe.

Amara died… for nothing. Lorenzo gave her blood to a boy who didn’t even need it. They had killed my daughter for a lie!

The call ended, Isabella’s laughter still ringing in my ears. I sat frozen, the phone slipping from my grasp. My hands trembled. My vision blurred. The world spun into a haze of pure, uncontrollable rage.

I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I just burned.

Isabella. Lorenzo. Every single person who stood by and watched. They would pay. All of them.

“You sure about this?” Ronan asked, watching me carefully. “Once this burns, you can’t come back.”

I looked at the flames reflected in his lighter. “I’m already gone.”

He flicked the lighter into the car. Fire roared to life, devouring the interior in seconds. The heat licked at my skin as I stepped back, watching the woman who would take my place in death turn to ash.

Sirens would come soon. The De Lucas would be informed. Lorenzo would hear about his ex-wife’s tragic demise in a fiery accident. And he would feel nothing.

Good. Because I wasn’t doing this for him. I was doing this for me. For Amara. For every moment I had wasted loving a man who never deserved me.

By sunrise, I was gone.

Ronan got me out of the city, slipping me through the cracks of the underworld where no De Luca could reach. A new identity. A new face to the world. But inside? I was still me. Still the woman who had lost everything. Still the woman who would make them pay.

I stared at my reflection in the grimy motel mirror, running a hand through my now jet-black hair. My blonde locks had been a signature, something Lorenzo used to run his fingers through, whispering promises he would never keep. Now, that woman no longer existed.

"Welcome back to hell," I muttered to myself.

The world thought Valeria De Luca was dead. But the woman I had become?

She was just getting started.