His Vow, Her Vendetta

Alessia POV

The echo of the second slap hung in the heavy, cigar-scented air of the office. Dante's face remained turned, a thin red line from the sharp edge of my diamond ring slowly welling with a single drop of blood.

I didn't flinch. I didn't step back. Instead, I slowly lowered my hand and rested it flat against my lower abdomen.

"I am carrying your heir, Dante," I said, my voice slicing through the silence like a blade. "The next Don of the Moretti family."

From the floor, Bianca gasped, the color instantly draining from her face as the reality of my words shattered her delusions. Dante’s head snapped back to me. The violent storm in his pitch-black eyes froze, replaced by a shock so profound it momentarily stripped away his ruthless facade.

I held his gaze, refusing to let him look away. "If I walk out of this building without your protection, our enemies will put a bullet in my head before I reach the street. Is that the legacy you want for your son? To be born in a coffin? Is that the Vendetta you want to start over my dead body?"

Dante's jaw clenched so hard I thought his teeth might shatter. The Don in him—the absolute ruler sworn to protect his bloodline and avoid senseless war—warred with his pride. For the first time, his resolve to banish me fractured.

I didn't wait for his permission. I had delivered my ultimatum. I turned on my heel and marched toward the heavy oak doors.

Before my hand could even brush the brass handle, a massive hand clamped around my arm. Dante yanked me backward, his broad chest hitting my spine.

"So that's your play?" he hissed, his voice a low, furious rumble against my ear. "Using my son—my blood—to blackmail me?"

The accusation felt like a poisoned dagger twisting in my chest. He still thought the worst of me. I ripped my arm from his iron grip, turning to meet his lethal glare with absolute ice.

"I'm not using my child, Dante," I corrected him, my tone dead and hollow. "I'm using my life. There's a difference."

I didn't look back as I walked out of his sanctuary. At the threshold, Leo Falcone, Dante’s imposing Capo and head of security, stood like a stone sentinel. He had heard everything. As I brushed past him into the dim corridor, I heard Leo’s low, gravelly voice murmur into the office.

"Don, she is pregnant. You cannot let her leave alone."

The gray marble corridor felt suffocating, the heavy carpet absorbing the sound of my trembling footsteps. I just needed to get to my room. But a shadow stepped into my path, blocking my way.

Bianca. She had slipped out right after me, her eyes burning with toxic jealousy and a desperate need to win.

"Packing your bags, sister?" she sneered, crossing her arms in a pathetic display of triumph. "A Rinaldi will always be a Rinaldi. You don't have the stomach to be a Moretti Queen."

I stopped, looking at her not with anger, but with profound pity and disgust. She had no idea what world she was trying to play in.

"Perhaps Dante can keep you," I replied, my voice dripping with aristocratic disdain. "Every Don needs a whore for the nights his wife is otherwise occupied."

Her smug expression shattered. I turned my back on her, dismissing her entirely, and continued down the hall. It was the ultimate insult to a narcissist.

Behind me, a feral shriek tore through the quiet corridor.

"You bitch! Go to hell!"

Two hands slammed violently into my spine. The sheer force of the shove caught me completely off guard. My feet slipped on the thick carpet, my center of gravity failing as I pitched forward toward the unforgiving marble floor.

In that exact split second, the heavy oak doors of the office swung wide open, and Dante stepped out into the corridor.