I Bought My Mafia Husband's Face

When I woke from my coma, a week had passed.

The glaring fluorescent lights made me instinctively shut my eyes.

"Dr. Vance, do you have any idea what you've done?"

"You're pregnant! And you gave that much blood. Do you have a death wish?"

My colleague's words struck me like a fist to the gut.

I stared at him, unable to process it for a moment.

My colleague sighed, "You've had too many miscarriages over the years. Your uterine wall is already paper-thin."

"If you don't keep this one, you might never be able to conceive again."

Never be able to conceive again.

The words were a dull blade, sawing at my heart.

I looked down at my flat stomach, where a tiny life was growing—my and Dante's child.

But he wouldn't care.

I lay in the hospital bed, tears silently streaming down my face.

This child had come at the worst possible time.

My phone rang. It was Dante.

"We're out of supplies," he said flatly. "Go buy some."

I paused for a moment, not understanding.

"Condoms," he added impatiently. "You've always been the one to get them. Now we're out."

A vise clamped around my heart.

"I don't want to go," I said, biting my lip.

Dante sneered. "Have you forgotten the agreement you just signed?"

"Your father's pathetic territory is now entirely dependent on my protection to survive."

"If I break the contract, your entire family will be kicked out of New York by tomorrow."

My hands clenched into fists, my nails digging into my palms.

He always knew exactly which strings to pull.

"I understand." Ignoring my colleague's advice, I left the hospital.

When I returned to the Moretti estate, the unmistakable sounds of their lovemaking drifted from upstairs.

The door to the master bedroom was ajar. Isabella's hair was disheveled, her face still flushed.

Dante was leaning against the headboard, looking at me with a lazy gaze.

"Did you get them?"

I placed the bag on the table by the door and was about to leave when a wave of nausea hit me.

My stomach churned, and I rushed to the bathroom, retching violently.

A malicious glint flashed in Isabella's eyes. She said to Dante in a wounded tone, "Don't tell me Elara is throwing up because she finds us disgusting!"

"She wouldn't dare. Kneel," Dante said coldly.

Too weary to fight, I slowly knelt by the bed, my head bowed, unable to meet their gaze.

Dante's voice came from above. "Just kneel here and watch us."

What followed was a grotesque performance of moans and rustling sheets.

I knelt by the bed, listening to their entanglement.

Every gasp and rustle was a fresh turn of a knife in my gut.

I don't know how much time passed before it finally fell silent.

"Elara, get the tissues and clean us up."

I stood up, my legs so numb that I almost fell.

When I brought the tissues over and saw the tangled sheets and used condoms, another wave of nausea washed over me.

"Hurry up, Isabella is waiting."

I mechanically handed over the tissues, then cleaned up the used items.

Every action felt like I was being slowly flayed alive.

"Alright, you can get lost now."

Dante waved his hand, as if shooing away an annoying fly.

I turned and left. The moment the door closed, the tears finally fell.

In that instant, something inside me finally shattered.

Seven years of marriage, seven years of waiting, seven years of humbling myself to please him—all of it had been a joke.

Dante Moretti, from this day forward, there is nothing between us but hate.