I Married My Sworn Enemy After Being Betrayed

For a moment, I could have sworn my heart stopped beating.

The next, Rafael's deep, slightly raspy voice echoed down the hall.

"There is only one seat beside the Mancini throne. The marriage is a transaction of power. I didn't have a choice."

"Alessia is reserved, composed. I never imagined any other woman as my Donna."

Tears slid down my cheeks, seeping into the cold marble cracks.

Rafael's gaze seemed to look past the person in front of him, his mind filled with images of Alessia, a faint smile even touching his lips.

But seeing Nina before him, he snapped back to the present.

"But you, Nina... you were an unexpected complication."

"You brought me an heir."

After all, the woman before him was carrying his bloodline. He couldn't ignore her; he had to take responsibility.

His words pierced my chest, one by one.

I could no longer tell what hurt more: the mangled flesh of my leg, or my heart, which was already in pieces.

The memories of fighting side-by-side under the Sicilian sun began to flake away.

What I had thought was the trust of watching each other's backs in a hail of bullets, what I had thought was deep love, was nothing more than a prize he claimed after weighing the pros and cons.

How pathetic. The sole faith of my life had been to become his wife.

To secure his throne as Don, to clear every obstacle from his path.

The boy who put a Virgin Mary pendant around my neck with blood-stained hands after a gunfight died today.

My body finally gave out. The infected wound on my leg sent a fever raging through me.

Outside, Rafael must have finally noticed the deathly silence within. He kicked the prayer room door open, roaring at his men.

"Get out of the way! Get the family doctor over here!"

"If anything happens to Alessia, you'll all pay with your lives!"

In my delirium, I felt myself being lifted.

Then, I fell into a warm embrace.

That familiar scent, a mix of gunpowder and Cuban cigars, had once been the only sanctuary I craved.

But when I regained consciousness, my eyes opened to the ceiling of a cold, dim guest room.

Rafael sat in a high-backed chair, his face a mask of irritation and cold fury.

"Why didn't you say the wound was infected?"

"Are you always this stubborn, Alessia? When are you going to change?"

I didn't answer his question. My gaze swept impassively over the cramped, cold room.

It was obvious who was now occupying my master bedroom.

A cold smile touched my lips. I didn't even spare him a glance.

I pushed myself up and tore off the thick gauze wrapped around my calf.

The raw, newly stitched wound was exposed again. I pressed my fingertips against the rough sutures.

I kept pressing until crimson blood seeped from between the stitches, staining my fingers.

My cold indifference finally pushed Rafael over the edge. He shot to his feet. "Enough! Can't you tolerate anyone?"

"I moved Nina in for her own protection, not so you could torment her!"

"Forget it. You have eight months until Nina gives birth. Use that time to cool off. You will stay in this room and think about what you've done until you learn how to be a proper Donna!"

With that, Rafael turned and left without a second glance.

The heavy slam of the door shook dust from the corners of the room. I stared at the stark red on my fingertips.

My eyes were a barren, dead landscape.

I noticed the gash on my side had been meticulously treated by the doctor and couldn't help but let out a cold laugh.

He caused all my suffering, and now he was playing the hero?

From outside the door, I could faintly hear Nina's delicate laughter. I expressionlessly pulled out my encrypted phone.

I dialed the number for the Valentino family's Consigliere.

This Central Park penthouse had been a property I purchased under my own name.

I didn't want to stay in this heartbreaking place a moment longer.

I immediately used a shell corporation to transfer the property's title to the Russo family.

That evening, the servants prepared a lavish dinner, most of which consisted of seafood that Rafael was allergic to.

I glanced down from the second floor, remembering how I hadn't touched seafood for over a year because of his allergy when we used to dine together.

He had probably long forgotten that Italian seafood was my favorite. He was never one to compromise for me.

Now, for another woman, he could even overcome his body's own aversion.

The line between being loved and being tolerated had never been clearer.

Returning to what was once the master bedroom, I found that my luggage had already been cleared out.

That saved me some trouble.