Nine Months Pregnant and Abandoned by a Mafia Prince

He stumbled back, voice shaking. “Jesus—who are you? What did you do to piss off Mr. D’Amico this badly?”

Even now, even bleeding, I was being judged.

“I’m…” My lips trembled. “I’m his wife.”

I stretched my hand toward him. Blood smeared the floor.

The diamond ring barely sparkled anymore. Dull. Like me.

“This… this is the ring he gave me,” I whispered. “Custom. One of a kind.”

That finally got to him.

His face went pale. “Wait here.”

He helped me sit up, then hesitated, pulling out his phone.

“Boss,” he said carefully. “I was checking inventory. Your wife is locked in the heater room. She’s bleeding badly. Should I call an ambulance?”

There was a pause.

Then Giovanni’s voice, distant and cold.

“Bleeding? From what? Did she hurt Laura’s lizard? Figures. That thing’s Laura’s baby.”

My chest tightened.

Then his voice went even sharper, colder. “Don’t take her anywhere. She’s fine. She’s acting. I’ll deal with her later.”

Click.

The call ended.

The man stared at his phone for a long second, then looked at me.

I knew that look.

Fear of the D’Amicos always won.

He turned and walked past me.

I closed my eyes. That was it.

But minutes later, I heard footsteps again.

He came back, jaw tight, muttering to himself.

“You’re pregnant,” he said, voice low, almost a whisper. “My wife is too. If I left you here… I’d never forgive myself.”

He didn’t wait for permission.

He lifted me up, wrapped his jacket around me, and called for an ambulance with hands that shook as much as mine.

When the sirens finally came, I exhaled for the first time in what felt like years.

I was alive.

Barely.

But when they rushed me into the hospital, reality slammed me again. No delivery room. No equipment. No bed.

The D’Amico family had already reserved everything. Even at the hospital… I still wasn’t allowed to give birth.

Giovanni had already sealed the city shut. Worried something might go wrong with Bianca’s delivery, he pulled strings through the syndicate and quietly reserved every usable machine in the hospital. Every operating room. Every emergency unit. Nothing left for anyone else.

One look at me was enough for the doctor to decide. Staying meant death.

She grabbed my phone, scrolled, and stopped at the contact marked ‘My Hubby’. She dialed while nurses rushed around me.

“This is a doctor,” she said fast, voice urgent. “Florence D’Ameco is in critical condition. There’s a high risk of fatal complications. You need to come now.”

Giovanni’s voice came through sharp and irritated.

“So you really crawled out,” he said. “And now you’re bribing doctors to act for you?”

He didn’t pause.

“I’m not coming back. I know your body. You’re fine. Stay where you are and stop embarrassing me.”

The call ended.

The doctor didn’t say anything. She just looked at me, then turned away and told her colleague to prepare a transfer. There was nothing else she could do.

When I realized where they were taking me, I almost laughed.

Bianca’s hospital.

The doctor tried one last time to reason with Giovanni. I heard him through the wall, his voice flat and final.

“I don’t care who else needs it. Bianca comes first. I won’t risk her life for anyone.”

My strength drained out of me and I slid down against the wall, numb.

That was when I saw him.

Giovanni’s secretary stood at the end of the hall, staring at me like he’d seen a ghost. He hesitated, then turned and hurried away.

“Sir,” he said quietly, “there’s a pregnant woman outside. She’s covered in blood. It looks like it might be Mrs. D’Amico.”

Giovanni didn’t even lift his head.

“That’s impossible,” he replied. “In her condition, she couldn’t get here.”

The secretary lowered his voice.

“Maybe you should check. If it really is her—”

Giovanni’s eyes hardened.

“If it were her, she’d already be screaming about money. She’d never let herself end up like that.”

The doctor kept pushing. Giovanni threatened her career.

She came back out a moment later and apologized to me, eyes full of regret. There was truly nothing she could do.

But I was no longer locked in the heater room. As long as I could breathe, I wasn’t giving up.

I held my belly with one hand and borrowed the doctor’s phone with the other. My fingers shook as I dialed a number I had sworn never to use again.

“Dad,” I whispered. “Please help me. I won’t disobey you anymore.”