Nine Months Pregnant, I Left the Mafia Heir Who Chose His Mistress

After Serafina moved into the compound, Dominic practically welded himself to her side. He orbited her like a man bewitched, trailing the scent of her perfume through hallways that had once belonged to me.

And me? I stopped expecting anything from him the moment I saw the truth carved into the lines of his face when he looked at her. Whatever remnants of loyalty our blood-bound union had once commanded were gone, burned away like old debts settled in gasoline.

One night, heavy with the child pressing against my ribs, I descended the staircase to fetch a glass of water. The compound was quiet at that hour, the marble floors cold beneath my bare feet, the only sound the distant ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer. But as I passed the guest suite on the second floor, I heard her voice slipping through the door she had left carelessly ajar.

"Dominic," she cooed, her tone honeyed and deliberate, "I heard the Moretti Family signet ring has real power behind it. Old-world protection. The baby's been keeping me up at night. Could I borrow it for a while?"

I stopped walking. My hand found the wall for balance.

The signet ring was not a piece of jewelry. It was the blood and bone of the Moretti legacy, a relic forged in the old country and carried across the Atlantic by the first Don to plant the family's flag on American soil. Whoever wore it was recognized as the rightful Donna Moretti, the matriarch, the woman whose word carried the weight of the Family's name. Dominic had placed it on my finger the night of our wedding, his hands steady and his eyes locked on mine. He had closed my fingers around it and spoken with a gravity I had never heard from him before or since.

This is yours. Forever. Because there will never be another Donna Moretti.

His voice pulled me out of the memory. Not the voice from that night, warm and certain, but the voice he used now. Softer. Careful. The voice of a man already surrendering.

Through the gap in the door, I watched him press a gentle kiss to Serafina's cheek, his lips lingering against her skin. He smiled at her the way he had once smiled at me, in a life that felt like it belonged to someone else.

"Of course. I'll ask her for it. You can wear it as long as you want. At least until the baby's born."

A sharp, clean pain drove through the center of my chest, precise as a stiletto between the ribs.

I could no longer recall the exact words of his promise. The syllables had eroded, worn smooth by months of silence and cruelty. But it didn't matter. Because clearly, neither could he.

I took a step back. The hardwood beneath my foot groaned, a single traitorous creak that split the quiet like a gunshot.

Dominic opened the door. He found me standing in the dim corridor, one hand braced against the wall, the other resting on my swollen belly. Something flickered across his face. Surprise. Then guilt, brief and bright as a struck match before he smothered it. He stepped out, pulled the door shut behind him, and guided me to a shadowed alcove at the far end of the hallway, away from Serafina's hearing.

"Adriana. You heard that, didn't you?" His voice was low, careful, the way a man speaks when he knows he is standing on thin ice but cannot bring himself to step back.

I said nothing.

He shifted his weight. Ran a hand along his jaw. Then he spoke again, and each word landed like a stone dropped into still water.

"Serafina's been having trouble sleeping. Do you think you could let her borrow the ring for a bit?"

I nodded slowly. At that same moment, a vicious cramp twisted through my side, deep and hot, and I pressed my teeth together until the pain dulled to something I could swallow.

"I'll give it to her. But on one condition."

Dominic's face transformed. Relief broke across his features like dawn over the harbor, open and unguarded in a way I had not seen in months. He stepped toward me, arms already rising to pull me close, but I retreated before his hands could find me.

Serafina's perfume clung to his shirt, his collar, his skin. The cloying sweetness of it crawled into my throat and settled there like bile.

"I'm glad you're finally coming around," he said, and the smile he offered was genuine, almost boyish. The smile of a man who believed the difficult part was over. "Once Serafina has the baby, I'll return it. Don't worry. Your place in this Family isn't going anywhere."

So he did remember what the ring stood for. He simply didn't care enough to honor it.

"I don't care if she never gives it back," I said quietly. "I just need you to sign something."

I turned and climbed the staircase. Each step cost me, the weight of the child and the weight of everything else pressing down on my spine. But I kept my back straight. A Valente does not bend where others can see.

A minute later, I returned with the annulment papers in hand, already folded open to the page that required his signature. I held them out to him under the amber glow of the hallway sconce.

"There's no need to be upset," he murmured, his tone the practiced gentleness of a man who believed he was managing a woman's emotions. "Serafina's not going to keep it forever. Like I said, I'll return it once she has the baby."

He took the pen I offered. He signed without reading a single line, his signature a careless slash of ink across the bottom of the page. He did not look at the heading. He did not scan the clauses. He signed the dissolution of our blood-bound union the way he might sign a receipt for a case of wine.

The moment the papers were back in my hands, the storm inside me went still. Not peace, exactly. Something colder. Something final. I had never expected it would be this easy. That the end of everything could fit so neatly into the space between one heartbeat and the next.

Dominic gave me a small, indulgent smile. "I know I haven't been there for you these past few months. Go ahead and buy whatever you want. I'll have Marco handle the accounts."

So that was why he had signed so readily. He thought this was a tantrum. A pregnant woman's bid for attention, soothed by the promise of an open line of credit. He believed I was bargaining for jewelry and designer bags, not my freedom.

I twisted the signet ring from my finger. The metal resisted for a moment, warm from my skin, reluctant to leave. Then it slid free, and I held it out to him, my face betraying nothing.

For a moment, he hesitated. His eyes dropped to the ring in my open palm, and something passed behind them. A flicker of recognition. A whisper of what this meant. But the whisper died before it could become a thought, drowned by the pull of the woman waiting for him on the other side of that door.

He took the ring. His fingers closed around it, tight, possessive.

"Don't worry. Once the baby's born, it'll be yours again," he repeated. The words sounded rehearsed now, hollow, as though he needed to speak them aloud not to reassure me but to convince himself.

I felt nothing.

"She can wear it for as long as she wants," I said.

Something in my voice, or perhaps in the flatness of my expression, overwhelmed him with emotion he mistook for gratitude. He pulled me into an embrace. I shoved him off immediately, both palms flat against his chest, and he stumbled back half a step. But he didn't seem to mind. He didn't even seem to notice. He was already turning, already reaching for the guest suite door, already gone.

A second later, I heard Serafina's voice rise in a squeal of delight, bright and sharp as breaking glass.

I stood alone in the corridor, staring out the tall window at the end of the hall. Beyond the iron gates of the compound, the city lights shimmered against the black water of the harbor. Somewhere out there, past the docks and the warehouses and the territories carved up by men who thought they owned the world, a plane would be waiting.

Tomorrow was the day I would leave. And this time, I would not hesitate.