Shattered Vows: The Mafia Queen Escapes

I married Julian, the city's most ruthless Mafia Don, trading my freedom and body just to keep my dying sister alive.

But when Elena needed an emergency surgery, Julian coldly denied the three hundred thousand dollars.

"Submit the request to Serena. She handles all financial approvals," he dismissed me, knowing full well his secretary despised me.

Serena intentionally stalled the funds, mocking my desperation while Julian rewarded her with a sacred blood-diamond heirloom meant only for the Mafia Queen. While they laughed over wine at a high-end restaurant, I watched my fragile sister pull her own life-support tubes to free me from my mafia enslavement. The devastating shock ripped through my abdomen, and in a horrific pool of blood on the clinic floor, I miscarried Julian's unborn heir.

Even then, Julian's only message was a cold threat, demanding I drop to my knees and apologize to Serena for my attitude.

I stared at the flatlining monitor, my soul completely hollowed out. I was his wife, yet he had casually handed the power of life and death over my only family to a malicious subordinate who wanted me replaced.

I didn't shed another tear. I surgically cleared the tragic remains of my pregnancy, packed the bloody tissue into a sealed medical cooler along with my signed severance papers, and had it delivered straight to the Don's mahogany desk before vanishing into the night.

Chapter 1

Gianna POV

The fifty-dollar transfer notification glowed on my phone screen. The aircraft's antiquated ventilation system breathed cold air onto the back of my hand, and beneath my fingernails, I could still smell the faint, astringent odor of disinfectant. I stared at the attached message from Julian's secretary: Buy yourself something nice and stop throwing tantrums. The Don denied the three hundred thousand. Beg me on your knees in front of the Capos tonight, or her life support gets cut tomorrow.

A death sentence wrapped in a digital glow.

I closed my eyes, and the memory slammed back into me—five days ago, Julian's study, thick with the scent of cedar and my desperation.

I was married to Julian Moretti, the most ruthless Mafia Don in the city. With a single signature, he could halt twelve cargo ships at the docks or compel an underground doctor to stitch his own mouth shut. I wasn't his wife. I was a line item in his ledger—a womb acquired through a marriage contract to settle my father's blood debt. I had traded my freedom and my body for one reason: to keep my older sister, Elena, alive. And to produce an heir. The sole clause in our marriage pact that gave me any leverage at all.

I remembered the weight of the requisition form in my hand, the rejection stamp a fresh wound on the paper. I pushed open the carved oak doors.

Julian stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, his broad shoulders tense under his immaculate suit. The air in the room was dense, heavy, as if the oxygen were being systematically compressed.

"Julian." My voice was a thin, vibrating thread.

"I am busy, Gianna." He didn't turn around.

"Elena needs the money. Her kidneys are failing. The underground surgeon needs three hundred thousand in untraceable cash by tonight. I submitted the request to Serena five days ago."

He finally turned. His dark eyes were flat, polished obsidian. "Stop causing unnecessary drama. You are distracting me from crucial syndicate wars."

"Drama?" A band of iron tightened around my ribs. "My sister is dying."

"I told you to follow protocol. Submit the request to Serena. She handles all financial approvals."

"She is your executive liaison, but I am your wife!" I moved closer. "Please, Julian. One word from you, and the money is wired. Save her."

He looked at me like I was a hysterical child. "Serena manages the legitimate fronts. I will not undermine her authority because you refuse to follow basic rules." He walked past me, his sleeve not even brushing my arm, leaving only the cold scent of cedar. "And Gianna—the fertility window closes in three days. The doctor will be at the estate. Be there."

Not a request. A breeding schedule.

I stood alone in his study, my reflection a ghost in the dark window glass. My hand moved instinctively to my still-flat stomach. I had already missed one cycle. The clinic had confirmed it three days ago—but I hadn't told him. Not yet. Not until I understood whether this child was my salvation or just another chain.

I ran to Serena's office. She sat behind her massive glass desk, perfectly manicured nails tapping against the surface, a vicious little smile playing on her lips.

"Where is the money, Serena?"

She twirled a crystal pen between her fingers. "You lack itemized receipts. I question the legitimacy of this underground surgeon. The Don requires my approval for any personal expense over two hundred dollars."

"I gave you the contacts. You have everything."

"I am simply too busy managing the Don's empire. I forgot to wire the funds." She leaned back in her leather chair. "Maybe if you showed me some respect, I might remember."

She wanted me to beg. And even if I did, she would find another reason to delay. This was not incompetence. This was a hunt. And I was the prey.

I found Julian in the grand foyer.

"Julian. Meet me at the syndicate's legal fixers tomorrow at ten in the morning. We are severing this marriage."

He stopped. His gaze turned lethal. "Consider who provides your protection. Consider how you survive. Both your sister's life and your future require my wealth. Do not back yourself into a corner without an exit."

His phone rang. Serena's name flashed on the screen.

His tone instantly softened. "Serena. The operational delays are not your fault. I will take you to the exclusive underground auction tonight as a reward." His eyes flicked to me, cold and dismissive. "Learn from her. She delivers value. You deliver complaints."

He walked away, footsteps echoing on cold marble.

A sharp cramp ripped through my lower abdomen. I doubled over, pressing a hand to my stomach. My fingertips went numb, my breathing shallow.

My phone buzzed. A message from the underground clinic doctor: Blood test confirmed. You are seven weeks pregnant. Your stress levels are critical. Risk of immediate miscarriage. You require monitoring.

I stared at the screen. I was carrying the child of a man who was letting my sister die. The heir he demanded. The leverage I had hidden. The secret that would either save us both—or destroy whatever was left of me.

And I had just threatened to leave him. If he knew, he would lock me in a gilded cage until the child was born. Then discard me completely. Elena would die while I was imprisoned as nothing more than a breathing incubator.

I had three days until the fertility window closed. Three days until he demanded I present myself to his doctor. Three days until he discovered the truth.

Elena didn't have three days.