The Mafia Heiress's Ruthless Revenge

Alessia Moretti POV:

Dante walked out of his room, his hair still damp from the shower. When he saw me, his face broke into that devastatingly warm smile that had first made me fall in love with him.

“Morning, my queen. And our little prince.”

He moved toward me, his arms open for our usual morning embrace. My body went rigid for a split second before I forced myself to relax, to melt against his chest as I always did.

He didn't seem to notice. He just kissed the top of my head, his large, warm hand coming to rest on my stomach. “Did he behave for you last night?”

I could only smell the clean, sharp scent of his body wash. Whatever traces of last night had been meticulously scrubbed away. “He was quiet,” I managed to say.

We sat at the breakfast table. He had already laid everything out. Avocado toast, a smoothie he’d researched specifically for pregnant women. Every detail was perfect. Every perfect detail was a new form of torture.

I took a small bite of toast, the food tasting like cardboard in my mouth. I had to know. I had to hear him say it.

“The meeting must have been rough last night,” I said, my voice carefully casual. “You came in so late, I was already asleep.”

He was sipping his coffee. He looked up, and for a fraction of a second, his eyes paused. It was almost imperceptible.

Then he smiled, the picture of a tired but dedicated husband. “Yeah. Video conference with the European division. It ran until four. I didn't want to wake you, so I just crashed on the couch in the study.”

It was a perfect lie. Seamless. It explained everything.

My heart didn't break. It just sank, a dead weight in my chest. He lied. Right to my face.

I looked down, letting my hair fall forward to hide my expression. “You must be exhausted. You should try to come home early today.”

“Of course,” he said, reaching across the table to take my hand. His touch was warm and steady. “Nothing is more important than my two babies.”

The words were a curse.

After breakfast, he went to get dressed for work. He’d left the suit he wore yesterday draped over a valet stand in the hallway.

My eyes were drawn to it.

I stood up and walked over, pretending to tidy it for him. I lifted the expensive, custom-tailored jacket.

I brought it close to my face and took a deep breath.

His usual cologne, a crisp, woody scent, was barely there.

Underneath it, almost completely masked, was another fragrance. A sweet, cloying, and horribly familiar perfume.

Gardenia and tuberose, with a cold, sharp note underneath.

My blood ran cold.

It was Elara’s favorite. A niche French perfume called Seraph’s Whisper.

She had boasted to me more than once about how exclusive it was, how Dante had to have it specially flown in from Paris for her.

The pieces clicked into place. The anonymous text. The lie about the meeting. And now, the lingering scent of his mistress on his clothes.

I gripped the jacket, my nails digging into my palms.

Just then, Dante walked out of the closet, dressed in a fresh suit, looking as handsome and untouchable as a god.

He saw me holding his clothes and frowned slightly. He walked over and gently took the jacket from my hands. “Leave it. The housekeeper will take care of it. Don’t tire yourself out.”

He leaned down and gave me a goodbye kiss. His eyes, as he looked at me, were as deep and full of love as they had been yesterday.