The Mafia King's Betrayed Wife

I stared at the plastic stick in my trembling hands, the two pink lines unmistakable against the white background. Pregnant. I was pregnant.

A tiny life grew inside me—a miracle, a new beginning.

My hand instinctively moved to my still-flat stomach, cradling the precious secret within. For the first time in months, I felt something other than despair. A fragile, flickering hope ignited in my chest.

"Maybe this will change everything," I whispered to myself, sitting on the edge of my bed in the cold servant's quarters. "Maybe now..."

Maybe now Dante would see me as more than just a convenient wife. Maybe now I would matter to him. The Moretti heir—his child—growing inside me. Surely that would be enough to earn me a place in his heart.

I clutched the pregnancy test like it was a lifeline, my thumb tracing over the window where those two pink lines had appeared. The doctor had confirmed it earlier that day, his kind eyes meeting mine as he offered congratulations I hadn't expected to receive.

"About six weeks along," he'd said. "Everything looks healthy so far."

Healthy. The word echoed in my mind as I stood up, suddenly filled with nervous energy. I needed to tell Dante. This news deserved to be shared properly, not delivered through a text message or a casual mention over dinner.

I smoothed down my simple dress—one of the few that hadn't been taken from me when I was relegated to the servant's quarters. My reflection in the small mirror looked almost pretty, color returning to cheeks that had been pale for too long.

"What should I say?" I practiced aloud, watching my lips move in the mirror. "Dante, I have something wonderful to tell you..." No, too eager. "Dante, we need to talk about something important..." Too serious.

I settled on simplicity. The truth was momentous enough without embellishment.

"Dante," I rehearsed, "I'm pregnant. We're going to have a baby."

The words felt magical on my tongue. A baby. Our baby.

With the test tucked safely in my pocket, I made my way through the mansion, my footsteps lighter than they had been in months. The staff averted their eyes as I passed—they had learned to treat me as invisible, a ghost haunting the halls of a home that was no longer mine.

Dante's study door was closed when I arrived, but light spilled from beneath it. He was home. Perfect timing.

I raised my hand to knock, then hesitated. Perhaps I should wait until dinner, create a special moment for this announcement. But no—I couldn't contain this news any longer. It was bubbling up inside me, demanding to be shared.

As I lowered my hand, I heard voices from within—Dante's deep baritone and another man's reply. His head of security, Vito.

I froze, not wanting to interrupt an important conversation. But then Dante's words drifted through the door, clear and distinct.

"The situation with the north territory is handled," he was saying. "But there's something else I want to discuss."

I leaned closer, pressing my ear against the polished wood.

"What's on your mind, Boss?" Vito asked.

"It's about Isabella," Dante replied, and my heart skipped a beat. He was talking about me.

"What about her?" Vito's voice was cautious.

Dante sighed, the sound heavy with irritation. "I've been thinking. If she ever gets pregnant, handle it."

My blood turned to ice in my veins.

"What exactly do you mean, Boss?"

"Make sure she can never have children," Dante continued, his voice cold and final. "I don't want my bloodline tainted by her weakness."

The world tilted beneath my feet. I staggered back, my hand flying to my mouth to stifle the sob that threatened to escape.

"No child of mine will come from her," Dante added dismissively. "If she gets pregnant, take care of it. Understand?"

"Yes, Boss," Vito replied.

I didn't wait to hear more. Moving on silent feet, I retreated down the hallway, one hand pressed protectively over my stomach. My precious secret had suddenly become a death sentence.

Hours later, I descended the grand staircase, my mind still reeling from what I'd overheard. Dante had returned to the mansion but was occupied with business calls. I needed space to think, to plan.

I was halfway down when I heard footsteps behind me.

"Mrs. Moretti," one of Dante's guards called out.

I turned, instinctively placing a hand on the railing for support.

They approached quickly, both men I recognized as part of Dante's inner circle. Their faces were expressionless as they drew near.

"Mr. Moretti needs you in his office," one of them said.

Before I could respond, they were beside me on the stairs. One bumped into me from behind—an accident, it would appear to anyone watching.

Except it wasn't an accident.

The force of the impact knocked me forward. My hand slipped from the railing. For one suspended moment, I felt nothing but air beneath me.

Then gravity took hold.

I tumbled down the marble stairs, each impact sending shockwaves of pain through my body. My arms wrapped instinctively around my stomach as I tried to protect the tiny life within me.

The world spun in a blur of pain and terror until finally, mercifully, I hit the bottom.

Warmth spread beneath me—blood, so much blood. My vision blurred as I looked up toward the top of the staircase.

There stood Dante, looking down at me with cold detachment. A cigar dangled from his lips, sending wisps of smoke curling into the air above him.

Our eyes met across the distance—his empty of any emotion, mine wide with shock and pain.

The last thing I saw before darkness claimed me was his face—completely devoid of remorse or concern—as he turned away and walked back into his study without a word.