The Mafia King's Unwanted Pregnant Wife

Alessia POV:

My heart felt like a lead weight in my chest as I turned from the gallery. The air, thick with cigar smoke and the cloying scent of Serena’s cheap perfume, was suffocating. I needed to get out. I needed to breathe air that wasn't tainted with betrayal.

I took the back staircase, my hand trailing along the cold stone wall, avoiding the celebration, avoiding the pitying or scornful looks.

As I reached the bottom of the stairs, a figure stepped out from the hallway, blocking my path.

Serena.

She held a glass of champagne, a smug, victorious smile on her perfectly painted lips. “Alessia. I didn’t expect to see you down here. Shouldn’t you be resting?” The fake concern in her voice was like nails on a chalkboard.

“I was just leaving,” I said, my voice flat. I tried to step around her.

She moved with me, blocking me again. “Leaving so soon? But the party is for us. For my son. Your future stepson.”

“He will never be my stepson,” I said, the words cold and sharp.

Her mask of friendliness dropped, replaced by a venomous sneer. “Oh, but he will be. Dante adores him. He adores me. He’s tired of a cold wife who can’t even give him the time of day.” She took a deliberate step closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “He told me everything. He’s going to reject you. Tomorrow. In front of everyone.”

Her words confirmed the thought I’d intercepted, but hearing them from her lips was a fresh wave of pain. My body swayed, and I reached out a hand to steady myself against the wall.

“I will be the Don’s wife,” she hissed, her eyes glittering with triumph. “And you… you will be nothing.”

The bond I shared with Dante, the sacred link that connected our souls, felt like it was being stretched to its breaking point. A sharp, searing pain shot through me, so intense it made my vision swim.

Just then, down the long corridor, a figure emerged from the main hall.

Dante.

Serena’s eyes flickered towards him, and in an instant, her entire demeanor changed. Her triumphant sneer vanished, replaced by a look of wide-eyed terror.

Before I could even process what was happening, she let out a piercing shriek. Her hand, the one not holding the champagne, flew to her own arm, her sharp nails digging into her flesh, drawing blood.

“No, Alessia, please!” she screamed, her voice filled with manufactured panic. “Don’t hurt me! I’m sorry!”

Dante was there in a flash, the blur of his movement a testament to the power he commanded. He didn’t even look at me. His entire focus was on Serena, his hands gently taking her arm, his eyes dark with fury as he saw the bloody scratches.

“What did you do?” he snarled, his gaze finally snapping to me. It was filled with so much hatred it felt like a physical blow.

“Dante, I didn’t…”

“Be silent,” he commanded.

He used the Don’s Command. It wasn’t a shout; it was a low, guttural order infused with his power, a force that demanded obedience. It slammed into me, an invisible fist that stole my breath and clamped down on my will. My body froze, my mouth refusing to form the words of my defense. My own soul, bound to his, was being used as a weapon against me.

“Get out of my sight,” he commanded, his voice shaking with rage as he cradled Serena against his chest.

Every instinct screamed at me to stay, to fight, to make him see the truth. But the Command was absolute. It was a physical force, pushing me, compelling me. My feet began to move against my will, each step an agonizing betrayal of my own body.

My own inner wolf, the core of my being, whimpered in confusion and pain. He was our mate. He was supposed to be our protector. Why was he hurting us?

“Dante, please,” I managed to whisper, the words tearing from my throat despite the force holding me silent. “I am your mate. I carry your son.”

He didn’t even look at me. His eyes were fixed on Serena, his expression softening as he comforted her. “Leave,” he said, his voice cold and final. “Now.”

My heart didn’t just break. It shattered. The pieces turned to dust inside my chest.

As I turned, forced away by his power, I whispered one last thing, so quietly I knew he wouldn’t hear it over Serena’s fake sobs.

“Goodbye, Dante.”

Each step away from him was agony, his power a crushing weight on my soul. But with each step, the dust of my shattered heart began to solidify, not into love, but into something hard and cold and unbreakable.

Ice.