The Mafia Queen They Betrayed

The day we were supposed to reveal the gender of our baby was the day I lost it. But rather than grieving with me, my husband Tavio humiliated me in front of everyone.

"I knew you couldn't handle this," Tavio had spat. "You can't even keep a pregnancy, Ambra. How were you ever going to run a Family and raise a child? You're incompetent."

That was six hours ago.

Now, I lay in a private room at the Santoro compound, staring at the ceiling. The physical pain was a dull throb, managed by whatever drip the Family's physician had hooked into my arm, but the mental clarity was sharpening. The doctor told me they didn't even know what was wrong — it was just the baby was gone suddenly.

I reached for the call button, but stopped when I heard voices just outside the door.

"She's waking up soon," a deep voice said. It was Maeve Ferrante. He had been my physician for years, on the Family's payroll long before I inherited the seat. "Physically, she will recover fine, Tavio. There was no permanent damage to the uterus."

"That's not what I need to hear," Tavio's voice replied. "We talked about this."

"Tavio, it's unethical," Maeve Ferrante said, though he sounded weak. He cleaned his glasses on his coat hem, the soft friction of fabric audible through the gap in the door. "She's young. She can try again."

"No," Tavio cut him off. "She can't. Listen to me. You are going to tell her that the trauma was too severe. You are going to tell her she is barren. Tell her the scarring is extensive and she will never carry a child to term again. That it was her fault."

The breath caught in my lungs.

"If you tell her that," Tavio continued, "she will break. She's already fragile. She defines herself by this. If she thinks she's broken, she'll spiral. She'll grieve, she'll go crazy, and she'll be unfit to run the Family. I need her removed from her own Family, Ferrante. And this is the fastest way to do it."

I closed my eyes, a single tear leaking out. The Santoro Family. The empire my parents had built from nothing — blood and strategy and thirty years of loyalty bought and enforced. The seat I had taken at twenty-two when they died in that plane crash. My father's hand on my shoulder the morning he boarded, squeezing once, firmly. His way of saying I will come back. He didn't.

The Family that paid for the suit Tavio was wearing, the car he drove, and the life he lived.

When I met Tavio in college, he was a nobody from a minor crime family, working two jobs just to eat. I thought he loved me. I thought I was helping him build a life with me. I didn't realize I was just an investment he was waiting to cash out.

I slowly lowered my hand back to the mattress. I turned my head away from the door, facing the window. I forced my breathing to remain shallow and even.

When Maeve Ferrante came in ten minutes later, I played my part. I listened as he lied to my face. I listened as he told me my womb was destroyed. I cried, not because of his diagnosis, but because of the betrayal that was rotting my life from the inside out. Tavio stood in the corner, looking somber, playing the grieving husband perfectly. His hand drifted to his tie, smoothing it once from knot to sternum. A slow, practiced stroke.

When I thought, that was worse. I learned the truth the moment I went home.

"Did she buy it?" a female voice asked. I knew that voice. It was Carina. My best friend since kindergarten. My blood-sister. The woman who had held my hand when my parents died.

"The doctor's story?"

"Hook, line, and sinker," Tavio laughed. It was a cruel, barking sound. "She thinks she's broken. She's going to hand the Family over to me within the week. She won't have the fight left in her to resist."

"Finally," Carina groaned. "I am so sick of waiting, Tavio. I'm sick of watching you play house with her. I want what you promised me."

"You'll get it," Tavio said. "Once I have control of the Commission's backing, I can have her removed for mental instability. I get the territories, I get the empire, and I get you."

There was a rustling of fabric, then the sound of a kiss. Wet and desperate.

"Come on," Carina whispered, her voice dropping an octave. "Just a quick one. While the bitch is not yet here. She's probably dragging her feet up the driveway."

"We can't," Tavio said, though he didn't sound convincing. "We can't risk being caught right now. She is on her way in from the compound. She could walk in any second."

"So?" Carina challenged. "Let her walk in. What is she going to do? She's weak, Tavio. You said it yourself."

"Not yet. We need the signature on the power of attorney first."

There was a pause. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. I gripped the fabric of my dress, my knuckles turning white.

"Are you sure that's all?" Carina asked, her voice changing. It became sharper, colder. "Or are you feeling guilty now?"

"Guilty? Why would I be guilty?"

"Because," Carina said, the smile audible in her voice, "you killed your own child with her just to have our own child."