The Ruthless Capo Steals His Queen

Lena POV:

I sat at the long dining table, the cold takeout food leaving the texture of wet paper in my mouth.

A hot, bitter resentment coiled in my gut, scalding the back of my throat.

I knew exactly what kind of "family business" Marco was handling tonight-the kind that left more than blood on his hands.

In that cold, silent moment, I completely abandoned the idea of ever telling him about the heir growing inside me.

I rose, the legs of my chair scraping against the floor, and scraped the remains of my dinner into the trash, taking a grim satisfaction in burying the shredded pieces of my pregnancy report even deeper under the damp coffee grounds.

Marco did not return to the estate until the hours had bled into midnight.

I lay stiffly on my side of the massive bed, keeping my breathing slow and metronomically even.

I heard the shower run from the master bath. A few minutes later, the mattress dipped under his weight.

He slipped under the heavy covers, his strong arms wrapping around me from behind.

I instinctively shrank away from his touch, my spine turning to rigid iron.

He did not seem to notice, and pulled me closer, his chest pressing against my back.

"What is it?" he murmured, his voice low and thick with a fatigue that was not entirely feigned.

I gave a muffled sound, feigning a deep sleep.

Marco, completely oblivious to the war raging inside me, simply brushed a kiss against my shoulder and let it go.

The next morning, he left early to inspect the legitimate fronts the Family owned.

He had left a plate of warmed breakfast on the kitchen counter for me.

I ate the meal in a daze, the realization settling like a stone in my stomach that I had foolishly mistaken his calculated, dutiful care for true love.

My phone chimed with a notification.

Sophia had created a group chat for our old academy crew, announcing her ostentatious return to the city.

I watched the messages roll in, a chill spreading through my veins when Marco replied almost instantly.

"I will be there on time," he wrote.

Pride, a cold and brittle thing, dictated my next move. I decided to attend the gathering at the upscale, Family-owned club downtown.

Delayed by a mountain of paperwork at my own Family's legitimate front, I arrived an hour late.

The heavy bass of the music vibrated through the floorboards as I pushed open the doors to the VIP lounge. The brass handle turned under my palm, and the hinges let out a low groan, parting the wall of sound just enough for me to slip through.

My breath stilled.

Marco was seated right beside Sophia on the plush leather sofa.

He was flashing a brilliant, carefree smile-a genuine, unguarded look I had not seen on his face in months.

Sophia noticed me first.

She greeted me with a feigned, sugary sweetness, her voice rising above the din to demand I take a penalty shot for my tardiness.

I declined the drink, taking an empty seat at the far edge of the room.

From the periphery, I watched my husband focus entirely on the woman beside him, acting as if his own wife did not exist.

Suddenly, a dark, mocking voice cut through the chatter.

"Why is the lovely Lena sitting all the way over there, instead of beside her devoted husband?"

The room went instantly, deathly silent.

I looked up and met the cold gaze of Nico Rossi.

Nico was a rising Caporegime-a man known for his ruthless efficiency and a terrifying, hair-trigger temper.

He was also my high-school rival, a man who had always taken a cruel pleasure in verbally sparring with me.

He sat in the corner booth, exuding a dark, dangerous energy that commanded respect from every associate in the room.

Sophia smirked, leaning closer to Marco.

"Did you abandon your wild bachelor lifestyle because you finally found the right person, Marco?" she asked, her voice dripping with implication.

Marco glanced at Sophia, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he looked away.

"It was a strategic move to appease the Family elders," he said casually, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.

The words landed not like a bullet, but like a shard of ice lodging itself in my chest.

The associates in the room began to murmur, questioning the validity of our union.

Someone teased that Marco had just been waiting for Sophia to return all along.

Marco tried to smooth things over, raising his hands in a conciliatory gesture.

"Lena and I are solid partners. Our families needed an alliance, so drop it," he told the crew.

I forced a cool, detached smile onto my face, refusing to let them see me bleed.

Meeting Nico's gaze, I spoke, my voice clear in the sudden quiet, publicly denying having any real romantic relationship with Marco either.

Marco frowned deeply, his jaw clenching as his gaze shifted away from mine.

Nico laughed-a harsh, grating sound that filled the room.

"Looks like with Sophia back, you finally have your shot, Bianchi," Nico mocked, inciting the room to cheer.

Marco did not deny it.

He just laughed along with them, doing nothing to stop the blatant disrespect directed toward his wife.

My hand tightened on the arm of my chair, my knuckles pressing white against the leather. I thought for a moment the antique wood might splinter under the pressure.

I stood up abruptly and rushed out of the VIP room, barely making it to the club's restroom before I was sick.

When the gathering finally ended, I walked out to the valet stand. The cool night air was a sharp bite against my skin.

A tipsy Sophia was clinging tightly to Marco's arm.

He was carefully guiding her toward his armored SUV, his hand resting protectively on the small of her waist.

Marco looked up, his eyes finding mine across the pavement. He offered a half-hearted suggestion that I ride with them.

I refused, telling him I would call my own Family driver.

Marco frowned, his mouth parting as if to speak.

But Sophia leaned heavily against his chest, complaining about her heels.

Without another word, Marco simply wrapped his arm tighter around her, turned his back to me, and drove away.