Left For Dead: The Mob Boss's Sin

Gavin

Mafia | Completed

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My husband, the most feared mob boss in Chicago, told me it wasn't the right time for an heir. Then I found the invitation to his secret son's baptism-a child he had with a woman from our rival family. His betrayal climaxed when he shoved me so hard I miscarried our baby, and his mistress left me for dead at the bottom of a cliff. But I survived, and after watching me accept the world's highest honor for architecture on TV, he's now kneeling outside my hotel, begging the ghost he created to come home.

Betrayal Revenge Pregnancy Mafia Kickass Heroine

Chapter 16

11-04 08:46

Chapter 1

His betrayal climaxed when he shoved me so hard I miscarried our baby, and his mistress left me for dead at the bottom of a cliff.

But I survived, and after watching me accept the world's highest honor for architecture on TV, he's now kneeling outside my hotel, begging the ghost he created to come home.

Chapter 1

Elena Gallo POV:

The moment my husband, the most feared man in Chicago, stepped into the shower, a message flashed on his laptop that would sign my death warrant: *Leo De Luca's Baptism. Today.*

The water started running, a hiss of steam fogging the bathroom mirror. I stood frozen by his desk, the scent of his expensive cologne and the day's violence still clinging to the air in his study. My job was simple. Bring him his coffee, black, no sugar, just the way the Capo of the De Luca family liked it.

But the name on the screen pulsed in my vision. *Leo De Luca.*

Our name. The name Alessandro had refused to give to a child of our own.

The message was from a "Valenti" account. The Valentis. Our sworn enemies. A rival family we'd been locked in a cold war with for generations. The thought was so insane, so impossible, it felt like my brain was short-circuiting.

A private baptism. For a secret son. With a Valenti woman.

I had to see it. The need was a physical force, pulling me out of the gilded cage of our home. This was a lethal transgression. To step into Valenti territory was to invite a bullet. But the truth was a poison I had to drink.

The old stone church was deep in their territory. I slipped into the back, a ghost in the shadows, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. And then I saw him.

Alessandro. My husband.

He was standing near the altar, bathed in the light of the stained-glass windows. In his arms, he held a baby wrapped in white. A woman with fiery red hair, Scarlett Valenti, leaned against his shoulder, her hand resting on his arm. They looked like a family. A holy trinity of betrayal.

His words from months ago echoed in my head, cold and sharp. "It's not the right time, Elena. The family needs stability. Bringing an heir into this chaos would be a weakness." He'd said it while stroking my hair, his voice a low, convincing murmur that I had swallowed whole.

His "business trips." The long nights he was away, supposedly consolidating power. Were they all spent with her? With them? He had broken the most sacred rule of our world, Omertà, the code of silence. Not to the law, but to his own family. To me.

I stumbled out of the church, gasping for air on the cold street. My phone buzzed in my pocket. Alessandro's name lit up the screen.

"Where are you, cara?" His voice was smooth, the same loving tone he always used.

"Just out for a walk," I lied, my voice tight.

In the background of his call, I heard it. A baby's cry. Then a woman's soft shushing. Scarlett's. My blood ran cold. He was still there. With them.

"I need to see you," I said, the words brittle. "Now."

"Elena, I'm in the middle of something..." He hesitated.

Then a small voice, clear as a bell, yelled, "Daddy!" A little boy, maybe two or three years old, ran from the church steps and threw his arms around Alessandro's leg.

Alessandro's breath hitched. He hung up the phone without another word.

I watched from across the street as he scooped the child into his arms. He kissed the boy's forehead, a gesture of pure, unthinking affection I had craved for years. This wasn't a lie. This wasn't a political arrangement. This was real.

The memories of his pursuit flooded back. Him, the campus king, the heir to a dark throne, choosing me, the quiet architecture student. I thought it was love. It was a strategic acquisition. I had given up my scholarship, my future, to be the perfect Capo's wife. To show my loyalty.

And it was all a fucking lie.

My hand was shaking as I pulled out my phone again. I didn't call him. I dialed a number in Switzerland, one I had memorized long ago.

The director of the Zurich Architectural Fellowship answered on the second ring.

"This is Elena Gallo," I said, my voice eerily calm. "I'm calling to accept the position."