Mafia King's Debt: My Family's Fury

Mafia King's Debt: My Family's Fury

Gavin

5.0
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At my husband's nephew's christening, I saw him across the ballroom holding a newborn with another woman. I was four months pregnant with his heir, but he was presenting her son as his own. He had built a criminal empire, and our marriage was a strategic alliance. But now, the men who toasted our wedding were congratulating him on another woman's child, their gazes sliding right past me. My mother confirmed my worst fears: he'd been paying for his mistress's apartment for months. His mistress, Selena, cornered me, her voice dripping with venom. "He chose me. And our son." The stress brought on sharp, agonizing cramps, but when my husband, Dante, rushed over, he took her side. "Calm down," he commanded. "You're making a scene." He accused me of being hysterical, of cornering his fragile mistress who had just given birth. Through a haze of pain, I watched him shield her from me, his wife, telling me to go home and "be rational." The public humiliation was absolute. In the lawyer's office, Selena slapped me, then knocked over her own baby's carrier and screamed that I had attacked her child. Dante believed her without question. As I collapsed from the pain, the last thing I saw was his back as he walked away with his new family. I woke up in the hospital. He arrived with his mistress, not to see if I was okay, but to demand I apologize to her. That was the moment the woman he married died. And in her place, someone new was born.

Chapter 1

At my husband's nephew's christening, I saw him across the ballroom holding a newborn with another woman. I was four months pregnant with his heir, but he was presenting her son as his own.

He had built a criminal empire, and our marriage was a strategic alliance. But now, the men who toasted our wedding were congratulating him on another woman's child, their gazes sliding right past me. My mother confirmed my worst fears: he'd been paying for his mistress's apartment for months.

His mistress, Selena, cornered me, her voice dripping with venom. "He chose me. And our son." The stress brought on sharp, agonizing cramps, but when my husband, Dante, rushed over, he took her side. "Calm down," he commanded. "You're making a scene."

He accused me of being hysterical, of cornering his fragile mistress who had just given birth. Through a haze of pain, I watched him shield her from me, his wife, telling me to go home and "be rational."

The public humiliation was absolute. In the lawyer's office, Selena slapped me, then knocked over her own baby's carrier and screamed that I had attacked her child. Dante believed her without question. As I collapsed from the pain, the last thing I saw was his back as he walked away with his new family.

I woke up in the hospital. He arrived with his mistress, not to see if I was okay, but to demand I apologize to her.

That was the moment the woman he married died. And in her place, someone new was born.

Chapter 1

Seraphina POV:

The crystal chandeliers of the ballroom felt like they were weeping light onto the scene of my life's demolition. I saw my husband, Dante Moretti, from across the room.

He wasn't looking at me. His gaze was fixed on the newborn cradled in another woman's arms, a look of paternal tenderness on his face I had only ever dreamed of receiving.

This was his nephew's christening. I was four months pregnant with his heir, the child meant to solidify the alliance between my family's old money and his burgeoning criminal empire.

I was supposed to be at his side, the picture of the perfect Underboss's wife. Instead, I was a ghost at my own party, watching him present another woman's son as his own.

The men who had toasted our wedding, their faces slick with false respect, now swarmed him and his new family. Their eyes slid past me, my swollen belly, as if I were nothing more than a piece of furniture.

My hand shook as I found a secluded alcove and dialed my mother.

"Sera? What is it?" her voice was sharp, cutting through my panic.

"He's here," I whispered, the words catching in my throat. "With her. And a baby."

There was a glacial silence on the other end. "That bastard," my mother, Elizabeth Hayes, finally hissed. "I knew it. My sources confirmed it this morning. He's been paying for her apartment for the last eight months."

The confirmation was a physical blow, stealing the air from my lungs. He hadn't just cheated. He had built a second life on a foundation of my money and his lies.

"He told me I was being paranoid," a raw, ugly sob escaped my lips. "That it was just the pregnancy hormones."

"You are a Hayes, Seraphina," her voice turned to steel. "You are not a victim. Do not confront him. Not yet. We will handle this."

I ended the call, a cold resolve beginning to crystallize in the pit of my stomach. Handle this? No. I would do more than handle this. I would burn his world to the ground. Just as I took a step out from behind the floral arrangement, a voice, dripping with saccharine sweetness, stopped me.

"Seraphina? You look so pale."

It was her. Selena Cole. She stood before me, a perfect picture of maternal radiance, her eyes glittering with a vicious, undisguised triumph.

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Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

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I watched my husband sign the papers that would end our marriage while he was busy texting the woman he actually loved. He didn't even glance at the header. He just scribbled the sharp, jagged signature that had signed death warrants for half of New York, tossed the file onto the passenger seat, and tapped his screen again. "Done," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. That was Dante Moretti. The Underboss. A man who could smell a lie from a mile away but couldn't see that his wife had just handed him an annulment decree disguised beneath a stack of mundane logistics reports. For three years, I scrubbed his blood out of his shirts. I saved his family's alliance when his ex, Sofia, ran off with a civilian. In return, he treated me like furniture. He left me in the rain to save Sofia from a broken nail. He left me alone on my birthday to drink champagne on a yacht with her. He even handed me a glass of whiskey—her favorite drink—forgetting that I despised the taste. I was merely a placeholder. A ghost in my own home. So, I stopped waiting. I burned our wedding portrait in the fireplace, left my platinum ring in the ashes, and boarded a one-way flight to San Francisco. I thought I was finally free. I thought I had escaped the cage. But I underestimated Dante. When he finally opened that file weeks later and realized he had signed away his wife without looking, the Reaper didn't accept defeat. He burned down the world to find me, obsessed with reclaiming the woman he had already thrown away.

He Saved Her, I Lost Our Child

He Saved Her, I Lost Our Child

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For three years, I kept a secret ledger of my husband's sins. A point system to decide exactly when I would leave Blake Santos, the ruthless Underboss of Chicago. I thought the final straw would be him forgetting our anniversary dinner to comfort his "childhood friend," Ariana. I was wrong. The real breaking point came when the restaurant ceiling collapsed. In that split second, Blake didn't look at me. He dove to his right, shielding Ariana with his body, leaving me to be crushed under a half-ton crystal chandelier. I woke up in a sterile hospital room with a shattered leg and a hollow womb. The doctor, trembling and pale, told me my eight-week-old fetus hadn't survived the trauma and blood loss. "We tried to get the O-negative reserves," he stammered, refusing to meet my eyes. "But Dr. Santos ordered us to hold them. He said Miss Whitfield might go into shock from her injuries." "What injuries?" I whispered. "A laceration on her finger," the doctor admitted. "And anxiety." He let our unborn child die to save the blood reserves for his mistress’s paper cut. Blake finally walked into my room hours later, smelling of Ariana’s perfume, expecting me to be the dutiful, silent wife who understood his "duty." Instead, I picked up my pen and wrote the final entry in my black leather book. *Minus five points. He killed our child.* *Total Score: Zero.* I didn't scream. I didn't cry. I just signed the divorce papers, called my extraction team, and vanished into the rain before he could turn around.

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