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Ashes Of Betrayal: My Ex-Husband's Regret

Chapter 2 

Word Count: 872    |    Released on: Today at 15:16

nna

er, a combination that felt like a damp wad of cotton pressed into the sinuses. The tinted windows

urn. He held it with a twisted, possessive reverence. The posture might have suggested patern

ther seat. I tried to ta

turning to the estate," he murmured, his voice a low, resonant

. I looked straight into h

m I did not know I possessed. "Have you held our dead daughte

es in his jaw ticked. His sil

rols the funding for the private sanatorium where your mother resides," he warned

s quietly enforcing my total de

?" I choked out, the sound hollow and broken. "To freeze my accounts? To dep

ing our dead daughter's ashes as a hosta

boy's name?

the window. He

dates aligned in my head. Serafina died in

were never for her anniversary, were they? You timed them for his birthday. On

ll the confirmation I needed. One itinerary. Two fulfillments for the Don.

I demanded, my voice c

a long time before he knocked on the priv

s phone rested on the center console. T

ish that his Papa won't bring the lady to see the aurora next time.

uding on their family vacation, and now he was ev

sanatorium. I got out before the car even fully stopped. Dante f

He looked nervous, wiping at the sweat on his

walked straight toward the elev

s throat. "Signora," he stammered. "Your mother, Rosa...

my tracks. I turne

ect orders," the Director quickl

lt in the dark, one message at a time, while Dante slept beside me. I bypassed the main elevators, sprinting down a hidden stairwell that led to the underground VIP medical wing-a secure sector

on the sill was a child's paper airplane,

ng in messy crayon were the words: Pap

mother. He had let his mistress

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Ashes Of Betrayal: My Ex-Husband's Regret
Ashes Of Betrayal: My Ex-Husband's Regret
“I was married to Dante Rossi, the ruthless Don of the New York Mafia. For four years, I believed his terrifying power would protect me, especially after his ex-lover pushed me down the stairs, causing our daughter Serafina to be born dead. But during our annual mourning trip to Iceland, his encrypted phone lit up with a text from the woman who murdered our baby. "Angelo is making his birthday wish. He wants his Papa to come home to us." Inside his pocket, his St. Jude locket didn't hold a picture of our dead daughter, but a photo of a four-year-old boy with Dante's eyes. The truth shattered me. Our winter trips to see the aurora weren't to mourn Serafina; they were to celebrate his hidden bastard's birthday. When I tried to flee, Dante intercepted me at the airport with his armed guards. He froze my accounts, relocated my paralyzed mother to a secret facility, and even held my dead daughter's urn hostage to force me back into my gilded cage. I later discovered he had even split Serafina's ashes, burying half in a church wall to build karma for his mistress's son in the violent underworld. How could the man who held me through my nightmares use my dead baby as a superstitious shield for his bastard? Staring at the man who had lied to me for four years, the last shred of my love died. I picked up the phone and called my lawyer. "Signal the FBI strike team. I am tearing down the Syndicate."”