From Mafia Princess To Unbroken Queen

From Mafia Princess To Unbroken Queen

Gavin

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The man I gave up a twenty-billion-dollar inheritance for asked me to go to prison for his mistress. In the same breath, he told me to kill our unborn child. While his mother's actions caused me to miscarry our son in a derelict warehouse, he was on television announcing his engagement and *her* pregnancy. The betrayal wasn't just private; it was a public execution. So I picked up my phone and made a call I hadn't made in five years, to the one man he never knew existed. "Father," I choked out, "I need you."

Chapter 1

The man I gave up a twenty-billion-dollar inheritance for asked me to go to prison for his mistress.

In the same breath, he told me to kill our unborn child.

While his mother's actions caused me to miscarry our son in a derelict warehouse, he was on television announcing his engagement and *her* pregnancy.

The betrayal wasn't just private; it was a public execution.

So I picked up my phone and made a call I hadn't made in five years, to the one man he never knew existed.

"Father," I choked out, "I need you."

Chapter 1

Genevieve POV:

The man I gave up a twenty-billion-dollar inheritance for just asked me to go to prison for his mistress, and then, in the same breath, told me to kill our unborn child.

"It's just a minor hit-and-run, Gen," Ignatz said, his voice smooth and reasonable, the same voice that had convinced me to abandon my family, my name, my entire world for him. "Everleigh is fragile. A scandal like this would destroy her career. You... you're strong. You can handle it."

I stared at him, the words catching in my throat like shards of glass. We were standing in the sterile, minimalist living room of the apartment he'd chosen, a place of clean lines and no personality. A place where Genevieve Ball, the anonymous architect, lived. Not Genevieve Foley, the Mafia Princess.

"Handle it?" I finally whispered. "Ignatz, I have a career. A legitimate one, the one you said you wanted for us. A criminal record would end it." It would also violate the sacred code of *Omertà*. No Foley ever cooperates with the police. Ever. It was a rule etched into my bones.

"We can manage," he said, waving a dismissive hand. He ran his fingers through his perfectly styled dark hair, a gesture I once found charming. Now it just looked arrogant. "It's for us, Gen. For our future."

His words felt like a punch to the gut. Our future. For five years, I had sacrificed everything for that future. I'd walked away from the Foley *Outfit*, from a life of immense power and wealth, to be with him, a man on the fringes of our world, desperate to build his own legitimate empire.

My hand trembled as I placed it over my still-flat stomach. "There's something else," I said, my voice barely audible. "Something that changes everything."

He was already looking at his watch, impatient. "What is it?"

"I'm pregnant, Ignatz."

He froze. His gaze dropped to my stomach, and for a fleeting second, I saw a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. Hope surged through me. This was a Foley heir. A child of a powerful bloodline. This would make him understand.

Then his face hardened, twisting into a mask of pure disgust.

"A disaster," he breathed. "An absolute fucking disaster."

The air left my lungs. "What?"

"Everleigh can't handle this right now," he said, pacing now, agitated. "The stress... my God, the stress would break her. You have to get rid of it."

"Get rid of it?" I repeated, the words foreign and monstrous on my tongue. "Ignatz, this is our baby."

"It's a problem, Genevieve," he snapped, his voice cold as ice. "A problem you will fix. I have to go. Everleigh needs me."

He turned and walked out the door without another glance, leaving me in the echoing silence. An hour later, his assistant sent a text with an address and an appointment time for that afternoon. A clinic.

I went. I don't know why. Maybe some broken part of me still thought this was a test, a horrible nightmare I could wake up from if I just followed the steps.

In the waiting room, a kind-faced nurse handed me a clipboard of forms. One of the pages was a consent form, detailing the risks of the procedure. My eyes snagged on a single phrase, printed in stark black ink: *"potential for permanent infertility."*

My heart stopped. He knew. Ignatz, who knew how much I wanted a family, had sent me to a place that could take that away from me forever. He wasn't just trying to erase our child; he was trying to erase my future as a mother, my connection to the Foley legacy.

Just then, I felt it. A tiny, fluttery movement deep inside me. A little kick. It was the first time.

It was my baby, telling me to fight.

My head snapped up. The fog of despair began to clear, replaced by a cold, hard clarity. This wasn't love. This was a hostile takeover of my life, and I had willingly handed over the keys.

I stood up, dropped the clipboard on the vinyl chair, and walked out of that clinic. My baby was alive, and I would keep it that way.

As I stepped onto the street, my phone buzzed with a news alert. A picture of Ignatz and Everleigh, her hand held to her own stomach, a diamond ring sparkling on her finger. The headline read: *"Producer Ignatz Turner and Starlet Everleigh Hooper Announce Engagement and Pregnancy!"*

The world tilted, the noise of the city fading into a dull roar. His betrayal wasn't just private. It was a public execution.

My fingers, numb and shaking, scrolled to a number I hadn't dialed in five years. A number I had promised myself I would never dial again.

He answered on the first ring.

"Father," I choked out, the name feeling strange and sacred. "I need you."

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