Mafia King's Debt: My Family's Fury

Mafia King's Debt: My Family's Fury

EVA PINK

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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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My life with Andrew was a constant dance around the baseball bat, a premonition of my own bloody end that haunted my every waking moment. Then, I found my father-in-law, Mr. Scott, in a pool of his own blood on the kitchen floor, a deep gash on his forehead. Instead of calling 911, I manipulated my lifelong hemophobia and feigned terror, dialing Andrew' s cousin, Ethan, a kind paramedic, dragging him into a manufactured crisis. At the hospital, Andrew' s true colors bled through: he cursed me, refused to sign for his dying father' s emergency surgery, and screamed divorce, all while giggling with his mistress, Sabrina, in the background. He even tried to strangle me at his father' s funeral, abandoning the casket to rush to Sabrina' s side, believing her needs superseded everything. I wasn' t a helpless victim anymore; I recorded his abuse, exposed his heartless acts online, and watched, stone-faced, as the internet tore him apart, leading to his public humiliation and firing. But Andrew, fueled by rage and paranoia, wasn't done; he came for me, knife in hand, convinced I was conspiring to steal his inheritance with Ethan. When Ethan arrived and got stabbed trying to save me, something snapped inside him, and he furiously plunged the knife into Andrew, again and again. Ethan got prison time for manslaughter, but Andrew' s death wasn' t just a simple crime of passion; his wife' s whispered revelation at the funeral, a calculated confession of her own brutal past with Ethan, shattered my understanding of what truly happened that night. Now, years later, I am finally free, walking away from the ghosts and the blood, ready to build a new life for myself, but the true scope of the sacrifices made for my freedom still lingers.

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