Zero Score: My Escape from the Mafia Don

Zero Score: My Escape from the Mafia Don

Gavin

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For three years, I was the wife of Don Dante Moretti. But our marriage was a transaction, and my heart was the price. I kept a ledger, deducting points for every time he chose her-his first love, Isabella-over me. When the score reached zero, I would be free. After he abandoned me on a roadside to rush to Isabella's side, I was hit by a car. I woke up in the ER, bleeding, only to hear a nurse shout that I was two months pregnant. A tiny, impossible hope flared in my chest. But as the doctors scrambled to save me, they patched my husband through on speakerphone. His voice was cold and absolute. "Isabella's condition is critical," he ordered. "Not one drop of the reserve blood is to be touched until she is safe. I don't care who else needs it." I lost the baby. Our child, sacrificed by its own father. I later learned Isabella had only suffered a minor cut. The blood was just a "precautionary measure." The tiny flicker of hope was extinguished, and something inside me snapped, clean and final. The debt was paid. Alone in the silence, I made the last entry in my ledger, bringing the score to zero. I signed the divorce papers I had already prepared, left them on his desk, and walked out of his life forever.

Protagonist

: Elara Rossi and Dante Moretti

Chapter 1

For three years, I was the wife of Don Dante Moretti. But our marriage was a transaction, and my heart was the price. I kept a ledger, deducting points for every time he chose her-his first love, Isabella-over me. When the score reached zero, I would be free.

After he abandoned me on a roadside to rush to Isabella's side, I was hit by a car. I woke up in the ER, bleeding, only to hear a nurse shout that I was two months pregnant. A tiny, impossible hope flared in my chest.

But as the doctors scrambled to save me, they patched my husband through on speakerphone. His voice was cold and absolute.

"Isabella's condition is critical," he ordered. "Not one drop of the reserve blood is to be touched until she is safe. I don't care who else needs it."

I lost the baby. Our child, sacrificed by its own father. I later learned Isabella had only suffered a minor cut. The blood was just a "precautionary measure."

The tiny flicker of hope was extinguished, and something inside me snapped, clean and final. The debt was paid.

Alone in the silence, I made the last entry in my ledger, bringing the score to zero. I signed the divorce papers I had already prepared, left them on his desk, and walked out of his life forever.

Chapter 1

Elara POV:

When the debt is paid, I am free.

I traced the opening entry in the small, black leather ledger. One hundred points. That was the value I had placed on my marriage to Dante Moretti. For every betrayal, every humiliation, every moment he chose her over me, I deducted points.

The heavy oak door of his study creaked open. Dante stood there, a titan in a bespoke suit, his presence a gravitational force, pulling all the air toward him. He was the undisputed Don of the Chicago Outfit, a man who commanded legions with a flick of his wrist, a man whose dark intensity had captivated me since I was a girl. A man who was my husband.

His eyes, the color of storm clouds, landed on the book in my hands.

"What is that?" His voice was low, devoid of warmth, the same tone he used with his soldiers before sending them to their deaths.

I held it out. He took it, his long, scarred fingers brushing against mine. A shiver I couldn't control ran up my arm. He flipped through the pages, his expression unreadable as his gaze fell upon the entries.

He missed our first anniversary-a public affair-to fly to Isabella's side. A humiliation before the entire Family.

He abandoned me on a deserted highway with a single Soldier because Isabella faked a threat from a rival crew.

He lost the Moretti heirloom wedding ring, distracted by her call. A terrible omen for our house.

He read a few, his lip curling in a faint sneer. He handed it back to me, the leather cool against my skin.

"Keep your personal effects out of my study, Elara. This is where I conduct business for the Family."

My gaze swept over the room. It was a museum dedicated to another woman. A priceless Ming vase he'd bought for Isabella because she'd once admired it in a magazine. A framed photo of her on the deck of his yacht, laughing. A small, silver locket on his desk that I knew held her picture. I was just another one of his possessions, and an unwanted one at that.

The secure line on his desk rang, a harsh, demanding sound. He answered, his back to me.

"What is it?"

A voice crackled on the other end, one of his Capos. "Boss, the warehouse on Cermak. It's on fire. A gift from the O'Malley crew. Isabella... she was supposed to be there tonight for inventory."

Dante's body went rigid. When he turned, his features had sharpened into a mask of cold, terrifying fury. He grabbed his keys from the desk, his movements sharp and violent. He didn't even glance at me as he stormed out.

Some desperate, stupid flicker of hope made me follow. I took a taxi, watching his armored sedan blow through a dozen red lights, a dark missile tearing through the city.

The warehouse was an inferno, orange flames punching holes in the night sky. Firefighters and his own men were shouting, forming a human wall to hold him back.

"It's too dangerous, Boss! You can't go in there!"

Dante shoved them aside. He turned to his Underboss, his voice a low roar that carried over the chaos. "If Isabella doesn't walk out of there, I will burn this city to the ground."

Then he was gone, swallowed by the flames.

His Capos surrounded me, their expressions a mixture of pity and contempt.

"He's always been like this about her," one of them said, not unkindly. "Built half his empire just to win her back."

Another one snickered. "She's his queen. Always has been."

They were twisting the knife, reminding me of my place. The placeholder wife. The consolation prize.

I remembered the day he'd asked my father, his father's most trusted Consigliere, for my hand. My father was on his deathbed. Dante had just learned that Isabella, his first and only love, had married a civilian, a man outside their world. A Don needed a wife. My father secured a promise from Dante: marry my daughter, protect her. An honorable pact. I had been naive enough to believe it was love.

Now I knew the truth. He married me because his queen had abdicated her throne.

An eternity later, a figure emerged from the inferno. Dante. He was carrying an unconscious Isabella in his arms, his suit smoldering, his face blackened with soot. He laid her gently on a gurney before collapsing himself.

At the hospital, a Moretti-controlled fortress, the doctor gave his report.

"The Don has severe burns on his back and arms, but he'll live. Ms. Vance is perfectly fine, just a little smoke inhalation."

His men tried to comfort me, reminding me of the Moretti name, the power, the wealth. As if money could stitch a heart back together.

I excused myself, the polite, perfect Don's wife to the very end.

Back in the cold silence of the Moretti estate, I walked into the study that felt more like her room than his. I opened the ledger.

My hand was steady as I wrote the new entry beneath the last.

Minus five points.

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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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