Mafia Wife, Unfit For An Heir

rina

stating he was handling "important family business on the West Coast." He didn't ask about my arm, my health, my existence. I was an afterthought, a problem he was a

y skin. But the wound inside me festered. The public humiliati

: a small, private art collection Alex and I had curated together. It was a secret room in one of the family's downto

ed it open and the scene insi

f champagne on a nearby table. She was wearing one of his casual shirts, hanging off her shou

rd Aria say to one of the gallery gu

rs. He caught my eye then, his smile faltering for only a second. "Being here with he

stumbled backward. She crashed into a heavy, bronze De Luca family crest that was hanging on the

, more in sh

me, and he saw Aria, hurt. His fac

h. In his mind, I had become the villain. "You did this on purpose! Trying to harm her? To harm my child?" His

past me, his eyes filled with a hatred so potent it mad

d from the hallway as they rushed her into a room. The doctor announced

d immediately, already

ene. "Alex, that's not wise. Two units

way. He was making a public declaration of his devotion, a bi

ping in the chair. He fainted. As the nurses rushed to help him, a sin

ia.

t. His judgment as a leader, his loyalty to his family, his

phone buzzed. It was a message from a number

rt and documents are ready. A private jet is waiting. Pari

me had