From Mafia Wife To Free Woman

For three years, I've been the wife of Dante Moretti, the head of the Chicago Bratva. My only purpose was to give him an heir. Today, I stared at the second pink line on a pregnancy test—a death sentence. But my husband didn't want a wife. He wanted a vessel. Hiding outside his office door, I heard him talking to his sister, Isabella. They were placing a million-dollar bet on the gender of my unborn child. "But what about her?" Isabella asked. "Once she gives you the heir, she’ll be useless." The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating. "She served her purpose," Dante said, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper. "A broodmare is only valuable when it can produce. After that…" He didn't have to finish. In his world, useless things are discarded. Violently. Every touch, every calculated smile had been a lie to secure his dynasty. He saw a legacy, not a child. He saw a vessel, not a wife. The only way to win his game was to knock the whole board over. I pulled out my phone and called the clinic my friend had told me about. "Yes," I said, my voice a stranger’s, hollow and steady. "I'd like to schedule a termination."

Chapters

Chapter 4

Elara POV:

The party was a blur of fake smiles. The entire Chicago elite was there, vultures circling a celebration of their king. I stood by Dante's side, the diamond collar cold and heavy against my skin, a constant reminder of my cage.

Isabella, draped in red sequins, glided towards Dante, whispering something in his ear. He glanced at me, then gave her a curt nod. My blood ran cold. The plan was in motion.

A moment later, she approached me, a champagne flute in her hand.

"Elara, darling," she cooed, her eyes glittering with malice. "You look pale. A little toast will bring the color back to your cheeks."

"I'm not drinking," I said, my voice firm. "For the baby."

"Nonsense," she insisted, pushing the glass towards me. "It's a celebration. One little sip won't hurt." Her voice was sweet, but her eyes were hard as steel.

I tried to step back, but I was cornered. I looked to Dante, a foolish, reflexive action. He was watching, his expression unreadable, but he did nothing. He had approved this.

"I don't want it," I said, louder this time.

Isabella's smile turned into a sneer. "Still playing the victim? You're a Bratva wife now. You do as you're told."

She feigned a stumble, sloshing the champagne onto the front of my dress. The crowd gasped.

Isabella put a hand to her mouth in mock horror. "Oh, I am so sorry! How clumsy of me."

Dante finally moved. He stepped forward, his presence silencing the murmurs. He took the glass from Isabella's hand and then took another from a passing tray. He held one out to me.

His eyes were chips of ice. "Drink," Dante's voice was low, a silken threat against my ear. "Toast with me, my love. For our heir."

I knew I had no choice. To refuse here would be an act of defiance he would punish in ways I couldn't imagine. I took the glass, my hand shaking.

I raised it to my lips, the sweet smell making my stomach roil. I took the smallest possible sip, praying it was a bluff.

The fire started instantly. It was a searing, chemical heat that spread through my veins with terrifying speed. My vision blurred. My legs turned to water, and the flute slipped from my fingers, shattering on the marble floor.

A brutal cramp seized my abdomen, so violent it stole my breath.

"What... what was in that?" I slurred, clutching my stomach as a wave of agony washed over me.

I collapsed to my knees, the room spinning. I looked up at Dante, my vision tunneling. His face was a mask of shock. The blank indifference was gone, replaced by dawning horror as he looked from my pain-wracked body to his sister.

"Isabella," he snarled, his voice a low growl. "What did you do?"

Isabella laughed, a sharp, triumphant sound. "I did what you were too weak to do. I solved your problem. She's of no use to us now."

His face contorted with a rage I had never seen before. This wasn't part of his plan. He wanted a docile wife, not a dead heir.

"No," I tried to scream as another vicious cramp tore through me. I felt a horrifying, warm gush between my legs. "My baby..."

Dante lunged for Isabella, but her personal guards, men loyal only to her, stepped in, blocking him. They moved toward me, their faces grim. They were going to drag me away, hide the evidence.

"Dante," I begged, my last coherent thought directed at the monster who was my husband. "Don't let them."

He was fighting his own men, a caged animal, his roar of fury echoing as they dragged me from the room. His eyes, filled with a terrifying, murderous rage, were the last thing I saw.

Then, darkness. A thick, suffocating blanket filled with flashes of pain, a violation being seared into my soul. And a single, piercing agony deep in my abdomen that felt like my world being torn in two.

Continue to next part

There are ninety-nine Hermès Birkins sitting in my walk-in closet. To the world, it' s a collection worth millions. To me, it' s a tally of ninety-nine times my husband, Harris, betrayed me. Each bag was a silent apology I accepted to keep our hollow marriage alive. But the hundredth betrayal wasn't fixed with crocodile leather. On the anniversary of my mother's death, I tracked Harris to my family' s private cemetery. He wasn't alone. Jessica, his "first love," was there, standing over the empty plot reserved for my living father, right next to my mother' s grave. They were digging a hole. Jessica smirked, holding a velvet box containing her dead cat and a plaque that read To Arvel, my eternal companion. "It' s just a cat, Cecily," she laughed, tossing her hair. "Don't be so dramatic. Your father won't mind the company. Besides, it shows who Harris really listens to." For years, I accepted the bags and the lies. But desecrating my family's sacred ground? The submissive wife died in that moment. I walked toward them, clutching the evidence that would destroy Jessica' s life and shatter Harris' s world. "Dig it up," I commanded, my voice colder than the grave. "Or I will bury you both right here."

Mafia Modern Romance

7.5

Divorcing the Don: And Then I Took Everything

7.5

For six years, Isabella Rossi used her family's immense wealth to save her husband's Mafia empire from bankruptcy while he fought on the front lines. Her reward? Don Damien Moretti returns with a mistress, a secret son, and a demand: Accept them, and keep paying the bills. He expects her to swallow her pride. Instead, Isabella closes her checkbook. She demands a divorce, cuts off their funding, and leaves his "glorious" empire to starve. But a Queen stepping down draws wolves. Enter Giovanni Falcone-the ruthless, untouchable King of the New York Underworld. He doesn't want her money; he wants her. Now, her ex-husband is begging for her back. But Isabella? She's too busy building her own empire-and watching his burn.

Mafia Modern Romance

9.7

Escaping The Cage: I Married His Worst Enemy

9.7

My husband, the Capo of New York, gripped my hand as we walked into the soundproofed room. He wasn't there to save me. He was there to watch the family doctor carve out my mind. A stranger named Sofia claimed I had sold her to a brothel twelve years ago. It was a lie. But Dante looked at me with cold marble eyes, believing the woman sobbing in his arms over the wife he had vowed to protect. "Sit, Elena," he ordered. He strapped me into the chair. He watched as they injected liquid fire into my veins to force a confession. He dragged me to the kennels, forcing me to feed the dogs I was terrified of, and watched as they tore into my flesh. He even locked me in a freezer to "cool off" my jealousy. The final straw wasn't the pain. It was hearing him plan a Vow Renewal with Sofia, intending to parade me as her Maid of Honor to teach me humility. I realized then that Elena Moretti had to die. So, I set the hospital room on fire. I left my wedding ring in the ashes and vanished into the night. Six months later, Dante found me in Paris. He fell to his knees, begging for forgiveness. I looked at him with dead eyes and handed him a knife. "Kill yourself," I said. "That is the only way I will believe you are sorry."

Mafia Modern Romance

9.5

Forbidden desiress

9.5

This is wrong Clark, Rachel is my sister." I said out of breath as he continued assaulting my neck with kisses. "I don't care Eva, it's you I want and desire and not her." "what will the world say??? what if she finds out about this Clark?? what then??" I asked with uncertainty. "I want you and care only about you Eva and the world can go to hell!!! are you ready to hold my hand as we walk through this path together???" "Clarkkkk." "Answer me, Eva!! are you ready???" Eva Mendes harbours a secret attraction for her sister's husband Clark Anderson and as she struggles with her guilt and shame, she finds herself drawn to Clark's confident nature despite the danger of ruining her sister's relationship and her own reputation. As their desires intensify, they realize that their secrets and lies may ultimately lead to their downfall or will it???

Mafia Modern Romance

9.7

In love with my best friend father

9.7

"Sandra, why did you wear that slutty clothes to the nightclub?" He asked her, anger flicking in his eyes. "You are a naughty girl," he murmured, before circling her and stopping suddenly to bite her hard on her ears. "That's for showing what's mine out!" Prof Tyler murmured before his right hand moved down to her fat ass and spanked her hard. "Argggggh," Sandra screamed. "You get treated like a slut if you act like one," Prof Tyler said while his big hands continued smacking the shit out of her ass. "I'm... so... sorry.. daddy," Sandra whimpered. Immediately after she murmured those words, Tyler's eyes zeroed in on her lips before he claimed her lips voraciously. "This is mine," He screamed while holding on tight to her ass. "And I don't want you showing other riff raffs what belongs to me!" He snapped * Dive into this gripping tale as Sandra faces the difficult task of confessing her relationship with her best friend's father. In the midst of this revelation, a surprising twist unfolds when Sandra discovers that Professor Tyler is a werewolf. Will their love story endure the weight of their hidden secrets, or will the revelations lead to its downfall?

Mafia Romance Werewolf

8.2

Mafia Princess's Vengeance for Lost Heir

8.2

At my ten-week ultrasound, I was supposed to be celebrating the future of the Falcone family. I was Isabella Falcone, wife to the most powerful Don in the south. But when the nurse called my name, the man who stood up beside his pregnant mistress was my husband. In the sterile silence of that waiting room, he chose her. He later confessed he was being blackmailed by her family-a weakness that was a death sentence in our world. That night, he moved his mistress into our home, into my bedroom, and locked me away like a prisoner in the staff quarters. He wasn't imprisoning his wife; he was guarding an asset. He needed the legitimate heir I carried to save his crumbling empire. His betrayal was absolute when his own mother and my adoptive parents arrived while he was away. They forced me to sign divorce papers, then told me they were taking me to a clinic. His mother pulled out a gun and pointed not at my head, but at my stomach. "We're terminating this complication," she said coldly. As they dragged me from the house, my world went dark. But through the haze, I saw a fleet of black cars blocking the gate. An army of men poured out, led by a face I had only ever seen in a photograph. Days earlier, locked in my room, I made a single phone call to the only man more powerful than my husband: my biological father, the head of the Chicago Outfit. And he had come to collect his daughter.

Mafia Modern Romance

From Mafia Wife To Free Woman

Chapter 4

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