Vincenzo's Girl: Avenging My Mafia Betrayal

I was eight months pregnant with the heir to my husband's criminal empire, a man I adored.

Then I found his vasectomy certificate, dated a year ago-six months before he begged me for a son.

Our entire marriage was a lie, a cruel game orchestrated for his obsessive sister. I overheard him admit he let his men defile me, turning my pregnancy into a public bet just to prove he could build me a throne and then watch me burn on it.

My love, my life, my child-it was all a ritual sacrifice.

But they forgot one thing about the woman they planned to destroy.

As they plotted my final humiliation, I made a single call to the one man my husband truly fears.

"Dad," I said quietly. "I'm ready to come home."

Chapter 1

Alessia POV:

I found out my marriage was over the same way I learned my life had been a lie: by finding a folded piece of paper in my husband's desk.

It was a vasectomy certificate.

I was eight months pregnant.

It was supposed to be a perfect life. I was Alessia Rinaldi, wife of Dante Rinaldi, the Underboss of the most powerful crime family on the East Coast. He was a man carved from shadows and violence, a king in a city that bent to his will. To the world, he was a monster. To me, he was the man who held my face in his hands and promised me forever.

I loved him. God, I loved him with a purity that didn't belong in his world. It was a stupid, reckless love, the kind that makes you run from your own name, from your own blood, just to be with a man you think is your everything.

I was organizing his home office, a space of dark wood and the faint scent of cigar smoke and whiskey. I ran my hand over my swollen belly, a constant, joyful reminder of the life growing inside me. Our son. The future of the Rinaldi family.

A locked drawer in his heavy mahogany desk had always been off-limits. But the key was there, tucked under a blotter. I turned it.

Inside was the certificate. Patient: Dante Rinaldi. Procedure: Vasectomy. The date was from a year ago. Six months before he first begged me for a son.

The air in the room turned to ice. My body moved before my mind could catch up. I had to see him. I had to hear him explain this impossible, gut-wrenching piece of paper.

I drove to his downtown headquarters, a skyscraper of black glass that pierced the sky. The guards knew my face. They nodded as I rushed past, my heels clicking a panicked beat on the marble floor.

His office was on the top floor. As I reached the heavy double doors, I heard a sound that stopped me cold.

Laughter. Deep, booming laughter. It was Dante, and his Capo, Enzo.

"She glows," Enzo's voice sneered, thick with amusement. "Walks around like a pregnant saint, rubbing that massive belly. Completely clueless."

My hand froze, inches from the doorknob.

Then came Dante's voice. My husband's voice. It was hollowed out, laced with a contempt so profound it felt like a physical blow.

"The higher she is, the harder she'll fall," he said, his tone flat and bored. "Let her enjoy it. It's the final act."

"I still don't get the 'why' of it all, Dante," Enzo said, the sound of ice clinking in a glass. "This whole nine-month masterpiece of cruelty. Marrying her, the kid... it's a lot of theater."

Dante was silent for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was different. Softer. Almost devotional. "This wasn't my plan, Enzo. It was my oath. To Elara."

My heart stopped. Elara, his adopted sister. The girl whose photograph he kept by his bed, the one he claimed was just a cherished memory of the sibling his cruel father had sent away.

"My father sent her away because he saw how close we were," Dante continued, his voice laced with an old bitterness. "And while she was over there, she went through hell. Beaten, used by street thugs. It broke something in her. And all that time, she imagined I was moving on, forgetting her."

He let out a short, harsh breath. "Then I met Alessia. I made the mistake of sending Elara her picture, trying to show her I hadn't found anyone important, just a placeholder. But Elara... she saw the resemblance. She saw a ghost wearing her face, living the life that was stolen from her. The wife of the Underboss. The lady of the manor. She called Alessia a replacement. A walking insult."

I felt the blood drain from my face. My eyes. He had always told me he fell in love with my eyes. They were Elara's eyes.

"So she laid out a test," Dante's voice dropped to a venomous whisper, as if quoting scripture. "'I want you to prove your loyalty, Dante,' she told me. 'I want you to take this substitute, this girl who has my face, and I want you to build her a throne just so you can watch her burn on it. Make her feel like a queen, and then I want you to let your men turn her into a whore. Prove to me she's nothing more than a vessel. Only then will I believe you are still mine.'"

The room dissolved into a roaring in my ears. This wasn't just a betrayal. It was a ritual sacrifice. I was the offering.

"And the bet?" Enzo asked, his voice a low whistle of dawning comprehension.

"The bet is the public record of my devotion," Dante said coldly. "A declaration that this child, this supposed bloodline, means less to me than Elara's peace of mind. Every man who puts money down saying the heir isn't mine is another nail in her coffin, another flower at Elara's feet."

"Damn," Enzo breathed. "So, when I... you know..."

"You were the first instrument of my oath," Dante finished for him. "Just as she demanded. The first to defile the substitute."

The grief was a giant hand squeezing my lungs. But then, something else rose from the ruins of my heart. It was cold. It was sharp. It was the Moretti blood I had tried so hard to forget.

They had built a lie inside of me. This baby, my son, was their victory made flesh. A chain they would use to own me forever.

And I would not let them win.

My hand, miraculously steady, pulled my phone from my purse. My thumb scrolled through my contacts, past the friends I'd made in this fake life, all the way to a number I hadn't dialed in three years. A number I had been forbidden to forget.

My voice didn't shake when the call connected.

"Dad," I said quietly. "It's Alessia. I'm ready to come home."