After I Died, the Mafia King Went Mad

Everyone envied my marriage to Luca Moretti, the ruthless mafia king who ruled the city with blood and power.

To the world, I was the one woman he would never betray.

For five years, he put me above everyone else. Protected me. Chose me. Worshipped me.

Until I found out even a man like him could cheat.

I tricked him into signing the divorce papers and disappeared overseas, determined to cut myself out of his empire for good.

But Luca refused to let me go.

He used the full reach of his underworld network to find me, then begged me for another chance. He swore he had been drugged, that the other woman meant nothing, that I was the only one he had ever loved. He promised he had already cut her out of his life.

And for a year, he proved it.

He chased me across countries, tore down every wall I built, and in the end, he asked me to marry him again in front of the whole world.

Under fireworks and a global livestream watched by millions, I said yes.

I thought this time we would finally get our forever.

Then I went in for a prenatal checkup… and found him with them.

Sofia Romano.

And the little boy.

A perfect little family I was never supposed to see.

In that instant, every promise he had made turned to ash.

So I arranged a fatal car crash.

If a divorce still wasn’t enough to escape a mafia king’s obsession, then I would vanish the only way he could never drag me back.

This time, I’m not leaving alone.

I’m taking our unborn child with me—and disappearing from his world forever.

A year after we remarried, I went to the hospital alone after days of nausea and exhaustion.

“Congratulations,” the doctor said with a smile. “You’re eight weeks pregnant. The baby looks healthy, development is right on track, and everything seems stable. Just get plenty of rest and don’t overdo it.”

I walked out of the exam room clutching the scan report, I was already imagining the look on his face when I told him.

Then I looked up—and stopped cold.

At the far end of the corridor, Luca Moretti was holding a little boy no older than one. His expression was soft, patient, almost tender. Beside him stood Sofia Romano in a loose beige dress, her features delicate, her voice low and gentle.

The same woman who had once torn through my marriage under the excuse of one drunken mistake.

For a second, my mind went completely blank.

Before I could stop myself, I followed them.

They disappeared into a pediatric exam room just down the hall. I stayed just outside, hidden from view, and listened.

“The child is doing much better,” the doctor said. “Nothing serious. He’s just been running a fever on and off with the weather change, so keep a close eye on him.”

Then there was a pause.

When the doctor spoke again,