Betrayed Heiress: Married To The Devil

Seraphina POV

The July rain in New York was merciless, but it was nothing compared to the coldness of the cobblestones beneath me.

I was tossed out of a burlap sack like rotting garbage into a dark alley in Little Italy. For three days, I had been chained in a lightless basement. They had drugged me, beaten me, and stripped away my dignity. But the true agony was the hollow ache in my womb. The child I had carried—Angelo’s child—was gone, flushed out of me in a tide of blood and terror.

I shivered, pulling the oversized, unfamiliar men’s shirt tighter around my bruised shoulders. At the mouth of the alley, a few Valenti Associates smoked under the streetlamps. They pointed at me, their eyes filled with disgust and dirty assumptions.

"Damien Falcone ruined her," one of them muttered, spitting on the ground. "The Devil of Chicago left his mark."

An hour later, the filthy rain was replaced by the sterile chill of the Valenti penthouse. I lay bleeding on the pristine silk sheets of a guest bedroom. Through the heavy oak door, the voices from the grand salon drifted in, sharp and clear.

"She is unclean. A stain on our Onore," Victoria Valenti, the matriarch of the family, hissed. Earlier, I had begged her for a doctor. She had looked at me as if I were a diseased rat.

"I will take my men to Chicago tonight! I will have my Vendetta against Falcone!" Angelo’s voice roared.

Smack.

The sound of Victoria’s palm striking her grandson’s face echoed through the penthouse. "You fool," she spat. "You want to parade our scandal to the Five Families? You will bury this. You will marry Carissa Marino instead. She is pure, and her father’s connections will secure your seat as Don. Seraphina is dead to us."

I held my breath, my nails digging into my palms until they bled. I waited for Angelo, the man who had promised me the world, to tear the room apart for me.

"Fine."

The single word was barely a whisper, but it struck with the force of a bullet. My heart stopped. The darkness rushed in, and I fainted.

When I opened my eyes again, the scent of vanilla perfume filled the room. Carissa, my sweet, innocent cousin, stood over the bed.

"Your baby is gone, Sera," she whispered, her voice dripping with venomous delight. She leaned in close, her eyes gleaming. "My father arranged the kidnapping. Framing Damien Falcone was just... good business. It paves the way for Angelo to attack Chicago later. And now, Angelo and I can finally be together."

A strangled sob tore from my throat. I lunged at her with what little strength I had left, but Carissa was faster. She snatched a silver letter opener from the nightstand, forced the cold metal handle into my trembling hand, and then deliberately drove the blade into her own left shoulder.

She threw her head back and let out a bloodcurdling scream.

The