Betrayed, Then Claimed by the Mafia King (18+)

Lyla Rose

_________

The palace feels cold tonight. A chill that seeps into your bones, no matter how many blankets you wrap around yourself. The fireplace is nothing more than a flickering memory of warmth and the dim light barely touches the edges of the room, casting shadows that stretch across the floor. I sit on the couch, the weight of the world pressing down on me.

The medical report lies on the coffee table, the word "infertile" staring up at me in cold, clinical black and white. It's only a piece of paper, but the truth it carries slices through me. Vincent, my husband, stands across from me, his back stiff, his jaw set in stone.

"You're divorcing me for an heir?" I laugh bitterly, the sound hollow in the icy air between us.

"You knew the deal when you married me. You can't give me what I need." He growls, his voice low and detached, like he's already let go of me, like I've already slipped from his grasp.

My heart feels like it's shattering, but I force a smile, claws of tears digging at my eyes as I fight to hold them back. "We can adopt a child. Come on, Vincent, you know you don't have to leave me just because I'm infertile." I plead desperately, my words spilling out, raw and trembling, each one a silent cry for him to stay.

His face remains a mask, but there's a flicker, just a flash of something like pain, before he shuts it down. "Adoption isn't an option; a Ricci needs a blood heir." He turns abruptly, his movement harsh and final. "My father is arranging a marriage with a suitable Italian woman. She's fertile."

"Don't say that." I push myself up, shaking and reach out to him with a trembling hand. "I don't want you marrying another woman." My fingers brush his chest gently, but he steps away, his eyes colder than ever.

His hand shoots out, clamping around my wrist with a force that makes me wince. "Don't be selfish, Rose. You can't give me what I need. Maria is beautiful, experienced, fertile, and from a powerful Italian family. She'll give me the heir I need."

The words land like a punch to the gut. "Heir isn't all that matters... I want to be with you." My voice trembles with desperation, spilling out, raw and unguarded. My breath hitches as I reach for him again, pleading, "Please."

He stares at me for a long moment, his face softening just for a second, like he's about to give in. But then it hardens again, like a mask snapping back into place. "You don't understand. Being a mafia king isn't just about power and money. It's about family, legacy. Without an heir, everything I've built will crumble." He steps closer, his words a low whisper, but they cut deeper than anything. "I love you, Rose."

His words are a confession, but they don't feel like they used to.