Owned by the Wrong Don

Four months pregnant. I was alone when a rival family came for me..

A searing pain tore through my stomach. I couldn't reach my husband, Don Lorenzo.

His phone was off.

I woke up in a sterile hospital bed. Three days had passed. And the baby... was gone.

That’s when I heard the nurses gossiping.

“Heard Don Lorenzo cleared out a block of Fifth Avenue for his mistress three days ago. Had his phone off so they wouldn't be disturbed.”

Tears rolled down my cheeks, but my heart was empty.

I gave up my career, my whole life, for him.

The Don who promised me forever… he shattered that promise just days before our fifth anniversary.

Back home, I dug out an old phone and made a call. A number I hadn't touched in five years.

"The European tour you mentioned…" I said, my voice hollow. "I'm in. I can be ready in a week."

I braced myself against the wall as I limped into the villa. Every step sent a fresh spike of pain through my abdomen.

"Elena?"

Lorenzo's voice came from the stairs.

I looked up. He was walking down, holding a bouquet of white lilies. He wore a gentle smile, one I hadn't seen in a long time.

"You're back." He rushed over. "Been dealing with a traitor in the family. Things got messy. Didn't have a chance to message you back."

A traitor.

How ironic.

"Heard you went to get your cello fixed?" he asked, stopping in front of me. "How'd it go?"

"They're still working on it." My voice was flat. Dead.

Lorenzo put the lilies on a side table and opened his arms for a hug.

"I missed you."

His arms were once my sanctuary. Now, the thought of his touch made my stomach churn.

There was a glaring hickey on his neck. Not even faded.

The sharp scent of perfume hit me from his collar. Tom Ford Black Orchid. Vanessa’s favorite.

I slapped a hand over my mouth. Bile rose in my throat.

I shoved at his chest, hard. Like he was poison.

"Elena!" His smile vanished. He gripped my shoulders, his voice tight with fake concern. "What's wrong? Is the baby acting up again?"

The baby. He brought up our baby.

An icy fist clamped around my heart and squeezed. Hard.

Yeah, Lorenzo. Our baby was "acting up."

He fought for his life inside me while you cleared the streets for another woman.

He was slowly dying inside me while you shut off your phone for your little world for two.

He left me for good while I was alone on that operating table.

The words swirled in my throat, but I couldn't say a thing.

All I could do was gag. I just nodded.

"...A little nauseous."

Lorenzo's brow furrowed, his eyes full of concern. "Should I call the doctor?"

"No," I said, pushing him away. "I just need to rest."

"Elena, I'm so sorry I wasn't here for you these