Zero Score: My Escape from the Mafia Don

For three years, I was the wife of Don Dante Moretti. But our marriage was a transaction, and my heart was the price. I kept a ledger, deducting points for every time he chose her—his first love, Isabella—over me. When the score reached zero, I would be free.

After he abandoned me on a roadside to rush to Isabella's side, I was hit by a car. I woke up in the ER, bleeding, only to hear a nurse shout that I was two months pregnant. A tiny, impossible hope flared in my chest.

But as the doctors scrambled to save me, they patched my husband through on speakerphone. His voice was cold and absolute.

“Isabella’s condition is critical,” he ordered. “Not one drop of the reserve blood is to be touched until she is safe. I don't care who else needs it.”

I lost the baby. Our child, sacrificed by its own father. I later learned Isabella had only suffered a minor cut. The blood was just a “precautionary measure.”

The tiny flicker of hope was extinguished, and something inside me snapped, clean and final. The debt was paid.

Alone in the silence, I made the last entry in my ledger, bringing the score to zero. I signed the divorce papers I had already prepared, left them on his desk, and walked out of his life forever.

Chapter 1

Elara POV:

When the debt is paid, I am free.

I traced the opening entry in the small, black leather ledger. One hundred points. That was the value I had placed on my marriage to Dante Moretti. For every betrayal, every humiliation, every moment he chose her over me, I deducted points.

The heavy oak door of his study creaked open. Dante stood there, a titan in a bespoke suit, his presence a gravitational force, pulling all the air toward him. He was the undisputed Don of the Chicago Outfit, a man who commanded legions with a flick of his wrist, a man whose dark intensity had captivated me since I was a girl. A man who was my husband.

His eyes, the color of storm clouds, landed on the book in my hands.

"What is that?" His voice was low, devoid of warmth, the same tone he used with his soldiers before sending them to their deaths.

I held it out. He took it, his long, scarred fingers brushing against mine. A shiver I couldn't control ran up my arm. He flipped through the pages, his expression unreadable as his gaze fell upon the entries.

He missed our first anniversary-a public affair-to fly to Isabella's side. A humiliation before the entire Family.

He abandoned me on a deserted highway with a single Soldier because Isabella faked a threat from a rival crew.

He lost the Moretti heirloom wedding ring, distracted by her call. A terrible omen for our house.

He read a few, his lip curling in a faint sneer. He handed it back to me, the leather cool against