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

Lyla Rose

_________

The palace feels cold tonight. The kind of cold that seeps into your bones, no matter how many blankets you wrap yourself in. 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 sits on the coffee table, the word "infertile" staring up at me in cold, clinical black and white. It feels like a betrayal, even though it’s just a piece of paper. But it’s not just the paper, it’s the truth that hurts. It’s why Vincent, my husband, is standing across from me, his back rigid, his jaw set in stone.

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

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move. His eyes are cold, distant, as if I’m nothing more than a nuisance. “You knew the deal when you married me. You can’t give me what I need.” His voice is low, detached, like he's already let go of me, like I’ve already slipped from his grasp. “I’m the last Ricci. I need an heir.”

I feel my heart crack, but I try to force a smile, to keep the tears from spilling. “We can adopt a kid. Come on, Vincent, you know you don’t have to leave me just because I’m infertile.” The words feel foreign coming out of my mouth, desperate, a hollow plea.

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 stands abruptly, his movement harsh and final, turning his back to me. “My father is arranging a marriage with a suitable Italian woman. She’s fertile.”

“Don’t say that.” I don’t know where the strength comes from, but I stand up, my hand trembling as I reach for him. “I don’t want you marrying another woman.” My fingers brush his chest gently, but he’s already stepping away, his eyes colder than ever.

His grip on my wrist is like iron, firm but not painful. “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.” The desperation in my voice is unmistakable, but I can't hide it anymore. 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.”

The words are sharp, but they don’t feel like they used to. They don’t make me feel safe anymore, not when he’s already slipping away. “Just don’t marry Maria.” My voice cracks, and I can feel the tears pushing at the back of my eyes, but I hold them back, just barely.

He cups my face roughly, his thumb swiping across my bottom lip, the motion too tender for the brutal edge in his voice. “Then who will give me the damn heir, huh?” His words are sharp, final, like a blade to the chest. “You’re infertile, Rose. You can’t have my baby.” His hands drop from me like I’m nothing, and he turns away, his silhouette harsh against the dim light. “I’m marrying Maria tomorrow.”

“Take me to a doctor. Maybe there’s a way to fix my infertility.” The words spill out before I can stop them, my voice trembling as I look up at him, praying for even the slightest hint of mercy.

He lets out a bitter laugh, dark and cynical. “Three different doctors, Rose. Specialists. They all said the same thing. You’ll never carry a child. The damage is permanent.” His voice is sharp, cutting through the air between us. He leans down, his face inches from mine, and for the first time in a long while, I see it, the weariness, the cold frustration in his eyes. “But if you want to waste more time and money on false hope, go ahead. The wedding is still tomorrow.”

“Why are you so desperate to leave me?” The question is raw, the pain in my chest expanding, suffocating me. I look up at him, my eyes clouded with hurt, trying to understand the man standing before me.

His expression crumbles for a split second, the mask slipping to reveal something beneath... something human. “Because… because I’m falling apart without an heir.” The words come out rough, as if they’re tearing him open. He pulls away from me, his back to me now, his voice distant but thick with something like regret. “I need a son. A Ricci heir. And you can’t give that to me.” He starts walking towards the door, his steps heavy, like each one is a final nail in the coffin of what we were.

“Just don’t leave me because I’m infertile.” My voice cracks, raw, vulnerable. I call out after him, my heart shattering with each step he takes away from me.

He pauses, his hand on the door handle. His voice, thick with unshed tears, cuts through the room like a knife. “It’s not just about the infertility, Rose. It’s about legacy. Family. Power.” His voice drops lower, and I can hear the finality in his tone. “The wedding is at noon tomorrow.” The door creaks open, and he steps into the hallway, never looking back. “Goodbye, Rose.” The door slams shut with a deafening finality.

I stand there for a moment, the silence engulfing me, suffocating me. Then, my fury rises, the pain turning into something darker.

“You can’t leave me. I’ll kill Maria if you marry her!” The words explode from my chest, enraged, raw, no longer caring about the consequences.

He slams the door open again, the fury in his eyes matching mine, as if he’s been waiting for this moment. In a flash, he slams me against the wall, his large hand gripping my throat, not squeezing, but holding me, his fingers digging into my skin, a warning, a threat. “What did you just say?” His voice is wild, predatory, burning through me like fire. “Say it again. I dare you.” His face is so close, I can feel his breath on my lips, and I’m drowning in his eyes, in the heat of his rage. “My family would kill you for even thinking about her.”

“I will kill her before you marry her... You can’t divorce me.” The words come out cold, detached, my anger like ice, but inside I’m breaking.

He stares at me, shocked by my sudden violence, but then something shifts in his gaze. He throws his head back and laughs, a low, mocking sound that makes my blood boil. He releases my throat, but his fingers leave a burn. “God, I love you sometimes.” His hands grab my face roughly, pulling me closer. “But you’re insane if you think I’ll let you kill my bride.”