Betrayed by the Don, Carrying His Heir

Sarah's POV:

A year after escaping the flooded cell, I still woke from nightmares of electric shocks and whippings.

In my dreams, I prayed again and again for my husband to save me. He never did.

It was the same in real life.

Marcus DeLuca was my husband and the Don of New York's largest mafia family.

Four years ago, an ambush in Philadelphia nearly killed him.

I took three bullets for him and used the last of my strength to shove him down the slope and into cover.

The rival family that captured me interrogated me, drugged me with hallucinogens, and starved me, trying to make me reveal the DeLuca family's accounts, warehouses, and shipping routes.

I didn't tell them a thing.

A year ago, I finally escaped.

Marcus was surprised to see me, but he still made sure doctors took good care of me.

Once I'd recovered a little, he gathered the DeLuca family's senior members and announced, "This is my wife. Anyone who disrespects her is challenging me."

I took it as proof that he still loved me, right up until tonight's annual DeLuca Foundation charity gala.

As I tried on my gown, I pictured Marcus announcing my grand return to New York society.

But when I walked into the ballroom packed with DeLuca family members, bankers, and politicians, everyone was talking about another woman.

Rachel Bellini.

The woman who'd gone after my husband before I was captured. The woman I'd slapped.

"God only knows how much Marcus has spent on Rachel over the years. Now she's even got a Golden Globe nomination."

"After Sarah disappeared, she went public with her relationship with Marcus."

"Not just that. She gave Marcus two kids."

"But Sarah is Marcus's wife. Did you all forget? The DeLuca family threw the biggest wedding this city had ever seen."

"Oh, come on. Sarah was abused for three years. She can't have kids anymore. Look at her. You really think Marcus will keep waiting for her to give him an heir?"

I'd asked Marcus about the rumors that Rachel had his children.

He'd brushed them off, saying the tabloids called every woman he spent time with his side piece and that I shouldn't take it seriously.

But now, at the center of the ballroom, Marcus's hand rested casually on Rachel's waist.

I thought he would move his hand, or at least deny the rumors about the kids in front of everyone.

But he said nothing.

That told me plenty.

Someone raised a glass and shouted, "Make it official, Marcus!"

People started egging them on. He didn't deny a thing. Instead, he gazed into Rachel's eyes.

For more than 1,000 days and nights in that flooded cell, I'd believed he was tearing the city apart to find me. It turned out he'd had other things to do.

Just then, the spotlight swept across me.

Everyone turned to look at me, waiting for me to make a scene.

My fingers were icy and trembling. All I could do was grip the glass tighter and force a smile.

"Don't stop on my account."

Before Marcus could look my way, I hurried out and got into my car.

The cool night air through the car window dried my tears and blew away the last of my illusions about him.

How pathetic. I'd wasted three years of my life on a man who didn't love me anymore.

Back at the estate, I had the maids move my things into the guest room. Then I washed up and went to bed early.

Late that night, Marcus came home reeking of alcohol, shouting for painkillers and electrolyte water.

It used to be that no matter how late he got home, I'd leave both on his nightstand.

But not anymore.

Early the next morning, I canceled my appointment at a private fertility clinic in Manhattan.

Eight months earlier, Marcus had found the clinic, one of the best-known in the city, and started me on fertility treatment.

After that, daily hormone shots became my morning routine.

I even taped the treatment schedule to the bathroom mirror and prayed it would work.

In that time, I got pregnant twice, but neither one lasted past two months.

The doctors had plenty of explanations.

Long-term malnutrition.

Damage from the drugs.

Psychological trauma.

Thinking about his two kids with Rachel, I tore down the schedule and threw the remaining medicine and needles into the trash. Then I sat on the toilet lid, buried my face in my hands, and sobbed.

I didn't know how long I'd been there when Howard, the butler, called through the door, "Donna, the gown the Don picked out for you has arrived. He expects you at the Valenti family's engagement party tonight."

I looked at my pale face and red, swollen eyes in the mirror and gave a bitter smile.

Of course.

Marcus, the mighty Don, was used to arranging my schedule without ever asking what I wanted.

Until I was fully ready to leave, I had no choice but to go along with his plans.

That night, I was the last to arrive, carrying only a clutch.

Marcus stood at the entrance to the hall. He glanced at his watch, then at my hands, and frowned.

"You're late. Where's the gift?"

"I didn't get one."

"Sarah, listen." He leaned in and lowered his voice. "I know Rachel upset you at the gala. But I swear, she didn't mean to."

He crooked his arm for me to take.

"She's in the running for a Golden Globe. She needs the press to keep talking about her. I was just giving those reporters something to write about. That's all."

He had a way of talking that made him sound like the most innocent man in the room.

Then he took a drag on his cigar, blowing smoke into my face.

"I bought you an emerald necklace at the gala auction. I know how much you love playing with those stones."

I turned my head away and closed my eyes for a second.

"You can't keep breathing in secondhand smoke, Sarah. It'll make it even harder for you to get pregnant."

My OB-GYN's words echoed in my ears.

"The ceremony's about to start."

I fought back my nausea and walked past him toward the ballroom.