Married to the Don's Lie

Seven years into my secret marriage to Leon Ferrante—Don of the Ferrante Family—and he still wouldn't make it public.

Before the vows, I was his Consigliere. After? My name vanished from the meeting roster.

He didn't want kids. Said he had to take care of his autistic little brother, Antonio.

So I did it all—brought that boy from blank stares to full-on smiles.

His family kept pushing for a "real heir."

And today, just when I was about to tell him I was pregnant, I caught Antonio asking,

"Papa, are you gonna divorce Anna and marry someone else?"

***

I froze outside the study, clutching the report—two months pregnant. Healthy fetus. My whole body went cold.

"Don't call me that," Leon's voice was low, sharp. "I'm your brother. Who told you I'm dumping Anna and marrying someone else?"

Antonio stared at the floor. "Ms. Vitti said... you're gonna leave Anna and marry her. She told me to call her Mom."

I crumpled the paper in my fist.

"That's a damn lie," Leon snapped. "I'm not divorcing Anna. Carla's business, that's it."

I leaned against the wall, letting out a shaky breath.

Leon sucked at feelings, sure. But cheat? I never thought he'd go there.

And Antonio calling him "Papa"? He was behind for his age. Carla was definitely twisting his head.

I figured I'd tell Leon about the pregnancy first—ease into the rest after.

I reached for the doorknob.

Yanked back.

"The banquet's starting. You just loitering around now?" Marcella, Leon's mother, all venom and pearls, glared like I'd spit on the floor.

"I—" I tried handing her the report.

She turned her back, full of disgust. "Change. You look like hell. A Don's wife should dress like one."

Voices called from downstairs.

I tucked the report into my clothes.

I'd talk to Leon after the show.

***

Silverware gleamed. The air reeked of truffle and cigars.

I lingered in the shadows, watching the same people I used to sit next to at negotiation tables gab about politics. My eyes gave me away—I missed it.

Seven years. From Consigliere to housewife—banquets, babysitting, elder care. That was my kingdom now.

But I still hadn't earned the seat at Leon's right—the one that should've been mine, as his wife.

Maybe once there was an heir, he'd finally stop hiding me.

Bang!

The front doors slammed open.

A few heads turned, annoyed—then snapped on fake smiles.

"Sorry I'm late! So sorry, everyone!"

Carla Vitti. Principessa of the Vitti Family. Her perfume hit the room before she did—roses and ego.

She strutted straight to Leon, soaking in the attention.

But I remembered—she wasn't even invited. We didn't set a place for her.

Leon didn't blink. Just nodded for someone to grab another chair.

"No need," she said, eyes flicking to me before flashing Leon that polished smile. "Isn't there one open? Right next to you?"

Leon set down his wine glass, smirk unreadable. "That seat's not for you. I've arranged something better."

Carla laughed, low and smug, and pulled the chair out anyway, dropping into it like she owned it.

"I'm pretty sure this is exactly what I want."

Leon didn't stop her. He poured her a glass himself.

Silence hit the room. Everyone knew what that move meant.

Antonio looked at me from the shadows, face pale.

He didn't get grown-up lies yet, but even he knew what that seat meant in a mafia family.

My ears started ringing.

The fake smiles, Carla's giggles, Leon's silence—it all made me sick.

I ran to the restroom and threw up until there was nothing left, then splashed cold water on my face.

The girl in the mirror looked wrecked. Pale. Eyes puffed. Hands shaking.

"Tsk. Pathetic."

I spun.

Carla stood in the doorway, smirking without a hint of shame.

"Seven years ago, you skimmed forty percent off my family's shipping as Ferrante's Consigliere. Now look at you—crying in a bathroom."

She strutted in, heels clicking, eyes sweeping over my bare face and tired skin.

"Oh wait—should I call you Donna Ferrante? Even though it's all hush-hush?"

I turned away. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Please." She rolled her eyes. "Everyone knows why you vanished. You gave up everything to play maid for Leon. Women like you? No spine, no talent—just leeching off men for a title. And look at you now. Pathetic. If I were you—"

Antonio's voice echoed from the hall, calling for his lullaby.

I pushed past her. "Move. The kid needs to sleep."

"Slow down, stupid woman." Carla yanked my wrist. "What, raising someone else's bastard got you hooked?"

My head snapped. I tore free, heart pounding. "Say that again."

She didn't even blink. Just pulled a paper from her bag and smacked it against my face.

"See for yourself."

A birth certificate.

The mother's name was blacked out. The father?

[Leon Ferrante.]

Registered seven years ago.

Antonio's birthday.

My vision tunneled. I grabbed the wall before I hit the floor.

That "Papa"... was real.

Carla's smile stretched as the color drained from my face.

"Wanna know why Leon ditched the kid's mother?" She tilted her head. "She was a nobody. Third-rate Family. Just like you."