The Mafia’s Forgotten Wife: Pregnant and Abandoned

Isabella’s POV

I found out that my husband was accompanying his childhood sweetheart Rosa for her pregnancy check up at my regular hospital this afternoon.

“Vincent, our baby looks so cute on the monitor.”

From the crack in the door, I saw Vincent’s face lit up with a smile. Rosa was pointing at the monitor, and Vincent nodded, smiling back at her.

If I didn’t know that man was my husband—the father of my baby—I would have sworn they were a couple, happy and in love.

“Isabella Caruso? The doctor is ready for your examination,” the nurse called.

Vincent turned, his face drained of color, his eyes scanning the hallway. He must have heard my name.

When his eyes landed on me, his mouth opened, but no words came out.

I had been happily married to Vincent Falcone, my mafia husband, for nearly ten years. This year, I was finally pregnant with his child. He of all people should know how difficult is for me to have the baby now. How could he do this to me?

I slowly walked toward him, my heart boiling with fury, anger, and the deep sadness of realizing how much I had been lied to.

“Is that why you told me you couldn’t come to my appointment today?” I tried to keep my voice steady, but the anger surged, making it impossible to control.

Without thinking, I raised my hand and slapped Vincent hard across the face.

It was the first time I had ever lashed out at him like this. Yet, even after I slapped him, he stood there, silent, avoiding my gaze.

“Your silence isn’t helping, Vincent. You owe me an explanation.”

Vincent didn’t move, but Rosa—who had been standing behind him—stepped forward, shielding him from my anger.

“Mrs Falcone, Isabella, right?” she said, her voice shaking, “Blame it all on me. Vincent did nothing wrong.”

“It was my mistake, Isabella. I’m the one who got pregnant.”

“Blamed it all on you, huh?” I scoffed, the bitterness in my voice clear.

I was a tough woman, but even so, tears streamed down my face.

As if my tears had triggered something in him, Vincent finally stepped past Rosa and pulled me into his arms.

“Don’t cry, Isabella. The baby isn’t mine,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

I froze. What?

But then, Rosa spoke, she winked her innocent big eyes at Vincent, “Vincent, didn’t you promise to protect my baby by claiming it as your own? Why are you telling her now?”

Protect her baby? What the hell was going on?

I broke free from Vincent’s arms and stared at him. “What the fuck is happening right now, Vincent? What the hell is she talking about?”

“Vincent!” Rosa called him too, clearly trying to stop him from saying anything more.

But Vincent didn’t hesitate. “Isabella is my wife. She deserves to know.”

“Alright,” Rosa’s tear-filled eyes locked onto mine. “If you really need to know, Isabella… Vincent decided to claim my baby as his, so he might not be able to claim yours.”

Vincent’s face drained of color, but he stayed silent, offering no correction.

“But don’t worry,” Rosa continued, her tone suddenly sweet as she reached for my hand, her fingers hovering just above mine. “Vincent said that even he can’t claim your baby now. He’ll adopt once you’ve given birth.”

“Our baby will belong to the Falcone name,” she added, her voice dripping with faux sincerity.

I swear I saw a brief smirk twist her lips, but it was gone before I could be sure.

I turned to Vincent, still silent, his head bowed as if he couldn’t bear to look at me.

“Is this true, Vincent?” My voice wavered as I forced the question out. “You’re going to give up on our baby to save hers?”

“I’m sorry, Isabella,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, barely audible.

Tears welled up again. “Is her baby so important to you that you’d abandon ours?”

Vincent hesitated, the pause slicing through me like a blade.

“You don’t understand about Rosa’s family,” he murmured, his words coming slow and measured. "Rosa’s parents wouldn't dare defy me. And since they've made it clear they’ll only accept this child as mine if I have no other heir to my name, I can’t claim our baby now—at least, not until Rosa’s baby was born." He looked at me as if he were standing up for a noble cause, as if every word he said was justified.

But the logic behind it was almost laughable.

The one thing Vincent was right about was that no one dared to mess with him—not in the South, at least. He was a mafia kingpin, involved in arms dealing and drug trafficking.

Even though my family had dealt with mafias, owning a few casinos, we were small fry compared to Vincent.

That’s why, when my parents found out he was my lover, they practically shoved me down the aisle toward him.

Vincent, ever the cold, commanding figure, only showed his softer side to me. But today, I had seen him do the same for Rosa.

He reached for me again, his arms outstretched, trying to pull me close. “Don’t worry. I won’t let our baby grow up without a father. Trust me, okay? As soon as Rosa’s baby is born, I’ll clear your name.”

…

After my checkup, Vincent insisted on driving me to dinner. Rosa was eager to tag along. She claimed she was happy she wouldn’t be the only one carrying a child now, but I could see through the act.

She was trying too hard to play the part of the concerned, supportive friend.

“How about our regular place? I’ve been craving their food for quite some time,” Rosa suggested as I barely sat down.

Vincent sounded too eager. “Sounds great. Let’s go to the place on Sixth Avenue.”

I kept my expression neutral, though my stomach twisted with unease. Rosa was hiding something behind that too-bright smile of hers.

Rosa slid into the backseat, her hand instinctively reaching for Vincent’s. “I was thinking… maybe we could swing by after dinner and pick out some baby clothes. I still haven’t found the perfect ones.”

“You wouldn’t mind, would you, Isabella?” She turned to me, a challenging look in her eyes. “I’m all alone now. Vincent’s the only one I can count on.”

How absurd. My husband seem more like a couple with Rosa than with me.

“Are you mad at me, Isabella?” Rosa blinked up at me, her wide, innocent eyes glinting with something far less pure. “You can come with us if you want to.”

“No need. I’ve already prepared baby clothes back at the mansion.” I was done entertaining her.

When the car finally pulled to a stop, I stepped out and found myself in front of a Japanese restaurant, specializing in sashimi and sushi.

Had Vincent forgotten that I never ate raw seafood? Forgotten that, ever since my pregnancy, the smell of it made me sick to my stomach?