All Chapters of The Dons Forbidden Wife: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Serena’s pov “Mrs. Romano, without a deposit, we’ll have to discontinue treatment .” The words land like a slap. I stand frozen in the narrow hospital corridor, the smell of antiseptic burning my nose. My fingers are clenched so tightly around the strap of my handbag that my knuckles ache. The doctor looks at me with that careful, practiced sympathy,the kind people reserve for someone they’ve already written off. “How much time do I have?” I ask. My voice barely holds together. “Today,” he says gently. “Your mother needs surgery immediately. If we don’t receive the deposit by this evening, the hospital administration will have no choice but to discharge her.” Discharge her? My heart lurches. “But she’ll die,” I whisper. He doesn’t deny it. He simply shakes his head and turns his attention back to the papers on his desk. I stumble out of the office, my legs trembling as I fumble for my phone. Antonio will fix this. He always does. He has to, he’s my husband, my partner. The ma

Serena’s pov “I don’t want to see your filthy, broke self around me or my wife ever again.” Antonio’s voice cuts through everything. The guards grab my arms before I can react. Their hands are firm, unyielding, like I’m already a problem they’ve been warned about. My body jerks forward as they pull me, my heels scraping against the polished floor. I stumble. Someone laughs. People don’t pretend anymore. They stare. Some lift their phones openly, angling for a better shot. I catch a glimpse of myself reflected in the glass…hair messy, face wet, eyes too wide. Antonio raises his voice deliberately, projecting. “She drained me for years,” he says, shaking his head like I’m a cautionary tale. “Broke, Useless and Dead weight.” My chest tightens. I try to speak, but nothing comes out. “Disposable,” he adds, amused. I twist my head back over my shoulder, desperate, stupid, hoping he’ll look at me one last time. He doesn’t. He grabs Isabella, wrapping his arm around her waist .He

Dante’s pov“Drive faster. We’re already late.”My voice is calm, but everyone in the car hears the warning underneath it.I sit in the backseat of the armored sedan, legs spread slightly, posture relaxed . The windows are blacked out, bulletproof. I glance at my watch again, irritation flickering sharp and brief.Late is unacceptable.Outside, the city blurs past in streaks of concrete and glass. We’re moving fast. Too fast for most people. Not fast enough for me.Two cars lead the convoy. Two trail behind. Armed men in every vehicle. Radios murmur constantly, low and clipped, confirming routes, clearing intersections, updating positions.My phone buzzes in my hand.Capo Romano: Five minutes out.Capo DeLuca: Arrived.Security Chief: Perimeter secured.This meeting decides too much to be careless with. Territory, alliances, blood , if things go wrong. I’ve spent weeks tightening this situation into something controllable. I won’t have it unravel because of traffic.The driver tighten

Dante’s POVKeep her sedated. Not too much.”My voice sounds steady and Controlled. Like everything else in my life is.The doctor nods quickly. He knows better than to question my tone. He adjusts the IV, murmurs something about monitoring vitals, then backs out of the room with the nurse trailing behind him. The door closes softly, leaving only the low hum of machines and the uneven rise and fall of her chest.I stay where I am, at the foot of the bed.She looks smaller now that she’s still. Fragile in a way that irritates me. I don’t like fragile things. They break. They make men careless.Her lashes rest against her cheeks, casting faint shadows under her eyes. There’s dried blood at her hairline that someone didn’t clean properly. I make a mental note to have that fixed. The sheets are too white. Too clean for someone who was lying on asphalt less than an hour ago.I tell myself she’s just another accident victim but my instincts don’t listen.Something about her presence presses

Dante’s POV“Go on,” I say calmly. “Tell me everything.”I’m seated beside her hospital bed, close enough to hear the hitch in her breathing, far enough that she doesn’t feel cornered.Serena looks breakable.Not in the fragile, delicate way men romanticize but in the way something already shattered looks when you realize one more touch could turn it to dust.She hesitates, then starts talking.At first, it’s disjointed, half-finished sentences. She doesn’t look at me while she speaks. Her eyes stay fixed on the ceiling like she’s afraid that if she looks down, she’ll fall apart completely.She talks about the divorce.She goes on to talk about signing papers she didn’t understand because she trusted the man standing across from her and then realizing too late that trust had been a weapon used against her. Her voice shakes when she says his name “Antonio” and I take note of that.She tells me how he humiliated her. How he made her feel small for asking questions. How he drained her sa