All Chapters of The Dons Forbidden Wife: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Serena’s POV“Ms. Romano, I need you to stay still.”The nurse adjusts the IV line at my wrist, her voice calm and professional, like this is just another room, another patient, another morning. I nod even though my head feels heavy and my ribs ache when I breathe too deeply.She checks the monitor, scribbles something on a chart, and gives me a small smile. “Your vitals are stable. That’s good.”“Can I go home?” I ask.She hesitates, and that hesitation tells me everything before she speaks. “The doctor will talk to you later.”She leaves without another word, pulling the door shut behind her.The quiet rushes back in.I stare at the ceiling, following a thin crack that runs diagonally toward the corner of the room. I don’t remember noticing it yesterday. Maybe it’s new. Or maybe I was too distracted by pain and fear to care.The machines beside the bed keep beeping, steady and unforgiving. Each sound feels like a reminder that I’m still here, still costing money I don’t have.I turn

Serena’s POV“I’ll do it.”The words leave my mouth before I can pull them back. They sound steady, which surprises me, because my chest feels like it’s caving in. I keep my eyes on Dante’s face, waiting for some kind of reaction, something that tells me I haven’t just crossed a line I can’t return from.He stops moving.He had been standing near the chair beside my bed, one hand resting on the back of it like he hadn’t decided whether to sit or leave. Now he straightens slowly, his attention locking onto me with sharp focus. Not relief. Not surprise. Calculation.“You’ll do what?” he asks.“I’ll sign,” I say, forcing the words out again before doubt can catch up to me. “The papers.”The silence that follows feels heavy, like the room is holding its breath. I shift slightly against the pillows, the movement pulling at sore muscles, reminding me that my body is still paying for mistakes I don’t fully remember making. My hands are folded tightly in my lap, fingers curled into the thin h

Antonio’s POV “Play it again.” My voice comes out hard, cutting through the quiet that settled after the report ended. One of the men reaches for the remote without looking at me. The screen flickers, then rewinds. The news segment starts over, the reporter’s calm tone grating against my nerves. “…Dante Romano confirmed married this morning in a closed courthouse ceremony…” My fingers dig into the edge of the table as the footage rolls. The same blurred images. The same tight formation of security. The same woman in white with her face turned away. I lean forward this time. Closer. Like distance alone is the problem. “Zoom in,” I say. The technician hesitates. “Boss, that’s the clearest feed available.” “Then slow it down,” I snap. “Frame by frame.” A woman in white. Her face turned away. Security closing in around her as cameras explode in light. I lean forward without realizing it. “That’s not her,” I say quickly. The footage sharpens for half a second befor

Serena’s POVThe car slows, then stops.I don’t move right away. My hands are clenched in my lap, knuckles white against the pale fabric of the dress. The silence inside the vehicle feels deliberate, like I’m being given one last second to understand what’s coming.Then the gates close behind us.The sound is loud and final, metal grinding into place. I twist in my seat and look back, but the tinted glass shows nothing. There is no road, no city, no way out. Whatever life existed outside those gates is gone.“Out,” Dante says.I step down onto the gravel, my legs stiff, my body still sore. Cold air hits my face, sharp enough to wake me fully. When I look up, the estate towers over me, all stone and angles, more fortress than home. Cameras are fixed into the corners of the walls. Guards stand at even intervals, eyes forward, hands still. No one looks curious. No one looks welcoming.The gates seal completely.The silence afterward presses in.“This way,” Dante says, already moving.I f

Serena’s POV“Mrs. Romano.”I turn away from the mirror as the knock fades and the door opens. The maid stands there with her hands folded, eyes lowered, posture flawless.“Dinner is ready,” she says. “Don Dante is waiting.”I nod once. My voice doesn’t come out when I try to answer, so I don’t force it. I step past her into the corridor, the door closing behind me with the same quiet finality as before.The dress moves differently when I walk. It doesn’t swish or cling softly. It holds me upright, forces my shoulders back, keeps my steps measured. Every movement feels supervised, even though no one is touching me.We walk in silence.The halls are dimmer now, the lights lower, the guards more visible. I catch the flash of eyes following me, assessing, cataloguing. No one speaks. No one needs to.When the dining room doors open, the sound of voices stops.The table is long, black stone polished to a shine that reflects the chandelier overhead. Dante sits at the head, already seated, h