Dumped the Don, Kept the Kids
The day I went into labor with the twins, I bribed the family doctor to shoot me up with every heavy-duty suppressant he could get his hands on. Anything to stall the birth.
Why? Because in my last life, Vincent—my husband, the Don—claimed to have a low sperm count.
To guarantee an heir, he lined up ten mistresses and told the whole house: whoever popped out a son first, her kid would be the next Corleone Don.
He promised if I delivered first, he'd ditch the others. Said our baby would inherit the throne.
I bought every word.
When I found out I was carrying twins, I couldn't stop shaking—I thought I'd won.
But after I gave birth, he tossed me and the babies into the freezing wine cella