My Husband's Debt for His Principessa
I fought with my husband, Alessio, the Don of the Moretti family, over the mistress who'd given him twin sons.
The next day, he stormed into my bedroom and put a gun to my head.
"Did you take my sons?! You vicious bitch!"
While I was still in shock, he ordered his men to lock my eight-year-old daughter, Lucia, in the icehouse for three whole days of "training."
He gave me an ultimatum: Lucia would stay there until I brought him his sons.
Lucia froze to death in that icehouse.
I returned with her death certificate in my hand, my heart a hollow stone in my chest, only to find him moving his mistress and their sons into the home we once shared.
He was cheerful, dismissing the whole thing as a misunderstanding.
He even had the audacity to tell me to go get Lucia to meet her "new little brothers."
I just stared, tears tracking paths down my face, the life inside me extinguished.
It wasn't until that thin piece of paper—the death certificate—fluttered to the floor that the color drained from Alessio's face.
He finally realized Lucia was gone.
Killed by his own blind, cruel pride.