Tearing the Underboss's Heir Agreement

I was three months pregnant.

My boyfriend, Dante Moretti, gestured toward my stomach in front of everyone at a private cigar club.

"Get rid of it."

His tone was dismissive, as if ordering an underling to take out the trash.

I pleaded with him to come home, but he shoved me away.

Dante was arrogant and cold, his disdain a palpable force.

"Elena, you're just a warm body in my bed. When did I ever promise you a home?"

"Isn't this roof over your head your payment for crawling into my bed and getting yourself knocked up?"

A sharp pain lanced through my abdomen.

With no regard for the eyes on him, Dante kissed the dancer in his arms, shoving his tongue into her mouth.

In the dim light of the club, everyone was waiting for the spectacle of my humiliation.

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1

Dante's dark eyes were locked on me as he undid the slip dress of the dancer in his arms.

The woman's soft gasps hung in the air, a soundtrack to the sordid scene unfolding.

"Don't, Don Moretti... she's watching..."

Her sultry, inviting voice was enough to make any man in the room weak at the knees.

Dante's grip tightened, and he roughly tore the strap from her shoulder.

"What are you afraid of?" He shifted his gaze from the woman's pale skin to me. "Go on. Tell Elena to give you her shawl."

I didn't move.

His voice turned icy. "If you don't take it off, are you waiting for me to do it for you?"

My face was ashen. I bit my lip, desperately trying to suppress the emotions threatening to overwhelm me.

After a deep breath, I removed the cashmere shawl from my shoulders and draped it over the woman's bare skin.

The club's lighting was too dim; I couldn't see their faces clearly.

"Dante, you're drunk. I'll wait for you outside."

My voice trembled, a tremor running through my body.

"Principessa, it's cold outside. You should have your shawl back."

A sweet female voice came from behind. Before I could react, she grabbed my wrist.

Turning, I saw a constellation of fresh love bites on the pale skin of her neck, a stark contrast against her torn collar.

She stuffed the shawl back into my hands and smiled at me.

Because we were so close, I finally saw her clearly. She smiled, and it was the very same smile as Isabella's—Dante's unforgettable, deceased love.

I was stunned. "Isabella?"

The woman flinched, scrambling back into the safety of Dante's arms.

"You're not worthy of saying her name!"

"In that fire all those years ago, it should have been you who died, not Isabella!"

Dante's low roar was filled with raw fury, his eyes promising to tear me limb from limb.

He hated me. He hated that I was the sole survivor of that fire.

Ten years ago, a fire had suddenly broken out in the art studio at Isabella's school, and she had perished in the flames.

And I, who was supposed to be with her, had left just moments before the fire broke out.

Dante blamed me for all of it. If I had been with her, he reasoned, she wouldn't have died.

But he didn't know the woman he worshiped had faked her own death simply because she no longer loved him.

She had already flown far, far away.

To keep him from being heartbroken, I had kept this secret for ten years.

But in ten years, I had utterly failed to warm this man's heart.

This time, I was truly tired.

A heart I can't warm... Fine. I'm done trying.

With a loud "thump," Dante threw me into a corner.

The dull impact shot through my back, almost knocking the wind out of me.

I instinctively protected my stomach, but the gesture only fueled Dante's rage.

"I know you signed an heir agreement with the Moretti family. As long as you give birth to an heir, the family will pardon your father's 'debts'."

"But this child, I will never acknowledge it! Be smart and get rid of it."

The whispers finally started, impossible for even Dante to ignore.

Each mocking gaze was a fresh slice of a knife.

They openly discussed my absurd decade with Dante.

Stealing my dead friend's boyfriend, climbing into the bed of a Mafia Underboss, being a secret lover hidden from the light of day, selling my body to pay off my father's debts...

Even the heir agreement I signed with the Moretti family was public knowledge.

One by one, their words branded me a pariah, nailing me to a pillar of shame.

"I will not let any woman other than Isabella give birth to my—"

"Fine."

I cut him off before he could finish.

Using the wall for support, I slowly pushed myself to my feet.

He stared at me, a flicker of shock in his eyes.

Perhaps he thought I would never agree, that he could subject me to this humiliation all night.