I found out I was pregnant at the same time as my mafia husband’s childhood sweetheart Rosa.

To protect her baby from being aborted by her parents, my husband claimed her baby as his own.

As for mine? He coxed me, saying he will claim only after her baby was born.

I confronted him, demanding to know why he would do this to me. His response was cold and unwavering: “Claiming her baby as mine was the only way to protect them both. I won’t let anything happen to her or the child.”

In that moment, as I looked at the man I had loved for ten years, I realized my love for him had died.

Not long after, my family condemned me, calling me a slut for having a child without a father and pressured me into getting an abortion.

Meanwhile, my husband was in another city, with his sweetheart, helping her through her pregnancy.

By the time he returned, I was already gone.

1

Isabella’s POV

I found out that my husband was accompanying his childhood sweetheart Rosa for her pregnancy check up at my regular hospital this afternoon.

“Vincent, our baby looks so cute on the monitor.”

From the crack in the door, I saw Vincent’s face lit up with a smile. Rosa was pointing at the monitor, and Vincent nodded, smiling back at her.

If I didn’t know that man was my husband—the father of my baby—I would have sworn they were a couple, happy and in love.

“Isabella Caruso? The doctor is ready for your examination,” the nurse called.

Vincent turned, his face drained of color, his eyes scanning the hallway. He must have heard my name.

When his eyes landed on me, his mouth opened, but no words came out.

I had been happily married to Vincent Falcone, my mafia husband, for nearly ten years. This year, I was finally pregnant with his child. He of all people should know how difficult is for me to have the baby now. How could he do this to me?

I slowly walked toward him, my heart boiling with fury, anger, and the deep sadness of realizing how much I had been lied to.

“Is that why you told me you couldn’t come to my appointment today?” I tried to keep my voice steady, but the anger surged, making it impossible to control.

Without thinking, I raised my hand and slapped Vincent hard across the face.

It was the first time I had ever lashed out at him like this. Yet, even after I slapped him, he stood there, silent, avoiding my gaze.

“Your silence isn’t helping, Vincent. You owe me an explanation.”

Vincent didn’t move, but Rosa—who had been standing behind him—stepped forward, shielding him from my anger.

“Mrs Falcone, Isabella, right?” she said, her voice shaking, “Blame it all on me. Vincent did nothing wrong.”

“It was my mistake, Isabella. I’m the one who got pregnant.”

“Blamed it all on you, huh?” I scoffed, the bitterness in my voice clear.

I was a tough woman, but even so, tears streamed down my face.

As if my tears had triggered something in him, Vincent finally stepped past Rosa and pulled me into his arms.

“Don’t cry, Isabella. The baby isn’t mine,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

I froze. What?

But then, Rosa spoke, she winked her innocent big eyes at Vincent, “Vincent, didn’t you promise to protect my baby by claiming it as your own? Why are you telling her now?”

Protect her baby? What the hell was going on?

I broke free from Vincent’s arms and stared at him. “What the fuck is happening right now, Vincent? What the hell is she talking about?”

“Vincent!” Rosa called him too, clearly trying to stop him from saying anything more.

But Vincent didn’t hesitate. “Isabella is my wife. She deserves to know.”

“Alright,” Rosa’s tear-filled eyes locked onto mine. “If you really need to know, Isabella… Vincent decided to claim my baby as his, so he might not be able to claim yours.”

Vincent’s face drained of color, but he stayed silent, offering no correction.

“But don’t worry,” Rosa continued, her tone suddenly sweet as she reached for my hand, her fingers hovering just above mine. “Vincent said that even he can’t claim your baby now. He’ll adopt once you’ve given birth.”

“Our baby will belong to the Falcone name,” she added, her voice dripping with faux sincerity.

I swear I saw a brief smirk twist her lips, but it was gone before I could be sure.

I turned to Vincent, still silent, his head bowed as if he couldn’t bear to look at me.

“Is this true, Vincent?” My voice wavered as I forced the question out. “You’re going to give up on our baby to save hers?”

“I’m sorry, Isabella,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, barely audible.

Tears welled up again. “Is her baby so important to you that you’d abandon ours?”

Vincent hesitated, the pause slicing through me like a blade.

“You don’t understand about Rosa’s family,” he murmured, his words coming slow and measured. "Rosa’s parents wouldn't dare defy me. And since they've made it clear they’ll only accept this child as mine if I have no other heir to my name, I can’t claim our baby now—at least, not until Rosa’s baby was born." He looked at me as if he were standing up for a noble cause, as if every word he said was justified.

But the logic behind it was almost laughable.

The one thing Vincent was right about was that no one dared to mess with him—not in the South, at least. He was a mafia kingpin, involved in arms dealing and drug trafficking.

Even though my family had dealt with mafias, owning a few casinos, we were small fry compared to Vincent.

That’s why, when my parents found out he was my lover, they practically shoved me down the aisle toward him.

Vincent, ever the cold, commanding figure, only showed his softer side to me. But today, I had seen him do the same for Rosa.

He reached for me again, his arms outstretched, trying to pull me close. “Don’t worry. I won’t let our baby grow up without a father. Trust me, okay? As soon as Rosa’s baby is born, I’ll clear your name.”

…

After my checkup, Vincent insisted on driving me to dinner. Rosa was eager to tag along. She claimed she was happy she wouldn’t be the only one carrying a child now, but I could see through the act.

She was trying too hard to play the part of the concerned, supportive friend.

“How about our regular place? I’ve been craving their food for quite some time,” Rosa suggested as I barely sat down.

Vincent sounded too eager. “Sounds great. Let’s go to the place on Sixth Avenue.”

I kept my expression neutral, though my stomach twisted with unease. Rosa was hiding something behind that too-bright smile of hers.

Rosa slid into the backseat, her hand instinctively reaching for Vincent’s. “I was thinking… maybe we could swing by after dinner and pick out some baby clothes. I still haven’t found the perfect ones.”

“You wouldn’t mind, would you, Isabella?” She turned to me, a challenging look in her eyes. “I’m all alone now. Vincent’s the only one I can count on.”

How absurd. My husband seem more like a couple with Rosa than with me.

“Are you mad at me, Isabella?” Rosa blinked up at me, her wide, innocent eyes glinting with something far less pure. “You can come with us if you want to.”

“No need. I’ve already prepared baby clothes back at the mansion.” I was done entertaining her.

When the car finally pulled to a stop, I stepped out and found myself in front of a Japanese restaurant, specializing in sashimi and sushi.

Had Vincent forgotten that I never ate raw seafood? Forgotten that, ever since my pregnancy, the smell of it made me sick to my stomach?

2

Isabella’s POV

“I don’t want to eat seafood.”

Then, as if a sudden thought occurred to him, Vincent shifted his tone, “Oh, right. You probably shouldn’t have the sashimi. I just remembered you’re allergic or something?”

“Sorry, Isabella,” Rosa shot me a glance. “I’ve been craving sashimi ever since I got pregnant,” she added with a slight shrug. “But if you’re not in the mood for seafood, we can always switch to another restaurant. I guess.”

Vincent hesitated as he looked at me, clearly unsure of how to proceed. "Well, how about we go and let Rosa pick whatever she wants, then I’ll take you to the restaurant you like?"

I glanced between them. Vincent’s insistence felt off, and Rosa’s feigned casual concern only made me feel more exposed.

I stayed silent, my quiet refusal hanging in the air. Was he going to leave with me now that he remembered I hated seafood?

But as the moments stretched, Vincent said nothing. His gaze flickered between Rosa and me, hesitation written all over his face.

My patience wore thin. Without another word, I turned and hailed a cab. “Forget it. I’m going back to the house to eat.”

Vincent’s voice followed, sharp with irritation rather than concern. “Isabella, don’t make a scene. We’re in public.”

I didn’t bother responding. Instead, I pulled open the car door and, before slipping inside, threw one last parting shot over my shoulder.

“Enjoy your dinner.”

Then I got in and slammed the door shut before Vincent could say another word. The cab driver barely had time to ask where I was headed before I barked out the address of the mansion. My hands clenched into fists on my lap, and my heart pounded in my chest—not just from anger, but from something deeper. Something uglier.

Vincent hadn’t followed me. He hadn’t even tried.

That should’ve told me everything I needed to know.

I was Vincent's wife—his pregnant wife—but ever since he’d made up mind to protect Rosa’s baby, my baby and me became invisible to his eyes.

This baby had once been my hope, my dream, after years of waiting.

But now? Now, I don’t think so. I had made a mistake.

I never should’ve had this child if I’d known it would be born into a family like this—a family where the father gives more attention to the other child than his own baby.

Vincent had returned to our mansion just when I thought I could finally get some rest, his eyebrows furrowed, clearly troubled by something.

He dropped to his knees in front of me as soon as he saw me and, looking as if he was explaining a grand, noble cause, said, “Babe, don’t be mad at me, okay?”

From what Vincent had told me, he’d been ambushed by Rosa, too. He’d been in his car, on the phone negotiating an arms deal with Africa, when Rosa had shown up, her eyes red and swollen from crying.

He had no choice but to comfort her. After all, they’d grown up together—she was his childhood sweetheart and her parents were friends to Vincent’s parents too.

She’d told him that if her parents found out about the pregnancy, they would pressure her into aborting it. She wanted to keep her baby.

Vincent couldn’t let that happen to her, so he agreed to let her say he was the father, at least for now. Apparently, when Rosa’s parents heard about it, they weren’t upset at all.

After all, who wouldn’t want a baby when its father was Vincent Falcone?

“Isabella, I really needed you to trust me on this,” he said, pausing for a long moment before continuing. “It will be like we are saving a life together. If I do not help her, Rosa’s baby will be aborted the moment her parents take her home.”

“So…?” I didn’t let him finish. “So you’ve made up your mind to make our baby fatherless, is that it? So my child will be a bastard, possibly born without a name, with no family to back them up?”

Vincent took my hands and pressed them to his lips. “I’m sorry, Isabella. Just a little longer. Once Rosa gives birth, I can take our baby home and claim them as my own.”

“I couldn’t just stand there and watch Rosa suffer.”

I inhaled deeply. “Then I guess there’s no need for our baby to be born.”

“No!” Vincent stood up, his face contorted with anger. “Why can’t you just understand? I told you, I’ll claim our baby once Rosa’s is born. Why do you have to be so stubborn? You’re not giving up on our baby, and I’ll help with Rosa’s too. End of discussion.”

Then, just like that, he left—like nothing had happened.

The next day, Vincent sent a dozen bodyguards to surround the mansion and a dozen maids to help me. I knew what he was doing—keeping a close watch on me, making sure I didn’t do anything to harm our baby.

He was afraid.

He even took my phone, cutting off any chance of escape.

Why insist on having our baby when he’d already chosen Rosa’s first?

Did Vincent really think I was such a pushover that I’d just let him do whatever he wanted?

Well, screw him. I’m not a puppet, and I sure as hell won’t sit back and accept whatever crap he throws my way.

…

Time passed. I was stuck here, and according to Vincent, I was “enjoying” my pregnancy.

One morning, after finishing breakfast, I heard the front door open. Rosa was standing next to a woman I didn’t recognize.

The minute the woman saw me, she started shooting sarcasm. “Someone’s looking full of herself. Why would you still cling to the title of Mrs. Falcone when you’re clearly messing around with another man? And getting pregnant—how shameful.”

“My poor baby girl,” she cooed. “You must’ve suffered so much, Rosa.”

That woman was Rosa’s mother? What was she going on about—me messing around with another man and getting pregnant?

I was pregnant with Vincent’s child, not her. It was Rosa who was the one messing around and ended up pregnant.

I watched as more people followed them inside, carrying bags and boxes. Rosa acted like she owned the place, bossing the maids and workers around as they helped her move her things into one of the empty rooms. Once she was done, she turned to me with a cruel smile.

“Isabella,” she sneered, “you thought you won by marrying Vincent, didn’t you? Look at me now. I’m standing here, about to sleep in the bed he bought for this mansion.”

“You’re nothing, Isabella.”

I watched as she laughed, her voice dripping with malice. I couldn’t hold back the anger anymore. I marched toward her, step by step, and slapped her across the face with all the force I could muster.

She screamed as she fell onto the sofa behind her.

Just then, Vincent walked in, witnessing the scene. I wasn’t done with Rosa. I’d tolerated her sarcasm for far too long, but that didn’t mean she had the right to keep pushing me.

3

Isabella’s POV

I strode over to Rosa, ready to slap her one last time. Vincent rushed forward, his hands stopping me. “What are you doing?”

“It’s my fault, Vincent. Mrs. Falcone has every right to be angry with me. First, I asked you to come to the pregnancy check-up with me, then I moved in here.” Rosa put on that innocent act again. “It’s all my fault. I should just leave. I really shouldn’t have come today.”

Fine, then leave. The thought crossed my mind.

To my surprise, Vincent—who had been trying to stop me from slapping Rosa—spoke up. "I agree. You should leave, Rosa. I’m not going to force my wife out of here."

I was stunned. After everything, I expected him to yell at me, to tell me to leave.

Rosa was taken aback too, but in the next breath, she managed to shed a few tears, pleading, “Ow, my stomach hurts so badly. Is the baby angry with me?”

Once again, I watched as Vincent’s serious expression faltered. He softened—for her. His hand hovered over her stomach, like she was the most delicate thing in the world. It made my blood boil.

The way he always crumbled when she played the victim card made my stomach turn.

“Vincent,” I said through clenched jaws, “You can’t possibly believe her, right?”

But he didn’t look at me, his attention entirely focused on Rosa."She's in pain," he said, his voice gentle, like the words were meant for her, and only her. “Let’s not make things worse.”

And so, Rosa stayed. My room became hers, and I was told to move to the first floor, the small room next to the nanny.

Vincent tried to reassure me, saying, "It’s only until her stomach calms down. I’ll make sure you’re back in your room before you even notice, okay?”

Once again, I was told to wait.

But what Vincent didn’t realize was that I no longer wanted this baby.

A child born without a father by their side, without a family to love and care for them—there was no reason for that life to come into this world.

There was no need for another soul to suffer in this house.

…

After that dramatic move-in day, Rosa settled in, but I never saw her. It was like nothing had changed.

While she was probably enjoying her new space, I was focused on figuring out how to make contact with the outside world. Vincent still hadn’t returned my phone.

I even tried bargaining with Rosa, telling her that if she helped me, I would leave this place for good—meaning Vincent all to herself.

But all she did was look at me with pure dispise.

“You thought I wanted Vincent? God, Isabella, I have to admit—sometimes, I almost admire you. The lengths you’re willing to go, the perfectly innocent act you’ve put on… I almost pity you.”

I had misjudged Rosa. I thought all she wanted was Vincent for herself, that she would help me disappear. But I was wrong. She wasn’t after Vincent—she was after control. To her, we were nothing more than a spectacle, a show she could twist and manipulate for her own amusement.

The depth of her scheming was beyond anything I had imagined. She truly disgusted me.

Every day, Vincent would come home, checking on Rosa’s baby, acting like a perfect dad, playing with a child that wasn’t even his.

But when it came to me, he’d knock on my door, see that I was already in bed, and quietly shut it again. He never spoke to our baby. He never spent time with it.

The room I had now was nothing compared to the nanny's quarters. It was so small that only a bed fit in here. There wasn’t even space to sit.

All the rooms in the mansion were claimed by Rosa—one for the baby, one for dancing, one for her computer and books, one for clothes, and one for storage.

Vincent practically lived with her, sleeping in the same room. He called it helping her through her pregnancy. But who knew what else was happening behind those closed doors?

Today, Vincent surprised me by knocking on my door. He hesitated before speaking, “Isabella, how have you been? Do you still want to get rid of the baby?”

“You can trust me,” he said softly. “I love you. I’ll protect you.”

It was the first time Vincent had ever told me he loved me. But honestly, I couldn’t tell if he meant it—or if he was just trying to manipulate me into keeping the baby.

I closed my eyes, steeling myself, and said, “I will have this baby.”

“Only…”

“Only what?”

“Only… you gave me back my phone. You know I don’t have anyone to talk to in this house. I’ll get lonely, and that’s not good for the baby.”

Vincent pulled me into his arms, his voice full of happiness. “I’ll give you everything. Just keep our baby happy, okay?”

…

I had my phone back. I could finally breathe easier, knowing I had a way to contact anyone I wanted.

No one knew I was adopted by my family—the one Vincent was familiar with.

As for my birth parents, I found them two years ago. But back then, I was still deeply in love with Vincent, still married to him. I couldn’t just leave.

They were sad when I didn’t go with them, but they left me a number, telling me:

“Isabella, if you’re ever unhappy, or just miss us, call this number. We’ll come for you.”

I never thought I’d dial that number, but here I am. They’re my only hope now.

My adoptive family treated me well enough, but to them, keeping Vincent happy was always more important than helping me.

…

At eighth months pregnant, Rosa suddenly said she wanted to go to California, somewhere near the beach, to have her last two months of pregnancy.

Vincent initially planned to stay, but once again, he caved to Rosa’s demands, especially after she promised it would help her baby.

Before they left, Vincent came to my door one last time. “I’ll be back before you give birth. Will you wait for me?”

“I know I’ve crossed a line,” he continued. “But I promise I’ll make it up to you. Isabella, please trust me. I love you.”

Whatever he said, I just smiled and nodded.

Then Rosa called, and Vincent turned to leave.

But this time, he seemed to notice something off about me. I was unnervingly quiet.

He pulled me into a tight hug, almost suffocating me. “Say the word, Isabella. Just one word, and I won’t leave.”

I let him hold me, but deep down, I felt nothing—nothing about the hug, nothing about his words.

“You should leave, Vincent,” I whispered. “If you stay, you won’t be the man I married.”

Vincent still didn’t move, but I wasn’t in the mood to play his games right now.

“Alright then. How about you get that bitch and her stuff out of our mansion?”

I watched as Vincent blinked, surprised by the sharp edge in my voice. But I didn’t wait for his response. Instead, I sneered, “That’s what I want. If you can’t do it, then don’t say it. I’m sick of your empty promises.”

With that, I turned and headed straight for the bathroom.

4

Isabella’s POV

After their flight took off, I finally felt a sense of relief. Now, all I had to do was wait for my real parents to pick me up.

Just twelve more hours, and I’d finally be free from Vincent and all the lies. I was so happy I even ate another piece of steak at dinner.

When I spoke with my real parents on the phone, I told them Vincent had surrounded the mansion with nearly thirty bodyguards.

My father chuckled on the other end. “Thirty? Don’t worry about it. Your dad has thousands of them.”

“Just relax and wait for us, okay?” he said.

I didn’t know if he was exaggerating, but it was enough that they were coming to get me.

After dinner, while I was reading in the living room, Rosa’s mother arrived, followed by Vincent’s parents and my adoptive parents.

They all looked at me like I was the villain.

Vincent’s mother slammed a divorce agreement on the table. “Sign this. Get rid of that bastard child in your belly. The Falcon family can’t be more ashamed of you.”

Rosa’s mother added, “If I had my way, every family in New York would know what this bitch has done.”

“The Caruso certainly raised a fine daughter on their own,” she sneered.

My adoptive father’s face turned pale. He stood up, walked toward me, and slapped me hard across the face. “My reputation, your mother’s reputation—the entire Caruso family is being shamed by you!”

I was done with all the drama. I grabbed the divorce paper off the floor and, before signing it, I said, “If I was carrying Vincent’s child and Rosa wasn’t, would you all regret it when you find out the truth?”

Before I could hear their response, I signed the paper.

But what I hadn’t expected was Vincent’s mother demanding that I get the baby aborted immediately.

I refused without hesitation. The baby was innocent. Even if I wanted nothing to do with Vincent, this child was still a part of me.

She looked at me like I was nothing more than filth beneath her shoe, her voice dripping with disdain. “Do you really think I’ll let you give birth to whatever bastard you’re carrying after you walked out of the Falcone mansion today?”

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms as I met her gaze without flinching. "I don't need your permission," I said coldly. "This baby is mine, and no one—especially not you—will decide its fate."

Vincent’s mother’s lips curled into a mocking smirk. "How naive. Do you really think you can defy the Falcone family and walk away unscathed?"

Rosa’s mother scoffed, crossing her arms. "Let her keep the child. It won’t survive long enough to cause problems anyway."

I felt the blood drain from my face. My heart pounded violently in my chest. "What the hell does that mean?" I demanded.

Vincent’s mother stepped closer, her perfume nauseatingly strong, her voice soft but laced with menace. "It means, darling, that accidents happen every day. Women like you… they slip, they fall, they lose things."

I stepped back instinctively, but my body trembled with rage. I turned to my adoptive father, hoping for the slightest hint of remorse, but all I saw was disappointment—disappointment in me, not in them.

"You're really okay with this?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. "With them threatening to kill your grandchild?"

He turned his face away.

Vincent’s mother stormed over, slapped me across my face and yanked my hair, her grip like iron. “Don’t waste our time. Even your own family won’t take you back. So decide—either you or your baby dies today.”

My lips trembled beneath her grasp, but I refused to break. “I won’t choose.”

Her eyes darkened as she pulled out a gun, pressing the barrel against me. “Will you choose now?”

“I told you—I won’t.” My voice was steady, my gaze burning with defiance.

She let out a sharp breath, then snapped at the bodyguards. “Take this bitch to the hospital. I don’t want her filthy blood on my hands.”

I struggled against them, but I had severely underestimated my strength against three burly men. One of them landed a swift kick to my leg, nearly knocking me to my knees.

My resistance was futile, and before long, exhaustion overtook me.

I was on the verge of collapsing, my vision blurring as the bodyguards effortlessly lifted me and carried me to the car.

Moments later, we arrived at the hospital.

As the nurse injected me with the amnesiac, a single tear slipped down my cheek.

Why did it still hurt so much to let go of this child? I thought I was ready. I thought I had prepared myself for this moment.

Just as the drug began to take effect, I caught a glimpse of my birth parents rushing in—only to be stopped outside as I was wheeled into the operating room.