The Unwanted Wife He Broke In Rain

My husband, the ruthless Don of Chicago, forced me to kneel in the freezing mud to apologize to his mistress.

He believed her fake tears over my dignity.

While the icy rain soaked through my dress, a sharp, jagged cramp seized my body. I screamed for him, begging for help as I felt the life slipping out of me.

But Dante didn't move. He just lit a cigarette, his eyes cold as steel.

"Get up when you are ready to learn respect," he said.

He walked inside with her, locking the door and leaving me to bleed out in the storm.

I lost the baby that night. The doctors told me the damage was permanent—I was barren.

I thought that was the bottom, but I was wrong. When I returned to the estate, a ghost in my own home, he threw me into a flooded cellar full of rats because Elena accused me of poisoning her son.

He tortured me for days to protect a child that wasn't even his.

That was the moment the love died.

So, while he was away on business, I didn't just pack a bag. I executed a plan three years in the making.

I vanished.

But before I disappeared, I left him a gift on his desk. A USB drive containing the security footage of Elena’s lies, the medical report of the miscarriage he caused, and a paternity test proving he had destroyed his true family for a stranger's bastard.

By the time he fell to his knees screaming my name, I was already gone.

Chapter 1

My knees slammed into the freezing mud, the impact sending a jolt through my body that threatened the fragile, secret life growing inside me. All because the man I loved—the ruthless Don of Chicago—decided his mistress's tears were worth more than my dignity.

The rain in Chicago was never just water. It was industrial runoff, cold as iron and heavy as judgment. It soaked through my thin silk dress in seconds, plastering the fabric to my shivering skin like a second, suffocating layer.

I kept my hands hovered protectively over my flat stomach, a futile attempt to shield the two-month-old secret nestled there from the biting wind.

Dante Moretti stood on the covered veranda of the estate. He was dry. He was warm. He was the Reaper, the Capo dei Capi, a man who had slaughtered the entire Russian Bratva leadership in a single night to consolidate his power.

He was also my husband.

Ten years ago, my parents took bullets meant for him. They bled out on the asphalt so the young prince could live to become the King. He had taken me in, the grieving orphan, and promised to burn the world to keep me safe. Three years ago, he defied the Commission to marry me.

Now, he looked at me like I was a stain on his floor.

"Kneel, Sera," he had said. His voice was low, that terrifying baritone that usually made my toes curl in pleasure. Now, it just made my blood run cold. "You need to learn respect."

Elena Russo stood behind him, partially hidden by the grand oak door. She held a handkerchief to her dry eyes, looking fragile, looking like the saint she claimed to be. She told him I had pushed her son, Leo. She told him I was jealous of the woman who supposedly saved his life in a car wreck that I knew never happened.

But Dante was blind. He saw a debt. I saw a snake.

I shivered violently. My teeth chattered so hard my jaw ached. The guards by the gate, men I had known since I was a child, looked away. They couldn't watch. The shame burned hotter than the cold.

"Please, Dante," I whispered, though the wind tore the words from my lips before they could reach him.

He didn't move. He lit a cigarette, the orange ember glowing in the gloom. He was teaching me a lesson. That was the Mafia way. Discipline the unruly wife. Break the spirit to ensure loyalty.

Then, it happened.

A sharp, jagged cramp seized my lower abdomen. It was sudden, terrifying, and absolute.

I gasped, doubling over until my forehead touched the mud.

"Dante!" I screamed, my voice cracking. "Something is wrong!"

He flicked the ash, his expression unmoved.

"Get up when you are ready to apologize to Elena," he said.

He turned his back. He walked inside. The heavy door clicked shut, sealing out the storm—and sealing out his wife.

I stayed there for hours. The cramping got worse, tearing me apart from the inside. I felt something warm and wet slide down my inner thighs, mixing with the rain. It wasn't water.

I knew then. I knew as the darkness crept into the edges of my vision. The vow we made before God was dead. The man who promised to protect me had just become my executioner.

I crawled. I didn't crawl to the door. I crawled to the guard booth where the landline sat. The guard, Mario, looked at me with horror. He saw the blood on my legs. He reached for me, but I slapped his hand away.

I picked up the phone. My fingers were blue. I dialed a number I hadn't used in years.

Lorenzo Moretti. The Old Don. Dante's father. The man who hated me because I brought no political alliance to the table.

He answered on the second ring.

"I accept," I rasped, my voice sounding like broken glass.

"You accept what, child?" Lorenzo asked.

"The exit," I said, looking back at the mansion that was now a tomb. "Get the papers ready. I want out."