The Mafia Boss' Betrayal

Gia POV Gia smiled as she stared at her husband from across the room. Her husband. It sounded so… foreign yet perfect at the same time. He was deep in conversation with Alessandro. God, he was such a god in that suit. And the way he made her laugh… not to mention his lover skills… who knew a player and goofball like Dante Mancini would turn out to be such a loyal and loving man? She thought back to that morning after their first night together. They’d sat on the beach—her between his legs—wrapped in a blanket and quiet contentment. The waves rolled in soft and steady. He kissed her shoulder once, twice, just because he could. Just because she was his now. She smiled to herself, her fingers brushing the diamond on her hand. She had married him—with her whole heart, and with more than just her heart. Her hand drifted instinctively over her stomach. Tonight was perfect. The music. The lights. The man who was hers in every way that mattered. And the tiny secret she hadn’t told him yet. But she would. Tonight. As soon as the moment felt right. She just didn’t know the moment would never come. The reception sparkled with laughter and warmth. Clinking champagne flutes. The occasional drunken shout from one of Dante’s cousins. It was loud and chaotic and so them. Gia had been pretending to sip champagne all night, swirling it just enough to fool even the nosiest of relatives. No one suspected. No one knew. And every time Dante looked at her—really looked—she forgot the rest of the world. He was hers. And soon, they’d be three. She never saw it coming. One minute she was walking toward him—her husband—with a smile on her lips and love in her chest. The next… a woman was standing beside him. Blonde. Petite. Elegantly dressed in a silky cocktail dress that clung to her like it had been stitched onto her skin. She had one manicured hand resting lightly on her rounded stomach, as though protecting something fragile. Gia slowed her steps. Her heels tapped louder than they should’ve on the marble floor. Her heart beat even louder. Dante looked like he’d seen a ghost. His father’s face was pale. The woman—whoever she was—smiled nervously. Then she said it. Clear and soft. “I’m pregnant. It’s yours.” The words didn’t register at first. They just… hung there. Heavy. Crushing. Gia’s steps faltered. Dante’s father said something. Dante replied—mumbled, maybe—but none of it made it to her ears. All she could see was the gentle curve of that woman’s belly. The way her fingers caressed it. The way Dante didn’t deny it. I’m pregnant. It’s yours. Yours. Yours. Her heart cracked. The laughter died on her lips. The champagne flutes she’d gotten for her and Sophia suddenly felt too heavy in her hands. She shoved them into Sophia’s with more force than necessary. Heads turned. Voices lowered. Murmurs rippled. A sudden crash near the ballroom doors turned heads. A tray clattered to the floor as waiters stumbled back, clearing the way. Gia stood frozen in place as a tall, sharp-suited man pushed through the chaos, flanked by two other men in matching black suits. Every conversation stopped. Every breath seemed to hush. The man’s voice was cold. Commanding. “I am Carlos Moreno. And someone here,” he scanned the crowd until his eyes locked on Dante, “has some explaining to do.” Gia’s heart dropped. She didn’t recognize the man, but she didn’t have to. One look at Dante’s expression—tight, unreadable—and the way his father stepped forward, tense, already bracing for a fallout, told her everything she needed to know. She was still holding onto a sliver of hope. Still praying this was all a misunderstanding. But then Dante’s father growled something under his breath. And her father, Antonio Moretti, stormed in from the side doors—clearly having just been filled in. “This is outrageous,” Antonio snapped, glaring at the Morenos. “You come into my daughter’s wedding and throw around accusations?” Carlos Moreno didn’t blink. “That girl over there,” he gestured behind him—where the blonde woman still stood, head bowed, stomach protectively cradled—“is carrying my grandchild. Your son made sure of that.” “No,” Antonio growled. “My son-in-law wouldn’t be that reckless.” Dante didn’t speak. He couldn’t. Gia felt the breath catch in her lungs. A slow, creeping numbness began to curl around her ribs. She couldn’t hear what anyone was saying anymore. It was just voices. Yelling. Accusations. Fury. She barely even reacted when her father turned on her. “Gia,” Antonio demanded. “Say something. Did you know anything about this?” Her lips parted. But no words came out. Dante finally looked at her. And she saw it in his eyes. Guilt. Not confusion. Not indignation. Not denial. Just guilt. And that’s when it truly shattered. Everything. — The large mahogany doors slammed shut behind them, muffling the chaos of the reception outside. Inside the room were Gia, Dante, Isabella, and the three fathers—Antonio Moretti, Carlos Moreno, and Enzo Mancini. Gia stood near the corner. She was silent—the devastation still fresh in her mind. The ring on her finger felt heavy—foreign—like it didn’t belong there anymore. Dante hadn’t said a word to her since the confrontation. He hadn’t followed her. He hadn’t defended her. He was just standing beside Isabella. Saying nothing. Carlos Moreno stepped forward, the picture of cold control. “The child my daughter carries is of Mancini blood. This alliance must be formalized. We expect a marriage. Immediately.” Antonio Moretti’s hand slammed down on the table. “Ma che cazzo stai dicendo?!” he growled (What the f*ck are you saying?!). “You come into my daughter’s wedding—uninvited—and demand an alliance based on some scandal?” “She’s pregnant,” Carlos snapped. “And in our world, that child’s name matters. Her safety matters. And so does mine.” Dante’s father, Enzo, cleared his throat, trying to play mediator. “Let’s not escalate. We can all agree—none of us want war. A marriage could—” “No,” Antonio cut in. “Absolutely not. This was a wedding. A celebration. And your son humiliated my daughter in front of every guest we have. You want peace? Then take your pregnant stray and leave.” Carlos bristled. “Watch your mouth, Moretti.” “Or what?” Antonio barked. “You’ll what—threaten my daughter again? Is that how your family keeps power?” Gia flinched at the word threaten. She couldn’t stop staring at Dante. His jaw was clenched, his eyes unreadable. But he still hadn’t looked at her. Still hadn’t said a single word. She needed him to say it wasn’t true. That it wasn’t his. That this was some mistake, some insane trap. But he stayed quiet. Carlos turned toward Dante. “You take responsibility for what you did. You protect the child. Or there will be consequences.” Isabella shifted nervously beside him, one hand still resting on her stomach. She didn’t say anything either. Antonio turned to Gia, his voice softening—just slightly. “Gia, andiamo. (Let’s go) These people? These people are nothing but bastardi senza onore (Bastards without honor). They can’t be trusted. We’ll find you a better husband. One who won’t shame you in front of the world.” “Antonio, wait—” Dante’s father spoke, but Antonio turned on him, with a furious look on his face. “No! We are no longer allies. Your son has humiliated my daughter! Consider us enemies!” Gia didn’t move. Her heart was pounding in her chest, breaking more with each beat. The walls felt like they were closing in. The silence around Dante was worse than any insult. And that’s when she finally spoke. Quiet. Controlled. Shaking. “Is it true?” she asked. “Dante… is it true?” He looked at her—really looked at her—and something in his face crumpled. “I’m sorry,” he said and then he nodded. One small movement that shattered everything. Gia blinked and then turned on her heel and stormed out of the room. “Gia!” Dante called after her, the panic finally rising in his voice. “Gia, wait—please!” He ran after her, through the hall, ignoring the shouting behind him. Catching her arm halfway down the corridor. She spun on him, eyes blazing. “Don’t touch me!” she shouted, her voice shaking. “How could you?! I loved you! I trusted you!” “I didn’t know!” he said, breathless. “I swear to God, Gia. It was one night. A mistake. I barely remember—” “Don’t you dare,” she hissed. “Don’t you dare call it a mistake. Not when you stood there and said nothing. Not when you let them talk about a marriage like I wasn’t even in the room.” He reached for her again, and she pulled back like he’d burned her. “What am I supposed to do, huh?” she cried. “Stay? Be your wife while you play house with her and the baby?! Or what—be your mistress?” “No,” he said. “God, no. I’ll fix this. I’ll figure it out—” “You already made your choice,” she said. “And I’m making mine.” She stepped back, her bottom lip trembling. “Addio, Dante.” (Goodbye, Dante.) she said, before walking after her father. And this time—he didn’t follow.