His Mafia Queen, My Substitute Heart

in the New York mob, ended the moment my father died. I was twen

d was unreachable. Then a friend sent me a photo. Dante in L

cousin,

d a difficult summit. That night, I found hi

se I had "Valentina's e

girl he planned to name Elena, after Valentina, calling her a

d-in. The love I felt for him d

onation forms," I said. He didn't even look before scrawling hi

hat night, smelling of lies and my cousin, I made an

give him

pte

ella

ge ended the mome

around me. Before that, my life was a fairy tale written in blood and diamonds. I was twenty-four, the wi

To the world, he was the Don of the Moretti family, a ruthless leader whose empire was built on the bones of his enemies. His name was a weapon. But

oking the city that was his kingdom. He had pursued me with a relentless intensity that left me breathless. He made me

red on foolishness. I gave him my bo

our first. The heir to the Moretti

sometimes glaze over when he looked at me, as if he were seeing someone else. The fleeting moments of coldness that would

one, thick with a grief so raw it stole the air from my lung

, kind father who taught me how to develop my first photogr

l. It went strai

ter on my skin. His assistant, Luca, was polite but firm. "Mr. Moretti is in an important summit

lanned my father's funeral alone, the weight of my grief

. It wasn't from Dante. It was from my friend,

aurant, his head bent low, his lips almost touching the ear of the woman beside him. His han

head tilted back in a gestur

lentina Moretti. The

ed to glass in my lungs, and every breath was a shard of pa

vel. He wrapped his arms around me, his voice a low murmur against my hair. "My love

with what I now saw was performative concern. For the

took a folder from my art portfolio and

g every bit the Don of New York. "What's

new wing," I said, my voice steady, a st

blindness. He picked up a pen, scrawled his powerful signature on the botto

my belly, a warm, heavy weight that made my skin crawl

t was being squeezed

, a ghost in my own home. I heard him in his study, his voice lo

ever heard it. "She needed me, but this was more important.

ch to the gut. Valentina

y camera bag, and out of nowhere, Dante had appeared, a brutal, beautiful savior, dispatching them with cold efficiency. He had orc

safe room. It was unlocked. Inside, the wall wasn't lined with ledgers or weapons. It was a shrine. Dozens

er-bound journal. My han

d the page. The entry was dated f

, I can pretend it's her. Valentina chose the family over me, she chose power. Fine. I will h

d, my vision blu

rfect, tiny piece of the woman I can never truly possess. She wi

sob. I wasn't his wife. I was a substitute. My baby... our baby wasn't a

cold, hard clarity. The love I felt fo

anted a child to be a mo

utterly right. I found the number for a private clinic. As he slept beside me, sme