Bleeding to Death, Yet my Mafia Husband Still Disregarded His Heir

I was bleeding to death, begging my husband, Raphael, to take me to the hospital, but he didn’t even look up from his desk. He told me I was being dramatic. That mafia wives didn't cry over a little pain. It was my best friend who found me and brought me to the hospital.

When I woke up, the doctor stood at the foot of my bed, her face pale, holding my chart like it was a death sentence.

“It’s not the baby, Donna Elena,” the doctor said, her voice tight, cautious. “We’ve run several tests. The bleeding... it's not from the pregnancy. It's cancer. In your womb.”

The words hit me like a bullet to the chest.

“If we don't remove it immediately, you only have months to live.”

The room spun. The monitors beside me beeped too loud, too fast. My breath caught in my throat.

“And my baby?” I choked out, tears finally spilling over.

The doctor looked down, unable to meet my eyes. “You have to make a choice, Elena. You can choose him, or you can choose yourself. But you cannot save both.”

I didn't know what to do. My mind was a shattered mirror. I needed my husband. I needed the ruthless Don of the Costa Syndicate to hold me, to tell me he would fix this. He always fixed everything.

I left the hospital against medical advice. My body felt hollow, my legs trembling with every step, but I needed to see him. I needed to tell him.

When I reached the compound, the heavy oak doors to Raphael’s wing were guarded by two of his top capos.

“Move,” I told them, my voice cracking.

“Apologies, Donna,” the capo said, blocking my path. “The Boss is in a strict council meeting. He gave orders not to be disturbed.”

“I am his wife. Move.”

“We can't.”

I turned away, the sting of humiliation burning my cheeks. But I knew this house better than they did. I slipped through the servant’s corridor, the hidden passage that led directly behind Raphael’s private study.

I pressed my hand to the cold stone wall, ready to push the concealed door open.

Then I heard it.

Crying. Soft, delicate, pathetic crying.

It wasn't a council meeting.

“I don't know what to do, Raphael,” a woman sobbed.

Beatrice. His childhood friend. The woman who had just returned to the city after a messy divorce. The woman who had been lingering around the estate for weeks like a ghost I couldn't banish.

“Shh,” Raphael’s voice murmured. The same voice that barked orders to kill was now dripping with a tenderness he hadn't shown me in months. “I've got you, Bea. You're safe here.”

“But I'm pregnant,” she cried, her voice trembling. “My ex-husband will kill me. He'll take the baby.”

“No one is taking anything from you,” Raphael said fiercely. “I will do everything to protect you. You and this child. You have my word.”

My breath caught in my throat. My hands went numb.

“But what about your wife?” Beatrice whispered, her voice suddenly sounding less fragile. “What about Elena? She won't accept this.”

A heavy silence fell over the room. I leaned closer to the wood, my heart begging him to say something, anything, to defend me. To defend us.

“Elena?” Raphael’s voice was flat. Cold. “She's weak. She was just sold to me to pay off her family's debt. I never loved her.”

The floor dropped out from under me.

I stumbled back, my hand flying to my mouth to muffle the sob tearing through my throat. Every touch, every late-night whisper, every time he claimed my body—it was all a transaction. I was just a debt paid in flesh.

I didn't confront them. I didn't have the strength.

I dragged my broken body up the stairs to our master bedroom. I needed to pack. I needed to leave before the cancer or the heartbreak killed me first.

But when I opened the door to our sanctuary, the final blow landed.

Beatrice’s silk robe was draped over the edge of my bed. Her expensive, suffocating jasmine perfume clung to my pillows. My vanity—the one Raphael had custom-made for me—was cleared of my things, replaced by her expensive creams and diamond jewelry.

He hadn't just stopped loving me. He was already replacing me.

I sank to the floor, clutching my stomach, the physical pain of the cancer nothing compared to the agony in my chest.

Then, the bedroom door clicked open.

I looked up through blurred eyes.

Beatrice stood in the doorway, her tears completely gone. She looked down at me, a slow, wicked smirk spreading across her perfect lips.

“Oh, Elena,” she purred, stepping into my room like she already owned it. “Didn't Raphael tell you? Your time here is up.”

She walked past me, her heels clicking against the hardwood, and casually picked up a velvet box from my nightstand. The box that held the Costa family heirloom necklace Raphael had given me on our wedding night.

"You really thought a mafia don could love a collateral bride?" she laughed, a sound like breaking glass. "He only married you because your father owed the syndicate five million dollars. You were a transaction. I am his choice."

I pressed my hand harder against my womb. The pain was flaring again, sharp and blinding.

"Get out," I choked out, my voice trembling.

Beatrice didn't flinch. She crouched down, bringing her suffocating jasmine scent closer. Her eyes dropped to my stomach, then back to my face.

"You heard him downstairs, didn't you?" she whispered, her voice dripping with fake pity. "He promised to protect my baby. Did you really think he was talking about my ex-husband's child?"

My heart stopped.

She placed a manicured hand over her own stomach. "Raphael and I never stopped seeing each other, Elena. He’s not protecting another man's child. He’s protecting his true heir."

A sob ripped from my chest, raw and ugly. Suddenly, a vicious cramp tore through my abdomen. I gasped, doubling over, my nails digging into the floorboards.

Warmth spread between my thighs.

Blood. Again. So much blood. It soaked through my dress, dripping onto the pristine white rug.

"Raphael!" I screamed, the sound tearing my vocal cords. "Raphael, please!"

Heavy footsteps thundered down the hall. The door swung open wider, and there he was. My husband. The man I had loved with every broken piece of my soul.

He froze, taking in the scene. Me, on the floor, bleeding out. Beatrice, standing over me.

I reached a trembling, blood-soaked hand toward him. "Raphael... the baby... please, it hurts..."

His jaw clenched. His cold, dark eyes flicked from the pool of my blood to Beatrice.

He didn't rush to my side. He didn't drop to his knees to hold me. He didn't even call for a doctor.

Instead, he stepped forward, wrapped his suit jacket around Beatrice's shoulders, and gently shielded her eyes.

"Guards," Raphael commanded, his voice devoid of any emotion. "Get Elena out of this room. The sight of blood will stress Beatrice’ baby."