The Runaway Wife: Hiding The Don's Heir

The combination to my husband's private safe was the date of his mistress's birth.

Inside, arranged beside his gun and stacks of cash, I found a legal document that shattered my world.

Clause 4: Upon the birth of the heir, my architecture firm is absorbed into the Moretti Trust.

Clause 5: Primary guardianship is transferred to the father and his proxy, Kaleigh.

Kaleigh is my step-sister. She is also the woman currently warming my husband's bed.

When I confronted Jacob, the Don of the city, he didn't offer a shadow of shame.

He simply gripped my chin, his eyes cold as ice, and whispered, "There is no divorce in this life. You leave in a coffin."

My lawyer betrayed me. The police were on his payroll. I was trapped in a gilded cage, waiting to be discarded.

Then came the final blow—an intercepted audio recording.

"The moment the head crowns, she is done," Jacob's voice said on the tape. "If she fights, she dies on the table."

They didn't just want my baby. They wanted to erase me completely.

I realized I couldn't win in court, and I couldn't win in a street fight.

To escape a man who owned the city, I had to cease to exist.

I drove my car to a desolate ravine and doused the leather seats in gasoline.

I took off my wedding ring, placed it on the dashboard, and lit a match.

I wasn't going to kill my son.

I was going to burn the world down for him.

Chapter 1

Aurelia POV

The combination to my husband's private safe was the date of his mistress's birth.

I stood in the dim amber light of the study, my fingers trembling against the cold steel dial. It was a pathetic cliché-the sort of plot twist that would make you roll your eyes in a low-budget film-but my life had devolved into a series of cheap humiliations wrapped in expensive silk.

Click.

The heavy door swung open.

Inside, arranged with military precision beside the towers of untraced cash and the Glock 19 he slept with, was a single manila envelope. It did not bear the wax seal of the Moretti crime family. It bore the embossed crest of our personal estate attorney.

I pulled out the document.

Post-Nuptial Decree of Asset Reallocation and Guardianship.

The legal jargon was dense, thick with Latin and malice, but I was an architect. I knew how to read blueprints. I knew how to identify the load-bearing walls of a structure, and I knew exactly what a controlled demolition looked like.

This was a demolition of my life.

Clause 4: Upon the birth of the heir, all legitimate holdings under the name of Aurelia Moretti, specifically the Flynn Architecture Group and its subsidiaries, shall be absorbed into the Moretti Trust.

Clause 5: Primary guardianship of the issue shall be transferred to the natural father, Jacob Moretti, and his designated proxy, Kaleigh Vanzetti.

My knees gave out. Gravity seemed to double in the room. I sank onto the plush Persian rug, the paper crinkling in my grip.

Kaleigh. My step-sister. The woman who had made a sport of tormenting me since childhood. The woman who was currently warming my husband's sheets while I carried his child.

I had bought Jacob this throne. When we married, he was a feral Underboss with too much blood on his hands and not enough clean money to wash it off. My inheritance, my legitimate firms, my sterling reputation-I poured it all into the foundation of his empire to stabilize him during the internal wars. I laundered his reputation so he could rise to become the Don.

He promised me protection. He swore a blood oath.

But looking at this paper, I realized he didn't see a wife. He saw a bank account and an incubator.

The heavy oak door creaked open behind me.

I didn't turn around. I couldn't. The air in the room shifted, becoming heavier, instantly charged with the scent of expensive cigars and the metallic tang of violence that clung to him like a second skin.

"You are trespassing, Aurelia."

Jacob's voice was low, a rumble that used to make my stomach flutter. Now, it just made me sick.

I stood up, forcing my spine straight as I turned to face him. He was leaning against the doorframe, wearing a tuxedo with the tie undone. He looked exactly like what he was-a king of the underworld, breathtakingly beautiful and rotting from the inside out.

I held up the paper, my hand shaking. "Designated proxy?"

Jacob didn't flinch. He walked over, his strides eating up the distance between us, snatched the paper from my hand, and tore it in half. Then he tore it again. He let the pieces flutter to the floor like dirty snow.

"It is a contingency," he said, his voice dangerously bored. "The Consigliere worries about worst-case scenarios. If you die in childbirth, the boy needs a mother."

"If I die?" I laughed, a brittle, jagged sound that scraped my throat. "Or when you decide I've served my purpose? You're giving my baby to Kaleigh. You're stealing my company."

"Everything you have is mine," Jacob said simply. He stepped closer, towering over me. He didn't touch me, but his shadow felt like a cage. "That is the vow you took. Omertà binds the family. And you are family."

"I want a divorce."

The silence that followed was absolute. It sucked the oxygen right out of the room.

Jacob stared at me. His eyes, usually a piercing cold blue, darkened into an abyss. He reached out and gripped my chin, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.

"There is no divorce in this life, little bird," he whispered, his breath hot against my face. "You leave when I say you leave. And right now, you are carrying my legacy. Go to your room."

He released me with a shove.

I stumbled back, catching myself on the desk. I looked at him one last time. He wasn't looking at me. He was looking at my stomach.

I walked out of the study. I walked out of the house. I got into my car and drove until the city lights blurred into streaks of red and gold.

I drove blindly, guided only by a desperate, frantic instinct to survive.

I ended up in the parking lot of a clinic on the edge of town. A clean place. A place that solved problems.

I sat in the car, my hand resting on my belly. I had an appointment. I had made it under a fake name an hour ago, in a blind panic.

If I terminated the pregnancy, I took away his heir. I took away his leverage. I took away Kaleigh's prize.

It was the only way to hurt him.

I watched a woman walk out of the clinic, looking relieved and hollow at the same time.

I looked down at my stomach.

Suddenly, a tiny flutter brushed against my palm.

A distinct, undeniable thud.

A kick.

My breath hitched. It was the first time.

Tears spilled over, hot and fast. This wasn't a pawn. This wasn't an asset. This was a person. This was mine.

I couldn't kill him just to spite Jacob. That would make me just like them. That would make me a monster.

I wiped my face, smearing mascara across my cheeks like war paint. I put the car in reverse.

I wasn't going to kill my son.

I was going to burn the world down for him.