The Mafia Heir That Wasn’t Mine

The notification on my phone burned like acid.

I stared at the image—Giulia Moretti, my husband's dead brother's widow, cradling a rounded belly.

The caption underneath twisted the knife: "Blessed by the Benedetti bloodline."

My fingers trembled as I zoomed in on the photo posted on the darknet forum where our world—the mafia families—conducted their silent warfare through whispers and scandal.

This can't be real.

But the timestamp was from an hour ago, and already the comments were flooding in.

"Lorenzo Benedetti dishonors his brother's memory."

"The Romano alliance is finished."

"Benedetti family civil war incoming."

I pressed my palm against my own stomach, still flat, hiding my own secret.

Three months pregnant with Lorenzo's child—a secret I'd been saving for our anniversary dinner tonight.

How naive I've been.

My phone buzzed with Lorenzo's name flashing across the screen.

I answered with a single character: "?"

"Alessia, it's not what you think!" His voice exploded through the speaker. "Giulia is Matteo's widow! As his blood brother, I'm obligated to care for her!"

"Care for her?" My voice came out surprisingly steady. "Is that what they're calling it now?"

"You don't understand the oath!" Lorenzo's frustration crackled through the line. "Matteo made me swear—"

"Did the oath include getting her pregnant?"

Silence stretched between us like a chasm.

Then he hung up.

Of course he did.

My second phone buzzed—the one I used to monitor the family networks.

Another photo from Giulia's account: Lorenzo in her apartment kitchen, cooking breakfast, looking domestic and comfortable.

The geotag confirmed it was her private residence—the one I didn't even know existed.

How long has this been going on?

I opened my encrypted messages and found three missed texts from my mother.

"Alessia, come home. The families are talking."

"Your father is furious."

"Don't do anything rash."

But rash was exactly what I needed to be.

I pulled up my calendar and stared at the appointment I'd marked in red: "Anniversary Dinner—Announce Pregnancy."

My hand shook as I deleted it and typed in new words: "Terminate."

I can't bring a child into this mess.

The door slammed open, and Lorenzo strode in carrying a greasy takeout bag.

"I brought dinner." He set it on the counter without meeting my eyes.

Not the reservations at Fiore di Luna I'd made weeks ago.

Not the romantic evening I'd planned.

Just cheap pasta in styrofoam containers.

"You forgot," I said quietly.

"Forgot what?" He was already on his phone, typing furiously.

"Our anniversary."

Lorenzo looked up, and for a moment—just a fleeting moment—guilt flickered across his face.

"Alessia, I'm sorry, but Giulia needed me today. She had morning sickness and—"

"Get out."

"What?"

"Get. Out." I stood, my voice ice. "Take your pathetic takeout and leave."

"You're being unreasonable—"

"I'm being unreasonable?" I laughed, the sound bitter and sharp. "Your brother's widow is pregnant with your child, and I'm unreasonable?"

"It's complicated!" Lorenzo slammed his hand on the counter. "The family obligations—"

"Then go fulfill them." I turned away, unable to look at his face anymore. "Go be with your obligation."

"Alessia—"

"I said leave!"

The door slammed behind him, and I was finally alone with my rage and my grief and the tiny life growing inside me that I could never let him know about.

Not anymore.

I picked up my phone and scrolled to a number I'd hoped never to call.

Dr. Carver's private clinic—the one that asked no questions and kept no records.

"This is Alessia Romano Benedetti," I said when she answered. "I need an appointment."

"How soon?"

I looked at the darknet photo still glowing on my screen—Giulia's triumphant smile, Lorenzo's betrayal made public.

"Tomorrow morning."

As I hung up, my phone lit up with a new notification from Giulia's account.

Another photo.

This time, she was wearing a ring—a Benedetti family ring—on her left hand.