Red Water Heights is a bustling and prosperous city, but it has a shadowy underworld that holds many dark secrets.
It is notorious for rampant illegal dealings conducted by undercover operatives, a place where murders happen daily, and the dens and homes of the most powerful mafia lords reign supreme.
For over a decade, this has been its reputation—so entrenched that even the authorities seem powerless to stop the crimes. It has also earned the grim nickname, "Mafia Ville."
In the heart of this dangerous city stands Casa Nostra Mansion, where I've lived in luxury for the past five years…
As I stand before the gilded vanity mirror, I stare at my reflection—a beautiful woman in a sleek, designer gown that hugs my figure perfectly. My six-inch stilettos add to the look, and my makeup is bold, especially the striking red glitter lipstick. My brunette hair is elegantly styled, and gold and diamond jewelry drapes around my neck, wrists, and fingers.
I should be happy with this life of extravagance, right?
But I'm not.
Without warning, the door to my bedroom flew open, and my enraged husband stormed inside.
"What the hell is taking so long, Clara? Are you testing my patience? Are you intentionally making my guests wait?" He shouted, his voice sharp. Then, his rough hand struck my face with a force that left me momentarily stunned. The sting spread across my cheek as it reddened.
A single tear slipped down my face as I managed to speak. "I…I was just about to come out…"
He let out an annoyed sigh. "Use your damn makeup and cover that slap mark before you go out. I don't want anyone thinking I'm abusing you. You've got three minutes." With that, he turned and slammed the door behind him.
That's the very reason why, despite all the luxury, my life is a miserable and sad facade.
Donovan Mancini is the ruthless owner of Casa Nostra—the second most powerful mafia organization in the world. He is the mastermind behind every drug trafficking ring, money laundering scheme, casino, and illegal gambling operation Casa Nostra runs. A successful businessman by day, an untouchable mafia lord by night, Donovan is dominant, egotistical, possessive, and he is my husband of eight years.
After covering the redness on my cheek, I forced a deep breath and put on my most charming smile.
Donovan recently secured a major deal with 'Flo Ake', the leader of Silver Serpent—the top, largest and most feared mafia organization in the world.
No one dares to challenge Silver Serpent, given its immense power, and every mafia organization dreams of having a connection with it. So, securing this alliance is a monumental achievement for Casa Nostra, and Donovan is celebrating it with a lavish party at the mansion tonight.
With all the powerful figures attending, including Flo Ake himself, I knew Donovan would expect nothing less than my perfect smile, pretending I was happy and content. He wanted everyone to believe we were a power couple—a prestigious pair to be admired.
As I stepped outside, countless mafia associates approached me, and Donovan stood beside me, proudly displaying me as the perfect wife. Every so often, he would lean in to whisper instructions or pinch my arm to remind me of maintaining my posture and smile.
The longer the night dragged on, the more uncomfortable I became, but I had no choice but to endure until the party ended.
Then, without a warning, one of the guests—clearly drunk—stumbled over to me. His leering smile sent a chill down my spine as his eyes fixated on my cleavage. I tried to step away, but he suddenly grabbed my arm, his hand sliding down to my thigh.
Instinctively, I slapped him twice across the face, hard enough to draw attention. Then, I bolted toward my bedroom, locking the door behind me. I had seen Donovan watching the scene unfold, and I knew there would be consequences for my actions.
And I was right.
At around four in the morning, when the party's over, loud, relentless knocks pounded on my door, jolting me awake. Fear surged through me as I heard Donovan's furious shouts. Trembling, I rose from the bed and cautiously opened the door.
The moment he saw me, he grabbed me by the neck, his grip so tight I could barely breathe.
"Let me go…" I gasped, struggling to speak.
He released me only to hit my face with a vicious slap. "What the hell was that stunt you pulled earlier? Are you trying to humiliate me, Clara? You're shameless!"
My brow furrowed in disbelief. "Donovan, are you seriously defending that man? Did you not see the way he touched my thigh, how he leered at my chest like a maniac?"
His response was another sharp slap. "You lying bitch! He told me he only wanted to shake your hand."
Even in a moment where a husband should protect his wife, Donovan chose to oppose me.
"And don't think I didn't notice the way you kept making that smug, bored face all night! You looked completely uninterested! Maybe next time, I'll just lock you in your room during my gatherings. You're nothing but an embarrassment to me!" He spat.
With my head bowed, I quietly replied, "I agree, Donovan. I'd rather be locked in my room than forced to smile at your parties, pretending to be happy, only to be beaten later. I'm sick of it—"
Before I could finish, another slap landed on my cheek, harder this time, splitting my lip and drawing blood.
"I'm leaving to see a special friend who just returned from abroad. I'll be gone for a week, and as punishment, you're not allowed to leave this mansion until I return. Try, and you'll get more than just a split lip," Donovan sneered before grabbing an open bottle of wine and pouring it over my head. "Fuck you, Clara. You're such a pain in the ass."
He smashed the glass at my feet and stormed out, leaving me, as always—broken and bruised.
I collapsed in sobs, watching as the maids silently cleaned up the aftermath of the party. One of them cautiously approached, offering to help me, but I shook my head, refusing. A while later, as I stood trembling, that same maid came closer again.
"Madame Mancini," she began hesitantly, "with all the abuse you suffer from Don Mancini, why… why haven't you left him?"
I smiled through the pain, gently placing my hand over hers. "Because my foolish heart," I whispered, "despite everything, still loves him."
Chapter 2Staring at the vanity mirror, I gently dabbed the slit Donovan had created on my lip with a cotton ball. I winced at the pain, but the real pain wasn't from the wound—it was from how our relationship had devolved into something so heartbreaking and cruel.
"Why can't my heart learn to stop loving you?" I whispered, closing my eyes as memories of a different Donovan flooded my mind—the man he used to be.
We were on a yacht then, and I was standing on the deck, admiring the sunset, when I heard him call my name. I turned and saw him on one knee, eyes shining as he held out a ring to me.
It wasn't an expensive ring, just a simple silver band, but I accepted it without hesitation. Back then, I knew it was the best he could offer. But I also knew that his love was genuine.
"I promise to give you the best and most comfortable life, Clara. I'll work hard so we can live in a mansion, and we'll have many maids that you'll never need to lift a finger. I'll replace this ring with a diamond one, and you'll have every designer item in every store. I swear, you'll never have to worry about money again," Donovan had said before standing to kiss me. "And I promise to love you unconditionally," He whispered as our lips parted.
I had known Donovan for so long. He was always competitive and determined, someone who wouldn't stop until he achieved his dreams. I watched him rise from humble beginnings, starting with just a small nightclub at the edge of town.
Back then, I was the only one who believed in him. I even funded the nightclub to keep it from going under. Life wasn't easy for us, but we were happy, working side by side and loving each other through it all.
Then everything changed.
One night, Donovan met a customer at his club who introduced him to the underworld of Red Water Heights. He showed him how fast money could be made through illegal dealings, through the mafia, and that's when everything began to spiral.
That's when Casa Nostra was born.
Donovan's earnings began to skyrocket, doubling and tripling compared to what he made from the nightclub alone. His ambition to become rich consumed him, and he poured all his time into mastering the mafia world.
True to his nature, he succeeded.
But when he became victorious, our marriage suffered defeat.
At first, it was just the lack of time. But soon, he wouldn't come home for days, sometimes weeks, and he never explained why. Then came the bruises from the arguments he had been on. Donovan would return home battered, and once, he was even shot, barely escaping death.
When he survived, I begged him to leave the illegal life behind, to walk away from Casa Nostra and focus on other legitimate businesses.
I pleaded for a normal life and for us to start a family together. But instead of hearing me, he lashed out. That was the first time he ever laid hands on me.
Afterward, he even tracked down the man who shot him.
Donovan was able to kill him. And somehow, he got away with the crime, as if nothing had happened.
That was the turning point.
Donovan stopped caring entirely, and instead of love, he gave me violence. His power consumed him. Yes, he got the lavish life he always dreamed of, but at the cost of our marriage, which crumbled under the weight of his greed.
The mafia world had completely changed the man I fell in love with, but somehow, I remained the same woman, still hopelessly in love with him.
I splashed water on my face, trying to shake off the thoughts flooding my mind.
A week passed, and not wanting to provoke Donovan, I stayed inside the mansion just as he wanted. I was heading to my bedroom when I heard his voice echoing through the leisure area.
"Clara! Where are you?!"
He was back. After a week, he had finally returned.
Chapter 3"I'm coming!" I called, rushing down the spiral staircase to meet him.
The moment I turned to face him, the pungent scent of alcohol hit me. Donovan smiled, his eyes glassy, as he pulled me into a rough embrace. His grip was so careless that we both tumbled to the floor, him landing on top of me. Before I could push him off, he retched, vomiting all over my clothes. The stench and mess confirmed that he had way too much to drink again.
"Ah, fuck. I'm sorry," He muttered, his voice slurred.
Suppressing a sigh, I got up and motioned for the maids to help us. Together, we managed to haul him up toward the bedroom. Donovan hated anyone else touching him when he was like this, so once we laid him on the bed, I sent the maids away.
I fetched a cold compress and a towel, and as I returned, I began unbuttoning his polo, revealing his familiar well-built chest. Gently, I wiped him down, trying to ease his discomfort.
He was still awake, though, watching me with a gaze that felt... different. His eyes lingered on me in a way they hadn't in a long time.
"Damn, Clara," he rasped, his voice low, "you're still so beautiful."
Before I could respond, he pulled me toward him, our faces brushing together, and without warning, our lips met in a kiss that tasted of both longing and regret.
I pulled away after only ten seconds, the taste of alcohol lingering on my lips, and the reality sinking in. Donovan wouldn't kiss me if he weren't sober.
The truth pressed hard against me, but before I could get up, he grabbed me again, his hands moving deliberately, caressing my chest.
"Donovan... I don't want to do this," I whispered.
But my words fell on deaf ears. He tightened his grip and shifted, forcing us to switch positions. Now, he was on top of me, his body heavy, trapping me beneath him. His fingers intertwined with mine, pinning me down. Then, our eyes locked, and though I tried to search for a trace of the man I once knew, all I saw was control.
"I missed the way you feel, Clara," He said, his voice laced with dominance. There was no warmth in his words, only possession.
I knew better than to resist.
The last time I had, the bruises had taken weeks to fade.
So I stayed still, allowing him to take what he wanted. As he kissed me again, I felt none of the tenderness we once shared. His lips moved against mine, but it was only driven by lust and the haze of alcohol, nothing more.
"I want you naked, my wife," He murmured, his voice thick with desire.
My wife.
Those words, slipping from Donovan's lips, stirred something in me. That despite everything—the pain and the cruelty he caused me—it still made my heart lift in a way I couldn't explain.
His touches grew more insistent, and against my better judgment, I found myself giving in. I melted into his kisses, completely losing myself in the moment.
Things escalated quickly, and before I knew it, we were both naked, tangled in sweat and desire, the night consuming us.
Yet, when morning came, the cold emptiness of the bed greeted me. Donovan was gone, just as he always was after nights like this. No note, no explanation, just his absence. A hollow feeling settled in my chest as I lay bare on the bed, replaying the events of the night before.
Disgust and regret occupied me.
How had I let it happen again?
Weeks passed and Donovan's temper flared more frequently, leaving me with more bruises and tear-streaked cheeks.
But beyond that, something else was happening to me. I had been feeling nauseous lately, especially in the mornings. There were times where I would even vomit and crave foods I had never really liked.
So, today, I decided to visit the doctor to confirm what's going on with my body. As I sat in the sterile, quiet hospital lobby, my stomach churned with sickness and anxiety.
After a few minutes, the doctor finally appeared, holding a folder with my results, her expression calm but with a hint of something more.
"Thank you for patiently waiting, Madame Mancini. Here are your results," She said kindly, handing me the papers. I tried to scan through them, but before I could fully understand what I was reading, the doctor interrupted with a soft smile on her face.
"Congratulations."
My heart dropped.
"Doctor… what do you mean?" I asked, my voice weak.
She didn't hesitate. "Madame Clara Mancini, you are three weeks pregnant."
Chapter 4I've wanted to be pregnant for so long, but I know I shouldn't be. Donovan has made it clear. He never wanted children, never wanted to build a family with me.
"Is everything alright?" The doctor asked, her voice careful, as if she could sense the dread inside me.
I forced a smile and shook my head.
"Yes, definitely," I whispered before walking out. There was nothing I could feel but heaviness in my chest.
Hours have passed since I got the news, but my mind is still reeling. I'm pregnant. And I'm terrified.
How will Donovan react? What will he do when he finds out?
My thoughts spiral.
What if he lashes out? What if he does something terrible... to me, to our baby?
The fear is overwhelming.
I don't know how to tell him. I don't even know if I'll find the courage to say it. But one way or another, he has to know. I guess I just need to find the right moment, if there ever is one.
I sat on the couch in the leisure room, absentmindedly caressing my belly. I was lost in thought, when suddenly, fingers snapped in front of me. Donovan stood there, his eyes sharp.
"What the hell are you thinking? You look so tense," He muttered, his gaze piercing through me.
I swallowed hard, struggling to find my voice. "Uh… nothing. Just a headache," I managed to say, avoiding his eyes.
But as I spoke, my gaze fell to his lips—there was a fresh cut, like someone had bitten him. Then, my eyes drifted to his collar, where a faint lipstick stain stood out.
I blinked, trying to process what I was seeing. My mind raced with questions. Is he cheating on me? Did he just come from another woman's arms? Has this been going on for a while? The doubts and suspicions flooded me, but all I could manage to say was, "What... what is that?"
I saw Donovan stiffen slightly, panic flickering in his movements as he hastily wiped at the stain on his collar. "Are you serious? Are you accusing me of something? It's just a stain I got from my Ferrari!" His voice was defensive and the guilt radiated off him. "I'm not in the mood for this, Clara. I'm exhausted." With that, he brushed past me, clearly trying to avoid further confrontation.
Strangely, I felt numb.
No anger, no tears—just emptiness.
After a few moments, I retreated to my bedroom. We had long since decided on separate rooms—another indication of our crumbling relationship.
To distract myself from the chaos in my mind, I unlocked my phone and opened my social media, something I hadn't done in ages. Unexpectedly, the first post I saw was from someone close to Donovan.
It was Arlene Blake, Donovan's ex. His first love.
She had posted a photo from the airport two days after Donovan's party—the night he had hit me before claiming he had to meet a friend arriving from abroad.
Suddenly, something inside me says that none of this was coincidental. And as I pieced things together, dread settled over. Could he have been meeting her all along?
I turned off my phone and closed my eyes.
Could that friend have been Arlene?
I shook the thought away. Impossible. Arlene's married now, I reminded myself, trying to push down the lingering doubts.
A month passed, and I still hadn't found the courage to tell Donovan about the pregnancy. But today, it seemed like my secret was going to come out whether I was ready or not.
I was in the bathroom, hit by another wave of nausea. It was the third time I'd thrown up today. Unfortunately, this time, Donovan barged in, slamming the door open, catching me mid-vomit.
"Clara!" He shouted, gripping my arms tightly, forcing me to face him. "Why are you vomiting?" His voice was already harsh, the fact that he didn't know anything yet.