Too Late For The Mafia Don's Regret

I kept a ledger to track my marriage to the most feared man in Chicago.

Loyalty started at one hundred. Every time Dante looked through me to stare at his mistress, Isabella, I subtracted one. Every time he left our bed to answer her calls, I subtracted five.

The day the score hit zero, I was lying in a secret clinic, bleeding out.

I had been in a severe accident. I was pregnant, and the hemorrhage was critical.

But the nurse, eyes red with weeping, told me they couldn't give me the blood transfusion I needed.

Dante had ordered the clinic's entire supply of O-negative blood to be reserved for Isabella.

She had a bruised knee and was "in shock." He prioritized her comfort over his unborn child's life.

I lost the baby.

I left the ledger on his desk with a final note: *You bought her comfort with your heir’s blood. Score: 0.* Then, I vanished.

Two years later, Dante found me at a gala in Seattle.

The ruthless Capo dei Capi, a man who never bowed to anyone, fell to his knees in front of hundreds of people. He begged, tears streaming down his face, claiming he had made a mistake, that I was his only true love.

I looked at him, then at Julian, the man standing beside me who treated me like a queen.

I pulled my hand away from Dante’s grip and smiled coldly.

"Apologies don't fix dead things, Mr. Moretti. Go back to your grave."