My Mafia Husband Betrayed Me for Another Man's Son

My Mafia husband begs me to save his mistress and the son he's already calling his heir. For seven years, he's let his family blame me for our childless marriage. His test results showed no sperm in his semen. Now he needs me. Two hours earlier, Dr. Helen Ward calls while I'm finishing rounds. "Vivian, I need you to review a case. Thirty-four weeks. Placenta percreta with bladder involvement. She's had two bleeds." "Stable?" "For now. Our lead surgeon had a family emergency. We're trying to get someone else here, but I don't want to wait." "Send the scans." I know the hospital. I've operated there before. By the time I arrive, I've reviewed the images and spoken to anesthesia. The placenta has grown through the patient's uterine wall and into her bladder. Delivery could cause catastrophic bleeding. We plan surgery for the following morning, with blood ready and urology assisting. If she bleeds again, we move sooner. Her name is Bianca Rossi. She's twenty-seven, sitting against white pillows with a diamond bracelet around one wrist. "Dr. Hale?" she asks. "Yes." "They said you're the best." "They've assembled a good team." I explain the operation, the bleeding risk, and the possibility of removing her uterus. Her hand goes to her stomach. "But my son?" "The neonatal team will be there for him." She nods. I answer her questions until she stops gripping the blanket. Before signing the consent forms, she asks me to explain everything to her partner, too. "Of course." "He's just arrived." Outside her room, two men in dark suits stand near the elevators. I know both of them. One straightens when he sees me. "Mrs. Moretti." At work, I'm Dr. Hale. He knows that, too. "Why are you here?" His eyes shift toward the consultation room. I walk past him before he can answer. Matteo stands inside, speaking into his phone. "Tell Enzo I want everything ready before they're discharged." He turns. The call ends. For a moment, neither of us speaks. My husband is supposed to be away on business. He kissed my forehead yesterday morning and told me not to work too late. Now he's standing outside another woman's maternity room. "Vivian." "Who is she?" He puts his phone in his pocket. "Close the door." I leave it open. "Who is she, Matteo?" His gaze moves past me to his men. "Wait downstairs." They leave. Don Matteo Moretti rarely has to repeat himself. I've watched men go silent when he enters a room. I've seen his mother smile through dinners where nobody dares disagree with him. He's looking at me the same way now. Expecting me to understand what he wants without making him say it. "She's carrying my son." "How long?" "Vivian—" "How long have you been sleeping with her?" "Almost a year." Seven years of marriage. Almost a year of this. "Does she know you're married?" "Yes." "Does your mother know?" He says nothing. That answers it. "Who else?" "This isn't the place." "You chose the place when you brought her here." "She needs a surgeon. I told them to get the best." "And they called your wife." "I didn't know it would be you." "But now that it is?" His voice drops. "I'm asking you to save them." I look at the man who told me he didn't want children if he couldn't have them with me. He said that in our bedroom, with his arms around me. I believed him. "Seven years," I say. "I know." "No. You don't." He steps toward me. "We'll talk about us afterward. Right now, my son needs you." "You're sure he's yours?" "She gave this family what you never could."

I put the chart on the table. Carefully. I won't give him the satisfaction of seeing my hands shake. "You remember the specialist." Matteo looks toward the open door. "Keep your voice down." "Two samples. The same result." "That was seven years ago." "The doctor asked you to come back." "And you spent years making it the only thing we talked about." I stare at him. Seven years ago, we sat beside each other while a specialist explained the word azoospermia. No sperm had been found in either sample. There were possible causes to investigate, further tests, options to discuss. Matteo heard none of that. He asked for the reports, put them in an envelope, and refused to make another appointment. In the car, he said, "Don't tell my mother." "What do we tell her?" "That we're trying." So we tried to live around it. I found specialists. He canceled appointments. I asked him to reconsider. He told me to stop. When Lucia began blaming me, he stayed quiet. At Christmas, she raised a glass to the next generation and looked straight at my stomach. "Perhaps next year Vivian will finally have some good news." Matteo squeezed my knee under the table. Later, he thanked me for not embarrassing him. Now he points toward Bianca's room. "There's your answer. The tests were wrong." "Then repeat them." "I'm not doing this because you're angry." Footsteps sound behind me. Lucia enters with a cream-colored baby blanket folded over her arm. She takes in my scrubs, the chart, her son's face. "Oh, good. They found you." I turn. "You knew." "Of course I knew." "How long?" "Long enough to know this child matters more than your feelings." Matteo moves to close the door. Lucia doesn't lower her voice. "For seven years, I've watched my son wait. Do you think a family like ours can wait forever?" "He wasn't waiting. He was sleeping with someone else." "He was securing a future." I look at the blanket. An embroidered M sits in one corner. "You've already put his name on everything." "He's my grandson." "You don't know that." Lucia's face tightens. "Be very careful." "Matteo's tests found no sperm. Twice." She turns to him. He looks at me. "You promised." "Yes. I did." "How dare you," Lucia says. I can't tell which of us she means. Then she steps closer to me. "You're a doctor. You should be ashamed of using private matters to hurt your husband." "You've called me barren in front of your friends for years." "And you let me." "Because he asked me to." Matteo cuts in. "Enough." We both look at him. "Bianca is pregnant. We can argue about an old report all night. It won't change that." He picks up her chart. "Tell me what you need." "For you to stop treating this pregnancy as proof." "For the surgery, Vivian." I take the chart from him. "I need to speak to Helen." In her office, I tell her who Bianca's partner is. Helen listens without interrupting. "Can another surgeon take over?" I ask. "We're bringing someone in. The earliest she can arrive is morning." "And until then?" "You're the specialist on site. Can you stay available?" "Yes. But document the conflict and the handover plan." "Of course." When I step back into the corridor, Matteo is waiting. "Are you leaving?" "I'm arranging her care." He reaches for my arm. My pager sounds before he touches me. Helen's office phone rings at the same time. A nurse hurries toward us. "Dr. Hale. Heavy bleeding. Her pressure's falling. We're moving her now." I head for the operating suite. Matteo follows. "Vivian." I keep walking. "Remember whose child that is." I stop just long enough to face him. "She's my patient."