He Chose the Wrong Daughter

I was married to the most ruthless Mafia boss in New York. For five years, he played the perfect, doting father to our daughter, Sofia.

But on Sofia's fifth birthday, he coldly announced he was bringing his illegitimate daughter into the family.

I discovered he had been maintaining a mistress in the shadows this entire time.

When his bastard child was diagnosed with leukemia, he didn't hesitate.

He ordered his soldiers to pin me to the cold floor and dragged my fragile Sofia into an unsterile underground clinic to harvest her bone marrow.

"I have no choice. We will be a perfect family once she is saved."

Despite knowing Sofia had a severe congenital heart defect, he forced the procedure.

When the doctor stepped out and announced the child didn't survive, I was locked in a cell, coughing up blood in pure agony.

I couldn't understand how the man who once slit his own wrists in the freezing rain to prove his devotion could slaughter his own flesh and blood for a homewrecker's lie.

But when the DNA test revealed the dead bastard wasn't even his, and my Sofia miraculously walked through the door alive, the untouchable Don collapsed at my feet in tears.

"Please, I'll burn the city down to keep you safe."

I just held my daughter's hand, stepped over his shattered pride, and finally walked away.