My Mafia Husband Chose Another Woman While I Gave Birth Alone—So I Filed for Divorce Before He Could Hold Our Son

His name was Dante Rossi.

He was younger than Lucian, arrogant, and entirely devoid of the strict, old-world codes that the Moretti family once followed. Dante had inherited a rival faction and was desperate to prove that he was the new undisputed king of New York’s underworld.

Three days after the clinic was vandalized, Dante made his move.

I was having a late lunch at a discreet restaurant in Manhattan with a federal prosecutor who assisted our foundation. I was reviewing a file when the ambient chatter in the room suddenly dropped to a dead silence.

Dante Rossi walked in, flanked by three massive men in cheap suits. He spotted me immediately, offering a slick, predatory smile, and walked directly to my table.

“Serena Moretti,” Dante said, pulling out a chair and sitting down uninvited. The federal prosecutor stiffened.

“Ms. Moretti,” I corrected him without looking up from my file. “And this is a private table.”

“I’ll be brief,” Dante leaned forward, resting his elbows on the white linen tablecloth. “Your husband’s new moral crusade is costing my people a lot of money. He shut down the shipping routes. He closed the private gambling rings. We want the territory back.”

“My ex-husband’s business is his own,” I replied, finally meeting his gaze. “Take it up with him.”

“I’m taking it up with you,” Dante sneered. “Because Lucian doesn't care about the territory anymore. He only cares about you. And the boy.”

My blood turned to ice, but my face remained an unreadable mask.

“So, here is the deal,” Dante continued, completely ignoring the prosecutor sitting across from me. “You tell Lucian to sign over the South Side shipping contracts to the Rossi family. If he does, your little charity clinics stay safe. If he doesn't... well, broken glass is just the beginning. Accidents happen to children every day.”

He stood up, buttoning his jacket, incredibly proud of his own intimidation tactic.

“Have a lovely lunch, Serena.”

He turned to walk away.

“Dante,” I called out, my voice slicing through the quiet restaurant like a blade.

He stopped and looked back.

I picked up my sparkling water, taking a slow sip.

“You made a critical miscalculation today,” I stated calmly.

“Oh? And what’s that?”

I gestured to the woman sitting across from me. “You just threatened the life of a minor and attempted to extort a non-profit organization in front of Sarah Vance, the lead prosecutor for the Southern District of New York.”

Dante’s arrogant smile instantly vanished. He looked at Sarah, who was holding up her phone, the screen clearly displaying an active voice recording.

“Your entire confession is on tape, Mr. Rossi,” Sarah said coldly. “Expect a federal indictment by tomorrow morning.”

Dante’s face flushed with violent rage. He took a step toward the table, his fists clenched.

Suddenly, a heavy, immaculate hand clamped down on Dante’s shoulder with bone-crushing force.

Lucian had arrived.

“She told you to leave, Dante,” Lucian whispered directly into Rossi’s ear. The sheer, overwhelming menace radiating from Lucian froze Dante in his tracks.

Lucian didn't pull a weapon. He didn't have to. He simply looked at Dante’s three bodyguards, and the men instantly took a step back, recognizing that if they moved, they would die.

“Walk away,” Lucian commanded softly. “While she is still generous enough to let you.”

Dante swallowed hard, humiliated and trapped. He wrenched his shoulder free and stormed out of the restaurant.

Lucian looked at me, a profound, awestruck respect in his dark eyes.