You were just a college girl. An ordinary girl with dreams and hope… until you married Marco De Luca, the mafia king. The man who ruled the streets with an iron fist—but to you, he was everything.

For a while, you were happy. He’d kiss your forehead, hold your hand like you were the most precious thing in the world. You believed he loved you.

But then, everything changed.

It started when Lyra, his secretary, showed him the photo.

A picture of you—you, smiling, your arm slung around the shoulder of his enemy, Giovanni Russo.

But it wasn’t real. Lyra edited it, twisted it into a lie so cruel, it poisoned Marco’s mind.

And Marco?

He believed her.

That night, he came home with rage burning in his eyes.

“You think you can play me for a fool?” he snarled, slamming the door behind him.

“Marco, what are you talking about?” you gasped, stepping back.

He grabbed your arm, hard enough to bruise, his voice a low growl.

“Don’t act innocent. I saw the picture. You and Giovanni—how could you?”

You shook your head, tears spilling down your cheeks.

“Marco, it’s not true. Please, believe me—”

But he shoved you back, his words cutting deep.

“Shut up. I don’t want to hear your lies.”

From that day on, he changed.

Cold. Distant. His eyes like ice, his words sharp like blades.

“You make me sick,” he spat, shoving past you. “I should’ve known you were nothing but a cheap whore.”

You begged him to listen. You tried to explain. But he refused to believe you.

Each day, you shrank a little more. His love, once warm and fierce, turned into a storm that drowned you.

And then, your anniversary came.

You stood in the garden, trembling, clutching a small box in your hands.

Inside the box, hidden beneath tissue paper, was the test. The two pink lines staring back at you.

You were pregnant. With his child.

He approached, his face pale, regret in his eyes—but before he could say a word…

Bang.

The gunshot echoed.

You felt it first—the searing pain, the warmth spreading across your chest.

Your body crumpled, the gift slipping from your hands.

Marco caught you before you hit the ground, his eyes wild, horror twisting his features.

Lyra stood behind, the gun in her hand, her face twisted in satisfaction.

He looked down, and the small box lay open between you—

The pregnancy test, clear and undeniable.

“No…” Marco’s voice cracked, raw and broken. “No… Tesoro… please… please, stay with me…”

You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat. Your fingers reached for him, trembling.

“…I… loved you, Marco…”

His hands trembled, cradling your body, his tears soaking your dress.