He Chose His Son Over His Mafia Queen Novel – Chapter 1 Six years ago, my husband, Matteo Ferraro, had a one-night stand with another woman. Three years into our marriage, he brought home the boy born from that night. He was six years old. The kid loathed me with every fiber of his being. Every time he saw me, he glared with pure malice. “You stole my Papa.” “You’re a homewrecker! Because of you, my Mommy can’t be with my Papa!” I went behind his back and enrolled the boy in a 24/7 boarding school. Matteo intercepted the enrollment. He had already grown used to reading bedtime stories to the boy every night. “He’s just a kid,” Matteo said. “Even if he hates you, what could he possibly do?” Until today, when I was pushed down the stairs and suffered a miscarriage. When Matteo found out, he didn’t even blink. He merely pressed the corner of his eye with an expressionless face. “If you had actually treated him like your own son, he would never have done this.” At that exact moment, I finally understood. In his heart, only the child who shared his blood was truly a part of him.
Fortunately, I felt the exact same way. Clutching my hollow stomach, I punched in the numbers. “Cassian, the heir is gone. Take me back to the Moretti family.” Right after I hung up, Matteo walked through the door. He was holding Marco by the hand. The boy pouted, his face full of stubborn defiance. “I didn’t mean to. She slipped by herself…” Matteo tapped the back of the boy’s head, his voice turning cold. “I’m saying this for the last time. Apologize to your mother.” For the past three months, he had been trying to force Marco to call me Mommy. Marco always threw the exact same angry tantrum. “I don’t want to!” “I have a Mommy! She took care of me for six years, she just doesn’t live with us right now!” He wrapped his arms around Matteo’s waist and sobbed. “Papa, why don’t you want my real Mommy? She’s so good…” Matteo fell dead silent. He had always avoided explaining to Marco why his parents couldn’t marry. Looking at the child’s tear-stained face, guilt flashed clearly across his features. Once the nanny took Marco outside, Matteo pulled out a chair and sat down beside me. “I’ve made my stance clear.
You can’t force a six-year-old to get down on his knees and beg for your forgiveness.” I clenched my fists, a lump forming in my throat. “So my baby deserved to die?” During the three months since Marco moved in, he had slipped things into my water glass more than once—things a pregnant woman should never consume. That was far beyond what a six-year-old could come up with on his own. It was glaringly obvious who was really behind it. I had told Matteo before, “Send the boy back to his mother.” Matteo had stayed silent, smoking cigars on the estate balcony all night long. But later, as Marco called him ‘Papa’ over and over in his sweet, childish voice, Matteo’s harsh edges began to soften. When I brought it up again, his face was like ice. “Impossible.” “That woman has ulterior motives. She can’t raise my son right.” An unbearable silence hung over the hospital room. Matteo rubbed his temples and said hoarsely, “You can ask for any compensation you want.
Except sending Marco away.” I turned my head away and said softly, “Then don’t bother mentioning it.” Matteo stared at my stomach, a trace of reluctance in his eyes. “Freya, I’ve already lost one child. Do you want me to lose another?” “You should know that no one can shake your position in my heart. No one will ever replace you as my Donna.” I kept my eyes down, forcing back the bitterness in my throat. Matteo and I were an arranged political marriage. Yet, we had shared three years of genuine affection. That was before we knew Marco existed.
Back then, he would bid the highest price at auctions just to buy back my late mother’s relics for me. He would rent out the entire Long Island estate to set off fireworks all night just to make me smile. But everything came to a screeching halt the moment that six-year-old boy appeared. I touched my lower abdomen. As the anesthesia wore off, a sharp, cramping pain rippled through me. I closed my eyes and said quietly, “Matteo, let’s get a divorce.”