He Chose His Bastard Over Our Baby

My world shattered the moment Amara collapsed. One second, my daughter was racing toward me, her laughter ringing over the crashing waves behind our villa as she dodged the surf. The next, she crumpled to the sand like a marionette with its strings slashed.

"Amara!" My scream ripped through the salty air as I sprinted toward her. But I wasn't the first to reach her.

Lorenzo moved like a shadow. One moment, he was standing by the fireplace, his voice low and commanding as he spoke to his men. The next, he was on his knees, his powerful arms scooping our daughter off the cold, wet sand.

"Amara, piccola," he rasped, his voice rough with panic—nothing like the ice-cold mafia king the world feared. "Stay with me."

Her tiny fingers twisted into his shirt, her breaths shallow and ragged. "Papa…"

"I'm here, tesoro." His jaw locked, his grip tightening as he turned to me. "Get the doctor. Now."

I snapped out of my daze, fumbling for my phone, my hands shaking so badly I nearly dropped it. Dr. Romano answered on the first ring. "She collapsed," I choked out. "She—she can't breathe—"

"Bring her to the clinic. Immediately."

She had been fine minutes ago. Laughing. Chasing the waves. This couldn't be happening. "Lorenzo, she was fine," I forced out, fighting the tidal wave of terror rising in my chest.

"Not now," he bit out, already striding toward the black SUV idling nearby. His men moved like a well-oiled machine, doors swinging open as he slid inside, cradling Amara against him.

I scrambled in after them, my hands trembling as I cupped Amara's pale face. "Baby, stay with me. Mommy's here."

Lorenzo didn't speak. His body was rigid, his heartbeat steady—controlled—but I knew him too well. Beneath that ruthless exterior, he was hanging on by a thread.

The drive to the hospital was suffocating.

Every second stretched into an eternity. When we arrived, doctors were already waiting. Lorenzo didn't hesitate—he stormed through the doors, barking orders like a man who'd never been denied.

Dr. Romano met us in the hallway, his expression grim as he signaled the nurses to take Amara.

"What's happening to my daughter?" Lorenzo demanded, his voice like steel.

The doctor exhaled sharply. "It's as we feared. Her nervous system is failing. If we don't act fast—"

"Then act," Lorenzo cut in, his patience nonexistent.

The doctor hesitated. "She needs a transfusion. But her condition is rare. There's only one match."

My stomach twisted.

Dr. Romano's gaze flicked to Lorenzo. "You."

Silence.

Lorenzo's expression didn't change, but something dark flickered in his eyes.

I swallowed hard. "Then do it. Whatever it takes."

Dr. Romano nodded, but before he could speak, the doors burst open.

A woman strode in. Tall. Elegant. Dressed in a designer coat, her heels clicking against the sterile floor. Panicked.

Isabella.

My husband's first love. The woman who had been with him for five years. The one who should have been his wife—until she ran. I was the one who pulled him from the wreckage of that heartbreak. A year later, he married me.

But Isabella wasn't alone.

A boy stood beside her. No older than Amara. Pale. Fragile. His small fingers clutching hers.

My stomach dropped. No. Not now.

Dr. Romano stiffened. "This is… unexpected."

Lorenzo's voice was eerily calm. "Why is she here?"

Isabella's hands trembled as she gripped her son's fingers. "Because… Dr. Romano is Dante's doctor too. He needs help."

The air turned to lead.

Dr. Romano exhaled. "Dante has the same condition as Amara. And Lorenzo… you're his only match."

The words hit like a bullet. My vision blurred.

"What?" Lorenzo's voice was lethally quiet.

Dr. Romano hesitated, then delivered the blow that shattered everything.

"Dante is your son."

The silence was deafening.

I stumbled back, my knees threatening to buckle. No. This isn't real.

Lorenzo went statue-still. His jaw clenched. His knuckles whitened. "Is this a joke?"

Isabella's lips trembled. "I didn't want you to find out like this."

Lorenzo's hands curled into fists. "How long?" His voice was a blade.