From Grieving Mother to Mafia Queen Chapter 01

From Grieving Mother to Mafia Queen Chapter 01 : “Pulling the plug was the right call”

The day they buried my son, I heard my husband talking to his right-hand man at the cemetery.

“Good thing we pulled the plug on the kid. He saw Tommy’s face before he went into the river.”

“Once we get back, I’ll say the boy’s an orphan and adopt him. Let that dumb b*tch raise him like her own. Then he takes over the family.”

That’s when I knew. My son didn’t drown by accident.

Vincent Corleone’s bastard pushed him. And Vincent let him die—to protect his mistress and that brat.

I wiped my tears and dialed a number I hadn’t touched in five years. My father. The man who ran the whole mafia empire.

“Dad, I was wrong.” My voice came out cold. “I’m coming home to take over.”

“One condition. My husband and his little bastard? They’re burying my son with them.”

…

“The private doctor—handled?”

“Yeah. The death certificate says he died on arrival.”

“Boss, I don’t get it.” Tony sounded confused. “We pulled little Sonny out of the river. He was still breathing. Why’d you stop the rescue?”

I was about to go back for the flowers I’d left on his grave. Those words froze me solid. I ducked behind a fresh headstone.

Vincent let out a puff of cigar smoke as if nothing mattered.

“Sonny saw Tommy’s face. If he woke up, he’d tell.”

My heart felt like someone was crushing it.

“Tommy pushed him?!” Tony gasped.

“Kid’s young. It was an accident.” Vincent’s voice dripped with shameless favoritism. “If Sonny lived, my thing with Sophia would blow up. And Tommy—being a b*stard—never gets to inherit.”

Sophia?!

The woman he’d knelt in the rain for before our wedding, swearing he’d cut her off for good?

“But… boss, that’s your own son.”

“So what?” Vincent didn’t even flinch. “Only Sophia’s kid, Tommy, counts.”

“What about the inheritance?”

“Relax. Once that dumb b*tch Serafina calms down, I’ll bring Tommy home. Tell her he’s an orphan I adopted. Let her raise him.”

Behind that headstone, I couldn’t stop shaking.

This was the man I’d cut ties with my father for. Threw away my mafia princess dignity to marry. For a mistress and a bastard, he killed our son—and wanted to squeeze every last bit of use out of me.

I wanted to run out and blow his fcking brains out. Was every ‘I love you’ a lie?*

I waited till they left.

Then I stood up. Pitch black out.

My face was dry. No idea when I’d stopped crying.

Vincent thought he could play me. Thought a few years running the family made him smart enough to treat me like an idiot—make me raise my son’s killer as my heir.

You want to climb on my son’s bones?

Vincent, you stupid piece of sh*t. I’ll carve you up for this.

Back at the mansion, I walked straight into Vincent’s room.

He was cleaning the gun he kept by the bed. When he saw me, his face went all concerned.

“Serafina, you okay? I know today was hard…”

“I want a divorce,” I cut him off.

His hand paused on the gun. Didn’t even look up. “Don’t start. Sonny just died. You bring up divorce now, the elders think I’m weak. We can have another.”

Another? So your bastard can kill that one too?

Then his phone rang. He glanced at the screen, fingers tightening.

“Daddy?”

A kid’s voice. Came right through.

“Daddy, I have a fever. It hurts…”

He walked to the window, back to me. Voice low. “Don’t panic. I’ll send a doctor. On my way.”

“Mommy’s sick too. We’re home. I’m scared…” The boy sobbed.

“Don’t be scared. I’m coming.” Vincent’s face went dead serious.

He hung up and grabbed his jacket. “Something came up at a branch. Gotta go. We’ll talk later.”

Emergency?

“Go ahead.” I laughed cold.

He left fast but steady. The two bodyguards at the door followed.

Then a text from an unknown number.

Photos.

First: Vincent, naked, holding a woman in a mirror.

Second: them kissing.

Third: a family portrait. All three.

That boy was Tommy.

Then the messages came.

“Surprised? Vincent only has a real family with me.”

“You’re just a tool. He married you for your connections.”

“Oh, and you know why you never got pregnant? He’s been putting arsenic in your food. Didn’t want a pregnancy threatening my spot.”

“Good thing your son died anyway. He was worthless. Now get the f*ck out and make room for me.”

Arsenic.

I almost smashed the phone.

Slow poison from the black market. Long-term use doesn’t just make you infertile—it rots your insides.

No wonder I’d been coughing up blood and getting dizzy for three years. I thought I was just exhausted from raising my kid.

Vincent had been playing me from day one. Thought my family name could save him ten years of work. So he faked his love, married me, and kept Sophia on the side. Even had a kid.

Fine. Great. Vincent, Sophia—you’re both dead.

I went to the library, used the encrypted line, and dialed the number I hadn’t called in five years.

“Father, it’s me. Someone’s been feeding me black-market arsenic.”

“Get me the antidote and get my people ready. The real Mrs. Hart is coming home.”