The Mafia Heir’s Runaway Mistress Chapter 04

The Mafia Heir’s Runaway Mistress Chapter 04

Elena’s POV

This child cost me. Dearly.

Once rumors of my pregnancy got out, the fallout hit fast.

Endorsement deals—gone. Roles I’d locked in—handed to someone else.

My social media got swarmed by trolls.

I was a nobody to begin with, yet somehow, dirt on me was suddenly everywhere.

People said I couldn’t act.

They called me a talentless industry plant.

They accused me of being unprofessional, arrogant, and difficult to work with.

Some even claimed I was a homewrecker who had inserted herself into someone else’s relationship.

Then my prenatal medical records somehow leaked.

Headlines started popping up everywhere.

#Mistress Baby-Traps Mafia Heir#

#True Love Flees, Scheming Mistress Closes In#

The topics shot to the top of trending.

Who was behind it all… I couldn’t say.

For several nights, I had the same nightmare.

A woman pushed me to the ground. Blood pooled beneath me. So much blood.

I’d jolt awake in the middle of the night, forehead slick, palms clammy with cold sweat.

But I didn’t read too much into it.

I just figured once the baby was born, everything would be fine.

And that’s how it went. For four months.

Until today. Until I met Sienna.

But what finally made me decide to end the pregnancy were the last words she left me with.

“If Lorenzo wants to solidify his position, what he needs is to bring home a legitimate De Luca heir—and a wife from the right family.”

“Someone whose name can bring real power to the table.”

“Miss West, you probably don’t know this, but I was in an accident when I was fourteen.”

“Doctors had to remove my uterus. I’ll never be able to have children.”

The implication was clear. Crystal clear.

She’d made her point. But the challenge in her eyes said the rest.

“But you know me. I’m far too proud to tolerate another woman’s child.”

“Even if it were born, I could think of a hundred ways for something… unfortunate… to happen.”

She tilted her head slightly.

“Miss West, I’m sure you know how to choose.”

Then she turned and walked away with her entourage of bodyguards.

It looked as though she had left the decision in my hands.

But every word had been a threat.

Outside, the sunset burned a deep, bloody crimson.

I stood alone in the wrecked living room for a very long time.

The sting behind my eyes built and built, my fingers curled into fists, and then the tears came—one after the other, silent and unstoppable.

The clock on the wall ticked on. The fading light crept across the floor. The loneliness stretched on and on.

Over the years I’d spent at Lorenzo’s side, I’d done a lot of waiting.

He had always done whatever he wanted.

One second he’d say he was coming over for the night, the next he’d head off to some bar with his crew.

People said he was a flirt, a charmer.

Maybe it was because whenever girls approached him in those places, he never pushed them away.

He’d pop champagne for them while everyone cheered him on, and sometimes, he’d even kiss them.

Once in a while, I’d accidentally walk in on scenes like that.

His friends would start right in, teasing, asking if I was in the market for a new boyfriend.

Lorenzo would casually tell them to stop corrupting me.

Then he’d release whichever girl was in his arms and pull me against his chest instead.

The looks people gave us were always too amused, too knowing.

Flushed with embarrassment, I’d bury my face against his chest.

He’d rest his chin on top of my head, nuzzle my hair, and let out a satisfied sigh. “So good.”

After it happened enough times, he eventually asked me about it.

One night, he nipped at my earlobe and asked, casual, like it had just crossed his mind.

“How come you never make a scene? Don’t you ever get jealous?”

I stared at the shifting lights inside the private room.

For a long time, I didn’t know how to answer.

Why didn’t I make a scene?

Was it confidence in my own charm? The clear-eyed knowledge that this was going nowhere?

Or maybe… I just wasn’t done yet.

Most girls threw a tantrum, collected some expensive parting gift, and moved on to the next glittering affair.

But me? I was different.

I wanted to stay by his side a little longer. Savor it a little longer. So I never made a fuss.

Aside from the revolving door of women around him, Lorenzo treated me well.

Once, during New Year’s, I casually remarked that it was a shame there weren’t any fireworks.

That night, fireworks lit up Victoria Harbour until dawn.

Another time, I lingered a little too long in front of a piece of jewelry.

He drove the bidding into tens of millions and bought it for me, then fastened it around my neck himself, right there in front of everyone.

When I mentioned I wanted to see snow, he booked out an entire private cable car line in the Swiss Alps.

I’d kissed him on the streets of Paris.

Learned wine tasting from him at a private estate in Italy.

Driven his red Ferrari through sleeping city streets before sunrise.

Behind every one of those memories was a kind of wealth most people couldn’t even dream of.

Having tasted all of that… I figured I had no right to ask for more.