My Husband's Mistress Had His Twins,So I Married His Enemy

My husband, the most powerful man in the Vitale bloodline, was drugged and slept with a college girl. He called me the moment he came to, his voice raw and panicked. "Rowan Bellandi, I was drugged. I made a mistake. But I gave her money. She won't be a problem." Eight years of marriage, eight years of love. I told myself it was just an accident. Six months later, Dante Vitale was across the state handling family business when the earthquake hit the news. By the time I reached the private clinic, he was standing outside a patient room, his expression unreadable. Two soldiers flanked the corridor behind him, eyes forward, saying nothing. The doctor told me Serafina Conti was three months pregnant. She'd dug through rubble with her bare hands to save Dante, and her fingers were torn to shreds. Dante gripped my hand, his voice low and pleading. "Three months ago, she lost a family member. She came to me for help. I'd had too much to drink, and I didn't mean for it to…" "Don't worry. She will never set foot in our home. She will never affect your position." Serafina burst out of the room and dropped to her knees in front of me, sobbing. "Mrs. Vitale, please, I'm begging you, give the baby a chance to live!" Dante looked at me, his tone imploring. "Rowan, you've always been the reasonable one. The child is innocent…" I stared at him. Then I smiled. "Dante, either we divorce." "Or she goes." "I'm not divorcing you!" Dante grabbed me, his eyes bloodshot. "But I have a responsibility to her." Later, Serafina gave birth to twins. The entire Vitale family was overjoyed. Two boys. Two heirs. In this world, that was more than children. That was succession currency, and every capo in the family knew it before the christening invitations were even printed. I slipped the wedding ring off my finger and dialed an unknown number. "What you proposed. I accept." The person on the other end laughed softly. "Mrs. Vitale. A pleasure doing business." —— I stood in the doorway of the clinic room, my fingers clenching without my realizing it. Through the half-open door, I could see Salvatore Vitale and Carmela Vitale each cradling a baby, their faces bright with joy. The retired Don held the boy against his chest as if the infant were something sacred, something worth every ugly thing the family had ever done to keep its name alive. Carmela smoothed the linen blanket across the second baby's lap, her movements precise and unhurried. Even Dante, who never let his composure slip in front of anyone outside the inner circle, was gazing down at the infant in his arms with a tenderness I had never once seen. His lips curved into a gentle, doting smile. How ironic. They looked like the real family. Dante glanced up and saw me. His expression froze. "Rowan, you came back…" I said nothing. Carmela's gaze slid toward me, her voice cold enough to cut. "So you finally decided to show up? Had enough peace and quiet hiding at the lake house for six months?" "Good that you're here." Salvatore smoothed things over, though his eyes never left the baby in his arms. His rosary beads hung still against his wrist, looped but motionless. "Just in time for the christening feast. You're Mrs. Vitale, after all. It's only right you do your part." Carmela's expression softened a fraction. "The children still need proper names. You and Dante should think of something. And don't worry. As long as you behave yourself, the position of Mrs. Vitale will always be yours." I looked at them numbly and nodded. "Fine." After the elder Vitales left, Dante's phone rang. He glanced at me, then stepped out to take the call. Through the door I caught a sliver of the hallway, the soldier outside straightening as Dante passed. The room was quiet now. Just me and Serafina. Her complexion was rosy, her hair gleaming with the kind of luster that came from months of careful pampering. The Vitale family had clearly spared no expense on her. A private room in the family's own clinic, fresh flowers on the nightstand, a cashmere throw folded at the foot of the bed. She had been kept like a donna, not a mistress. "Rowan," she called out to me, timid as a mouse, "if I've done anything wrong, you can hit me or yell at me, I don't mind. Just please stop fighting with Dante. You know he only has eyes for you. You've been gone so long, and he still has someone clean your room every single day." "Serafina." I looked at her, my voice flat and cold. "You can drop the act. The money he gave you back then was enough to last several lifetimes. You could have disappeared. Instead, you came back to him for help. And now here we are, with these children." "Serafina, you know exactly what you're after." The color drained from her face, then flooded back in splotches. The left corner of her mouth twitched, just once, before she caught it. Then, without warning, she snatched up one of the babies and shoved it into my arms.