Chapter 3: My Husband Discovered His Mistress’s Pregnancy Was Part of a Deadly Betrayal—and the Man He Trusted Most Had Ordered My Death
Chapter 3: My Husband Discovered His Mistress’s Pregnancy Was Part of a Deadly Betrayal—and the Man He Trusted Most Had Ordered My Death
The first time I heard Vittorio Caruso beg another man to save my life, I was lying on a hospital stretcher with blood drying on my sleeve.
His voice came through Adrian DeLuca’s phone.
“Whatever she needs, give it to her. Doctors, security, a private hospital. I don't care what it costs.”
Adrian stood beside the ambulance, his expression unreadable.
“She's already getting medical attention, Vittorio.”
“Then make sure she gets the best.”
“Money isn't the problem.”
A silence followed.
Then my husband asked the question that nearly broke me.
“Is our baby still alive?”
I closed my eyes.
Eleven weeks pregnant.
That was all.
Eleven weeks of carrying a tiny life I had prayed for through three years of disappointment.
Eleven weeks of imagining a future that had already changed beyond recognition.
And now I was lying beneath fluorescent lights, listening to the father of my unborn child ask whether the baby had survived an attack ordered by someone inside his own family.
I wanted to tell him everything was fine.
I wanted to believe it myself.
But I didn't know.
The paramedic had checked my blood pressure and examined the shallow cuts on my arm. She had asked about abdominal pain, cramping, dizziness, and bleeding.
I had answered as carefully as I could.
My shoulder hurt.
My ribs ached.
My stomach felt tight with fear.
And I couldn't stop shaking.
“Mrs. Caruso?”
The paramedic leaned closer.
“Can you tell me whether you've had any vaginal bleeding?”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“Any severe abdominal pain?”
“Not severe.”
She nodded.
“We're taking you to the emergency department for evaluation.”
I pressed one hand against my stomach.
“Please don't let anything happen to my baby.”
Her expression softened.
“We're going to get you checked as quickly as we can.”
Adrian stepped closer.
“Sophia.”
I looked at him.
His dark hair was slightly disheveled, and a thin line of blood marked his right hand where he'd apparently cut himself helping the driver secure the damaged vehicle.
For a man who controlled half the private security operations along the Hudson River, he looked remarkably ordinary standing beside an ambulance.
Concerned.
Tired.
Human.
“Evelyn is conscious,” he told me. “The paramedics are taking her to the same hospital.”
I felt tears fill my eyes.
“She's okay?”
“She has a head injury that needs evaluation, but she's speaking.”
I exhaled shakily.
“Thank God.”
Adrian nodded.
Then he glanced toward the phone in his hand.
“Vittorio wants to speak to you.”
My stomach tightened.
I looked at the screen.
My husband's name was still there.
The man I had loved for six years.
The man who had announced his mistress's pregnancy in front of three hundred people.
The man who had watched me walk away.
And now the man who was terrified of losing the baby he hadn't known existed.
I reached for the phone.
Adrian handed it to me without a word.
“Vittorio?”
“Sophia.”
His voice broke.
I closed my eyes.
“I'm here.”
“Are you hurt?”
“A little.”
“Where?”
“My shoulder. My arm. I don't know yet.”
He inhaled sharply.
“And the baby?”
“I don't know.”
Silence.
Then I heard him whisper something in Italian.
A prayer.
Vittorio Caruso, who had once told me he didn't believe God listened to men like him, was praying.
“Sophia, I'm coming.”
My eyes opened.
“No.”
A pause.
“What?”
“Don't come here.”
His voice hardened instinctively.
“I'm your husband.”
“And someone connected to your family just tried to kill me.”
He went silent.
I continued.
“I don't know who I can trust.”
“You can trust me.”
The words hurt.
Because once, I had believed them more than anything.
I looked down at my trembling hands.
“Can I?”
He didn't answer.
For several seconds, all I heard was his breathing.
Then he whispered, “I know I don't deserve that trust anymore.”
I swallowed.
“Then don't ask me to give it to you.”
His voice broke.
“Sophia, please. Just let me know when the doctor sees you.”
I looked toward Adrian.
He was speaking quietly with one of the officers who had arrived at the scene.
I took a breath.
“I'll have Evelyn contact you when there's news.”
“Thank you.”
I almost ended the call.
Then Vittorio said, “Sophia?”
I hesitated.
“Yes?”
“I should have followed you out of that ballroom.”
My throat tightened.
He continued.
“I should have stopped the music. I should have apologized in front of everyone. I should have chosen you before you ever had to take off that ring.”
Tears slid down my cheeks.
For one terrible moment, I wanted to believe his regret could undo what had happened.
But apologies didn't change the past.
And my baby's life was now in danger because of secrets his family had kept for decades.
“You're right,” I whispered.
Then I ended the call.
The hospital was twenty minutes away.
I spent the journey staring at the ambulance ceiling, trying to remember how my life had looked forty-eight hours earlier.
I had been a wife.
A foundation director.
A woman planning a pregnancy announcement.
I had worried about whether the pale blue ribbon on the gift box was too simple.
Now I was wondering whether the men who attacked our car would come after me again.
I was wondering whether my father had been murdered.
Whether my husband's brother was really his brother.
Whether Bianca Moretti's pregnancy was being used to steal an inheritance.
And whether the baby growing inside me would ever have a normal childhood.
By the time we reached the hospital, my hands had gone cold.
A nurse helped transfer me to a bed.
Doctors examined my injuries.
They ordered tests and arranged an ultrasound.
Adrian remained outside the examination area.
He didn't insist on coming in.
Didn't claim he had a right to hear private medical information.
He simply told the staff that additional security concerns had been reported and that the police were involved.
Then he waited.
I noticed that.
I noticed everything now.
After six years of being married to a man who believed protection and control were the same thing, Adrian's willingness to respect a closed door felt almost unfamiliar.
A physician entered the room.
“Mrs. Caruso, I'm Dr. Hannah Ellis.”
She was in her early forties, with kind brown eyes and a calm voice.
“I understand you were involved in a motor vehicle collision.”
I nodded.
“And you're approximately eleven weeks pregnant?”
“Yes.”
She sat beside me.
“We're going to assess your injuries and check the pregnancy. At this stage, an ultrasound can help us evaluate the fetus, although we'll also need to monitor your symptoms.”
My throat tightened.
“Can you tell if the baby's okay?”
“We'll tell you what we can establish.”
I nodded.
She examined me carefully.
My shoulder was bruised.
I had several superficial cuts.
My ribs were tender, but there was no obvious sign of a serious chest injury.
Then the ultrasound technician arrived.
I lay back.
The room darkened.
Cool gel touched my abdomen.
I stared at the monitor.
At first, I couldn't understand the shapes.
Gray shadows.
Small movements.
Then the technician adjusted the image.
And there it was.
A tiny body.
A little head.
A flicker of movement.
My baby.
I covered my mouth.
“Is that—”
The technician smiled gently.
“Yes.”
Then she pointed.
“And there's the heartbeat.”
I began crying.
The sound filled the room.
Fast.
Steady.
Beautiful.
Dr. Ellis looked at the measurements.
“The findings are reassuring at the moment,” she said. “We'll still give you instructions about symptoms that need immediate attention.”
I nodded through my tears.
“Thank you.”
The technician printed an image.
She handed it to me.
I stared at the little black-and-white photograph.
Eleven weeks.
A tiny life.
A heartbeat that had survived the crash.
I pressed the photograph against my chest.
And for the first time since the gala, I allowed myself to breathe.
Evelyn arrived in my room shortly after noon.
She had a bandage near her temple and a bruised cheek.
I immediately sat upright.
“Evelyn!”
She raised one hand.
“Don't start.”
I stared at her.
“You're hurt.”
“So are you.”
“Did they check your head?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“They're keeping me for observation because of the concussion.”
I exhaled.
“Thank God.”
She approached the bed.
Then she saw the ultrasound photograph in my hand.
Her expression softened.
“Oh, Sophia.”
I held it out.
“There's a heartbeat.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
She took the photograph carefully.
“Your father would have been so happy.”
That was all it took.
I began crying again.
Evelyn sat beside me.
She didn't tell me to stop.
Didn't tell me to be strong.
She simply held my hand.
After several minutes, I wiped my face.
“Did the police catch the men?”
Her expression changed.
“Not yet.”
I looked toward the door.
“Adrian?”
“He's coordinating with the investigators.”
I frowned.
“Why is he doing so much?”
Evelyn studied me.
“Because he made a promise to your father.”
I looked down.
“People make promises all the time.”
She nodded.
“Yes.”
I thought about Vittorio.
His wedding vows.
His promises to protect me.
His whispered assurances that I would always come first.
Then I looked at the ultrasound photograph.
“Some people keep them,” Evelyn said quietly.
I didn't answer.
At 1:42 p.m., Adrian entered my room carrying a paper bag.
I looked up.
“What's that?”
“Lunch.”
I blinked.
“Lunch?”
“Yes.”
I stared at him.
“You're a mafia boss.”
He raised one eyebrow.
“I'm aware.”
“And you brought me lunch?”
“You haven't eaten properly since yesterday.”
I looked at Evelyn.
She was trying not to smile.
Adrian placed the bag on the table.
“Chicken soup, bread, fruit, and ginger tea.”
I stared at him.
“How did you know I like ginger tea?”
“Evelyn told me.”
I looked at her.
She shrugged.
“You're pregnant. You need to eat.”
I almost laughed.
The absurdity of the situation was overwhelming.
Two days ago, I had been choosing baby socks in Manhattan.
Now I was sitting in a hospital bed while my husband's most powerful rival brought me soup.
Adrian pulled a chair toward the window.
“May I?”
I nodded.
He sat.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then I asked, “Did they find the SUV?”
His expression became serious.
“Yes.”
My pulse accelerated.
“Where?”
“Abandoned near an industrial park in Stamford.”
“Any evidence?”
“Some. The police are processing it.”
I looked at him.
“Do you know who ordered the attack?”
Adrian hesitated.
“I have a strong suspicion.”
“Giovanni?”
He nodded.
I felt cold all over.
“Why?”
“Because the attackers used a vehicle registered through a company connected to one of his associates.”
I stared at him.
“Then arrest him.”
Adrian's expression remained calm.
“The authorities need evidence that will hold up in court.”
I looked away.
“I hate this.”
“I know.”
“No, you don't.”
He studied me.
Then nodded.
“Fair enough.”
I took a breath.
“I'm sorry.”
“You don't need to apologize for being frightened.”
I looked at him.
His expression was serious.
Not pitying.
Not impatient.
Just attentive.
I had almost forgotten what that felt like.
“Adrian?”
“Yes?”
“Why did my father trust your family?”
He leaned back slightly.
“Because my mother was one of the few people who refused to abandon him when Giovanni turned the Caruso council against him.”
I frowned.
“What happened?”
Adrian looked toward the window.
“Your father discovered that Giovanni was using shipping contracts to move money out of the original holding company.”
My pulse accelerated.
“Stealing?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Millions.”
I swallowed.
“And Vittorio's father?”
“He suspected something was wrong.”
“Did he know Giovanni was involved?”
“We believe he did.”
I stared at Adrian.
“Then why didn't he stop him?”
Adrian's expression darkened.
“Because he died before he could.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“Officially, Antonio Caruso died of a heart attack.”
I remembered Vittorio speaking about his father.
He had been seventeen when Antonio died.
He rarely discussed it.
But every year, on the anniversary, he visited the family chapel alone.
I looked at Adrian.
“You think Giovanni killed him?”
“I think Giovanni benefited from his death. That's not the same as proving he caused it.”
I nodded slowly.
“And my father?”
“Your father began investigating after Antonio died.”
I stared at him.
“Then he disappeared.”
“Yes.”
My hands tightened around the blanket.
For twenty years, I had believed my father died in an accident overseas.
Now I was learning he may have been murdered because he refused to surrender his ownership in the Caruso empire.
I looked at Adrian.
“Did Vittorio know?”
“I don't believe he knew the full story.”
I exhaled.
Adrian continued.
“But he may have ignored things he should have questioned.”
I looked down.
That sounded like my husband.
Vittorio trusted Giovanni.
He trusted Lorenzo.
He trusted the men who had helped raise him.
And when I questioned the way they treated employees or handled foundation funds, he told me not to interfere.
You don't understand how this family works, Sophia.
Maybe I hadn't.
But I was beginning to.
And I didn't like what I was discovering.
At 3:08 p.m., Vittorio arrived at the hospital.
I learned he was there when Adrian's phone rang.
He listened for a moment.
Then looked at me.
“Your husband is downstairs.”
My stomach tightened.
“Did you tell him where I was?”
“No.”
“Then how did he find me?”
“He was informed through the medical contact you authorized earlier.”
I looked toward Evelyn.
She nodded.
“I told his attorney which hospital was treating you. I didn't disclose your room.”
I swallowed.
Adrian stood.
“He wants to see you.”
I looked at the ultrasound photograph.
Then at the door.
For a moment, I imagined Vittorio walking in.
His familiar cologne.
His dark eyes.
His hands reaching for me.
I imagined him seeing the picture.
I imagined the expression on his face.
Then I remembered Bianca.
Her emerald gown.
His hand against her back.
The applause.
I closed my eyes.
“Tell him I'm not ready.”
Adrian nodded.
“All right.”
He moved toward the door.
“Adrian?”
He stopped.
I looked at him.
“Don't hurt him.”
His expression changed.
For a moment, I saw something almost sad in his eyes.
“I wasn't planning to.”
I swallowed.
“He's still my baby's father.”
Adrian nodded.
“I understand.”
Then he left.
Twenty minutes later, my phone rang.
Vittorio.
I stared at the screen.
Evelyn looked at me.
“You don't have to answer.”
“I know.”
But I did.
“Sophia.”
His voice was exhausted.
I closed my eyes.
“Vittorio.”
“Are you okay?”
“I'm alive.”
He inhaled shakily.
“And the baby?”
I looked at the ultrasound photograph.
“The heartbeat is strong.”
For several seconds, he didn't speak.
Then I heard him cry.
Not loudly.
Just one broken breath.
Then another.
“Thank God.”
My eyes filled with tears.
I had imagined sharing that moment with him.
I had imagined him sitting beside me during our first ultrasound.
Instead, he was downstairs in a hospital lobby, learning about his child through a phone call because he had destroyed my trust.
“Can I see the picture?” he whispered.
I hesitated.
Then looked at Evelyn.
She nodded slightly.
I took a photograph of the ultrasound image and sent it.
For several seconds, Vittorio was silent.
Then he whispered, “That's our baby.”
I swallowed.
“Yes.”
Another silence.
Then he said, “Sophia, I know you don't want to see me.”
I stared at the wall.
“I don't.”
“I understand.”
I almost laughed.
“You're learning.”
His voice broke.
“I deserve that.”
I said nothing.
Then he continued.
“I need to tell you something about Bianca.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
He hesitated.
“I confronted her.”
I closed my eyes.
“Vittorio, I don't want to hear about your mistress.”
“Please.”
Something in his voice made me pause.
I waited.
He continued.
“Lorenzo arranged the entire announcement.”
I stared at the phone.
“What?”
“He told Bianca it was necessary to establish the baby's position within the family.”
My pulse accelerated.
“And you believed him?”
Vittorio exhaled.
“I wanted to believe him.”
I closed my eyes.
There it was.
The truth.
Not that Lorenzo had forced him.
Not that Bianca had tricked him into every decision.
Vittorio had wanted an excuse to do something cruel.
And someone had given him one.
“Did Lorenzo tell you to put your hand on her back?” I asked.
Silence.
“Did he tell you to ignore me?”
Another silence.
“Did he tell you to let me walk out of the ballroom?”
Vittorio's voice broke.
“No.”
I swallowed.
“Then don't blame him for what you did.”
He exhaled shakily.
“I won't.”
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then he said, “Sophia, there's something else.”
I looked down at my stomach.
“What?”
“Bianca says Lorenzo has been threatening her.”
My pulse accelerated.
“Why?”
“She claims Giovanni arranged her relationship with me.”
I stared at the wall.
“What?”
Vittorio's voice became bitter.
“She says Giovanni told her that if she became pregnant, the family would finally accept her.”
I frowned.
“But she's a Moretti.”
“Yes.”
“And Lorenzo is her half-brother.”
Silence.
Then Vittorio whispered, “You know.”
“Yes.”
He exhaled.
“I found out this morning.”
I closed my eyes.
“How much else don't you know about your own family?”
He didn't answer.
Then he said something that made my blood turn cold.
“Sophia, Bianca told me the child might not be mine.”
I stopped breathing.
“What?”
“She says she was already pregnant when our relationship began.”
For a moment, I couldn't speak.
Then I whispered, “And you announced that baby as your heir.”
His voice broke.
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to throw the phone.
I wanted to ask how a man who could manage a billion-dollar shipping empire could be so blind to the people closest to him.
Instead, I said quietly, “That's between you and Bianca.”
“Sophia—”
“No.”
My voice became firm.
“I'm not going to help you untangle the lies you chose over me.”
He went silent.
I continued.
“I have a baby to protect.”
“I know.”
“And I have a father whose death may have been covered up by your family.”
His breathing changed.
“I know.”
“Then find the truth, Vittorio.”
I swallowed.
“Not because you want me back.”
A pause.
“Because it's the right thing to do.”
He whispered, “I will.”
I ended the call.
And for the first time since our marriage began falling apart, I didn't feel guilty for putting myself first.
That evening, Adrian brought me a folder.
He placed it on the table beside my bed.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Information about your father's trust.”
I sat upright.
“Did you find the deposit box?”
“Not yet. Evelyn is arranging access through the bank.”
I nodded.
“Then what's this?”
“Copies of the original company records.”
I opened the folder.
Inside were incorporation documents.
Share certificates.
Financial statements.
A photograph of my father signing an agreement beside Antonio Caruso.
I stared at the signatures.
My father's name.
Daniel Bellini.
The man who had taught me to ride a bicycle.
The man who used to sing terrible Italian songs while cooking breakfast.
The man who had disappeared when I was nine.
I touched the page.
Adrian watched quietly.
“Your father was a founding investor,” he said. “He provided capital when the company was struggling.”
I swallowed.
“And Giovanni stole his shares?”
“We believe he forged documents transferring the shares into a family-controlled holding company.”
I looked up.
“Can we prove it?”
“Possibly. The originals in the deposit box may be decisive.”
I stared at the documents.
Then I noticed something.
A signature on one of the later agreements.
Giovanni Caruso.
Below it was another name.
Lorenzo Caruso.
I frowned.
“Why is Lorenzo signing this?”
Adrian leaned forward.
“Which document?”
I pointed.
“This one. It's dated twenty-one years ago.”
He studied the page.
His expression changed.
“What?”
I looked at him.
“Lorenzo would have been thirteen.”
Adrian stared at the signature.
Then he reached for the folder.
He examined the document carefully.
“Sophia.”
My heart began pounding.
“What?”
“This isn't Lorenzo's signature.”
I frowned.
“Then whose is it?”
He looked up.
“Salvatore Moretti.”
I stopped breathing.
“Bianca's father?”
Adrian nodded slowly.
“He was using the Caruso name.”
I stared at the page.
Then something clicked.
The photograph.
The resemblance.
The missing men.
The forged records.
“What if Salvatore didn't disappear?” I whispered.
Adrian looked at me.
“What?”
“What if he changed his identity?”
His expression became serious.
I continued.
“What if the man everyone thinks is Lorenzo's father never disappeared because he's been here the whole time?”
Adrian stared at me.
Then slowly shook his head.
“No.”
I leaned forward.
“Think about it. Salvatore was connected to the original company. He had access to the documents. He had a son who was raised as a Caruso. He disappeared around the same time my father did.”
Adrian stood.
He began pacing.
I watched him.
Then he stopped.
“Sophia, where did you see Giovanni last?”
I frowned.
“At the gala.”
“What did he look like?”
I stared at him.
“What do you mean?”
“Did he have a scar near his left eyebrow?”
My heart stopped.
I remembered Giovanni leaning toward me at the gala.
Kissing my forehead.
Calling me principessa.
A faint scar near his left eyebrow.
I had seen it hundreds of times.
“Yes.”
Adrian went completely still.
Then he whispered, “Jesus Christ.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
He turned toward me.
“Sophia, the photograph Evelyn showed you wasn't just evidence of Lorenzo's parentage.”
My pulse accelerated.
“It was evidence of a stolen identity.”
I stared at him.
“Whose?”
Adrian swallowed.
“Giovanni Caruso's.”
The room seemed to tilt.
I shook my head.
“No.”
Adrian reached for his phone.
“I need to call Evelyn.”
I stared at him.
“Adrian.”
He stopped.
“Tell me what you're thinking.”
He looked directly into my eyes.
“I think Salvatore Moretti has been living as Giovanni Caruso for more than twenty years.”
I stopped breathing.
“And I think the real Giovanni died before your father disappeared.”
For a long moment, neither of us spoke.
Then I looked at the photograph of my father.
At the signatures.
At the dates.
And I realized something terrifying.
The man who had walked me down the aisle might not simply have ordered my father's murder.
He might have stolen another man's identity to hide it.
At 9:36 p.m., Evelyn returned from the bank.
She was carrying a sealed evidence envelope.
Her face was pale.
I immediately sat upright.
“Did you find it?”
She nodded.
“The deposit box.”
My heart began pounding.
“What was inside?”
She placed the envelope on the table.
Adrian moved closer.
Evelyn opened it carefully.
Inside were original share certificates.
A notarized statement.
Several photographs.
And a small digital storage device.
I stared at the documents.
Then Evelyn handed me a letter.
It was addressed to me.
I recognized my father's handwriting immediately.
Sophia,
If you've reached this point, then the truth has finally caught up with the men who tried to bury it.
My eyes filled with tears.
I continued reading.
I need you to understand that I did not disappear because I abandoned you.
My breath caught.
I disappeared because I discovered that someone inside the Caruso family had murdered Antonio and stolen Giovanni's identity.
I covered my mouth.
Adrian went still.
Evelyn closed her eyes.
I continued.
The man calling himself Giovanni Caruso is not Giovanni.
His real name is Salvatore Moretti.
My hands began trembling.
He has been using the Caruso name to control the organization, manipulate its heirs, and conceal the theft of our shares.
I swallowed.
Then I reached the final paragraph.
There is one person who can prove everything.
His name is Lorenzo.
I looked up.
Adrian stared at me.
Evelyn's face had gone white.
I continued reading.
But be careful, Sophia.
Lorenzo has spent his entire life believing Salvatore is his father.
And if Salvatore discovers that Lorenzo knows the truth, he will kill him too.
The room fell silent.
Then Adrian's phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
His expression changed.
“It's Vittorio.”
He answered.
“Caruso.”
I watched his face.
Vittorio spoke.
Adrian went still.
“What?”
Another pause.
Then he looked directly at me.
His expression was grave.
“Sophia, I need you to listen carefully.”
My heart began pounding.
“What happened?”
Adrian swallowed.
“Lorenzo is dead.”
The words struck me like a physical blow.
I stared at him.
“No.”
Adrian's voice was low.
“His body was found in a warehouse near the Hudson River.”
I covered my mouth.
Lorenzo.
The man who had hugged me at our wedding.
The man who had called me his sister.
The man who had been part of my family for six years.
Dead.
Adrian continued.
“Vittorio says Lorenzo left a message before he died.”
My hands began shaking.
“What message?”
Adrian listened.
Then his face drained of color.
He looked at me.
And whispered:
“Tell Sophia her father is still alive.”
I stopped breathing.
My father.
Daniel Bellini.
The man I had mourned for twenty years.
The man whose photograph I had carried out of the Caruso mansion.
The man whose handwriting was on the letter in my hands.
Alive.
I stared at Adrian.
“That can't be true.”
He didn't answer.
Then another message arrived on his phone.
A photograph.
He looked at it.
His expression changed.
Slowly, he turned the screen toward me.
A man sat in a wheelchair inside a dimly lit room.
His hair was gray.
His face was thinner than I remembered.
But his eyes—
I knew those eyes.
I had dreamed about them since I was nine years old.
My father's eyes.
Beneath the photograph was a message.
You have until midnight to surrender the trust documents.
Or Sophia Bellini will watch her father die for the second time.
I stared at the screen.
My knees went weak.
May you like
Because after twenty years of believing my father was dead, I had finally found him.
And the man who had stolen my marriage, my inheritance, and my family's future was using him to lure me into a trap.
