THE MAFIA DON'S WRATH: HE THOUGHT HIS MISTRESS WAS HARMLESS UNTIL HIS PREGNANT WIFE'S HEART STOPPED ON THE OPERATING TABLE! 💔🩸👶

"Isabella, don't you dare leave me!" Dante roared through the glass, his voice cracking with unbearable grief. "You fight! You hear me?! You fight for our children! You fight for me! I will tear the world down if you leave me here alone!"

Inside the nursery resuscitation corner, the pediatric doctor delivered a gentle, rapid puff of oxygen into the tiny lungs of Twin A.

Suddenly, a tiny, sputtering cough broke through the chaotic noise.

A fragile, wheezing gasp followed. And then—the high-pitched, furious, defiant wail of a newborn baby boy pierced the sterile air.

Seconds later, as if answering her brother’s battle cry from across the room, the second infant table erupted into life. Twin B kicked her tiny, blood-smeared legs and let out a sharp, healthy scream that echoed against the tiled walls.

At that exact moment, the defibrillator paddles struck Isabella’s chest for the third time.

*THUMP.*

For two agonizing seconds, the room held its breath.

Then, a blip appeared on the screen.

*Beep.*

Another.

*Beep... Beep...*

"Sinus rhythm restored!" the anesthesiologist cried out, wiping sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. "Pulse is weak, sixty beats per minute, but her blood pressure is climbing! The hemorrhaging has slowed!"

Dante collapsed against the glass window, sliding down onto his knees on the bloody hallway floor. His forehead rested against the cold pane, his shoulders heaving with violent, silent sobs of sheer, overwhelming relief.

Through the glass, Dr. Reynolds looked up at Dante and gave a single, firm nod.

*They made it.*

Ten minutes later, the double doors of the OR clicked open. A pediatric nurse, flanked by two armed Moretti bodyguards who had secured the perimeter, walked out holding two small bundles wrapped in warmed hospital blankets.

Dante slowly rose to his feet. He looked down at his hands, which were covered in grime and blood. He frantically wiped them on a clean surgical towel handed to him by Marco, refusing to touch his children until his skin was clean.

"Mr. Moretti," the nurse said softly, tears of relief shining in her own eyes. "Meet your son, Luca. And your daughter, Mia."

Dante looked down into the two tiny, flushed faces. Luca had a tuft of thick, jet-black hair just like his father, while Mia possessed the delicate, arched brow of her mother. They were tiny, miraculous survivors of an assassination plot that had failed against the sheer will of their mother's love.

Dante extended a single, trembling finger. Little Luca’s tiny hand instinctively reached out and gripped Dante’s calloused knuckle with astonishing, iron strength.

A dark, eternal fire settled deep within Dante Moretti’s heart.

"You are safe now," Dante whispered to his children, his voice steadying into an unbreakable oath. "Your mother kept you safe. Now... Daddy has to go clean the city so you can sleep in peace."

He looked at Marco.

"Where is Salvatore DeLuca right now?"

Marco stepped forward, handing Dante a satellite phone. "He’s at his private estate in Lake Forest, Don Dante. He thinks the hospital hit was successful. He’s celebrating with the Commission."

Dante handed his children gently back to the nurse. His eyes hardened into pure, glacial death.