The Mafia Boss Cast His Wife Into the Storm for Betraying Him—Then a Pregnancy Test Proved He Had Destroyed the Wrong Woman

Silence fell over the dining room, heavy and suffocating. The six captains looked between Damian, Grant, and Isabelle, their weapons hovering in uncertainty.

“Grant told you I sold out the family,” Damian said, taking three calm steps forward, his shotgun resting casually in the crook of his arm. “He told you I murdered Roland Cole because Roland found my offshore accounts.”

“You did murder Roland!” Grant shouted, sweat glistening on his forehead under the chandelier light. “His body is lying on Pier 14 right now!”

“Roland is dead because he confessed,” Damian replied coldly. He looked at Isabelle and nodded.

Isabelle stepped forward into the center of the room, standing directly beneath the grand chandelier. She tapped her tablet, and instantly, the large flat-screen display mounted on the dining room wall flashed to life. Felix’s voice boomed through the room’s sound system, accompanied by crisp, high-resolution audio recordings and financial flowcharts.

“This is an automated audit of Hale Logistics from the last six months,” Felix’s voice announced over the speakers. “On October 12th, Grant Doyle authorized an unscheduled offshore transfer of four million dollars to a shell company owned by Marcus Calloway. On November 4th, Grant Doyle purchased a vector plotter machine using a corporate credit card registered under Roland Cole’s department.”

The captains gasped, staring at the screen as Grant’s signature appeared on screen alongside detailed bank records showing millions flowing directly into Grant’s personal offshore accounts.

“Then came the audio,” Isabelle said, her voice clear, echoing across the silent room. She pressed play on another file.

Roland Cole’s panicked voice spilled out of the speakers—the recording Damian had made at the docks before executing him:

“Grant brought me the accounts! Grant said Damian wanted it cleared! He told me if I didn't set up the secondary transfers under Isabelle's maiden name, he’d put my son in a box! Grant planned the Providence ambush! He’s been cutting deals with the Calloway family for six months!”

Grant’s face turned gray as ash. He backed away toward the rear window, his eyes darting frantically around the room, finding only cold, murderous stares from the six captains who had trusted him.

Old Man Vane turned his gaze toward Grant, his face dark with immense disgust. “You tried to murder our boss, you sold our routes to the Calloways, and you framed a woman carrying a Hale heir.”

Grant’s eyes widened in sudden realization as he looked at Isabelle’s hand resting instinctively over her stomach. “Isabelle... wait...”

“It’s too late for talking, Grant,” Damian said, stepping between Grant and the window.

In a fit of absolute desperation, Grant raised his revolver toward Isabelle, trying to grab her as a last-ditch hostage.

Damian didn't hesitate. He raised his shotgun and fired once. The heavy blast blew Grant backward through the tall glass window, sending his body crashing onto the stone patio two stories below.

The dining room fell completely silent, save for the wind blowing snow through the shattered window. Damian turned to the captains, lowering his weapon.