The Don’s Daughter They Tried to Evict

Eight months pregnant, I had every bank card frozen by my husband’s female secretary.

Over the phone, she laughed coldly and said,

“From now on, every cent you spend needs my approval. Jack works too hard to waste his money on a useless woman who only knows how to shop.”

That same day, I was rushed to the hospital with contractions.

Every card I tried was declined.

And as if that wasn’t enough, she had also moved my parents out of their private senior suite and into the cheapest room available.

Her reason?

Two ordinary old people had no right to waste Jack’s money.

I laughed.

She had no idea those “ordinary old people” were the Don and Donna of the Bellandi family, the couple who had controlled Italy’s underworld for decades.

She had no idea Jack’s company, his reputation, his fortune—everything he owned—had come from the Bellandi family.

My parents had already planned to retire completely after my child was born.

They were going to hand the entire family over to me.

And to Jack.

Too bad.

Jack had allowed her to humiliate the only real power he would ever have the chance to stand beside.

Three days later, Jack held a welcome party for his mysterious investor.

In front of everyone, his secretary dialed the investor’s number.

The next second, my phone rang.

I had just paid my parents' annual care fees in full and headed into town to pick up some baby clothes.

When it was time to check out, I pulled out Jack’s credit card and handed it to the cashier.

The card machine beeped twice before the cashier shook her head apologetically.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. This card has been declined.”

A faint confusion flickered through me before my phone buzzed sharply in my pocket.

The caller ID simply read: Lily. Jack’s Personal Secretary.

I answered the call, and Lily’s shrill, triumphant voice cut straight through the line.

“Ella! I froze your card! Do you have any idea how hard Jack works to keep this company afloat? You laze around at home all day, splurging on pointless frivolities like this baby dress!”

“From today onward, I’m taking charge of every single cent you spend. You need my explicit approval for any purchase, and your monthly spending cap is six hundred euros exactly. That dress costs two hundred and ninety-eight euros!”

A low, amused chuckle escaped me.

The shop owner leaned against the marble counter, casually scrolling through a news podcast on his phone.

“Twenty years ago, the Bellandi family vanished from the public eye. No one has seen the Don or Donna in public since, but everyone knows their empire still runs every major industry in Italy. Some say they retired to a private villa in Tuscany; others claim they still pull all the strings from behind closed doors.”

The owner glanced up, shifting his gaze between me and the fleeting flash of a vintage family photo on his screen.

He muttered under his breath, “Y’know, you bear an uncanny resemblance to the Bellandi Donna in that old picture from the 2000s. Could you possibly be her daughter? Just kidding. How could the Donna's daughter ever have her card declined? Oh. I believe you have enough money to pay for the dress, don’t you?”

I offered him a faint, noncommittal smile and pulled a handful of cash from my wallet to settle the bill.

In that instant, a sharp, cramping pain surged through my abdomen.

I doubled over, gripping the counter tightly as cold sweat soaked through the back of my shirt.

Alarmed, the shop owner immediately dialed emergency services, and I was rushed to San Raffaele Private Hospital, one of Milan’s top medical facilities.

A nurse approached my hospital bed with a payment slip, and I handed over every card in my wallet. Minutes later, she returned with an awkward, sympathetic expression.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. Every one of your cards has been suspended.”

Drawing in a slow, steady breath, I dialed Jack’s number.

The call rang three times before being picked up, yet Lily’s voice was the one that greeted me.

“What is it now, Ella? Jack’s busy in a critical corporate meeting. He doesn’t have time for your trivial matters.”

“I’m at the hospital. I think I'm going into labor, and I need to cover the medical fees.”

I forced each word out through gritted teeth, enduring the throbbing ache in my belly.

Lily let out a disdainful scoff.

“Childbirth isn’t some extravagant medical procedure. You're probably thinking about booking an overpriced VIP suite? Forget it. I’ll send someone over to sort out the basic fees later.”

The line went dead with a sharp click.

I stared at the blacked-out screen, my eyes turning icy with certainty. I should never have trusted Lily.

Then I called Tom, the old steward of the Bellandi family who had served my father for forty years.

“Miss Ella.” The voice on the other end was steady.

“Tom, I’m at San Raffaele Private Hospital. All my accounts have been frozen.”

Tom responded in an even, calm tone.

“I’ll be there within ten minutes.”