Gabriel Moretti had long been a byword for death and terror. He was a cold-blooded, merciless mafia don, a true monster through and through. Yet to me, he had always been a perfect, almost tender gentleman.   My brother once warned me in no uncertain terms that, as one of the heirs to the vast conglomerate that spans Euramaria-Auremerica of the Voss family, crossing a man like Gabriel, whose ambition knew no bounds, was nothing short of digging my own grave.   But I was blinded by Gabriel's overwhelming favoritism and foolishly convinced myself that I would be the sole exception in his world. But that night, a gang shootout shattered the sky with gunfire.   Amid the deafening storm of bullets, my husband, who had sworn his life to me, chose without hesitation to place the only bulletproof vest on his first love.   "Stay here. Don't move." Gabriel's deep command fell.   He charged into the smoke and blood-soaked night without a backward glance, for another woman, while I, nine months heavily pregnant, was left there completely defenseless. I watched his broad figure steadily vanish into the mist, knowing it was the final time I would ever see him.   A few seconds later, I lowered my lashes. In my heart, I completely strangled that absurd love, along with every last hope I ever placed in him.