Potato Baby Shook the Manor

Framed by his childhood sweetheart with forged treason evidence, I was imprisoned in a dilapidated manor shack by the mafia don for three years. Pregnant and abandoned, I raised our son surviving on half a sack of old potatoes. When our son’s fever turned critical, I stormed the main house. His soft cry of “Daddy” unraveled every scheme, breaking the cold don and sending him on a desperate path of atonement.