"Bianca, Don Barresi signed off on your separation papers from the Family's front operations. But… I don't think he realized it was you. Do you want me to let him know?"
Bianca kept her gaze on the documents in her hands, the faint glow of the desk lamp catching the embossed letterhead. Shaking her head, she said, "No need."
"Bianca." The clerk from the Commission office sighed softly, as if trying one last time. "He still cares about you, you know. Everyone in the Family thought you and the Boss were a perfect match. Maybe… just think it through?"
A bitter scoff slipped past Bianca's lips.
Little did they know — whatever bond existed between her and Vittorio Barresi wasn't mere gossip. They were already bound by the Church.
Their union was sacred, sealed in a private ceremony witnessed by a priest and two made men who would carry the secret to their graves. But love and duty were two different beasts, and Bianca had learned that lesson in blood three months ago.
A hit team from a rival outfit had shattered her spine. She had needed her husband to come to the private clinic and authorize the emergency surgery that would save her.
But she lost count of the calls she made before he finally answered. Worse, when he did, his voice was cold and impatient.
"It's just a minor attack. You'll heal. Hang on — I'm still at Viviana's charity dinner."
Viviana Ricci.
Her closest friend.
That was the night Bianca realized her husband had betrayed not just their vow — but the sanctity of the marriage sacrament itself.
In the end, as she lay fighting for her life, she had to sign her own surgical consent with trembling hands.
Just before she was wheeled into the operating room, Vittorio arrived — his arm around Viviana.
The woman had cut her hand on a champagne flute. For her sake, he pulled Dr. Bellandi aside, demanding she be treated first.
That brief delay — the minutes they lost — cost Bianca blood and breath.
She spent the next seven days in a guarded recovery suite, not knowing if she would ever walk again.
That was when she finally accepted the truth.
Some bonds, when they rot, must be severed. Now that I've healed, it's time to walk away.
Bianca looked up at the clerk, her voice calm. "People change," she said softly. "I stood by him through the hardest three years of his reign. That's enough."
For all those years, the woman Vittorio truly loved had always been Viviana.
Bianca was merely a byproduct of that one night long ago — when Vittorio had been drugged at a gala and ended up in her bed.
When the scandal threatened the Commission's trust, he had offered to marry her — on one condition: no one must ever know.
Now that Viviana had returned to Frostmere Docks, Bianca had no intention of clinging to a marriage the heavens had clearly abandoned.
But before she left, she had one last thing to do. Four parting gifts — each one a celebration of the freedom they would soon have from one another.
——
With the annulment papers in her bag, Bianca pushed open the heavy oak doors to Vittorio's private office.
Inside, Vittorio stood before the marble credenza, trimming the stems of white lilies — pale blossoms that caught the low lamplight like bone. His sleeves were rolled to his forearms.
He had never been one for romance. He used to mock other men in the Family who gifted their wives with flowers.
"Pointless things," he'd said once on Christmas Eve. "Dead within a week."
In the three years they'd shared the same roof, Bianca had never received so much as a single petal.
Those lilies weren't hers; they were Viviana's favorite.
A few clipped stems dropped into the wastebasket before he finally turned. "Back to duties already? How's the recovery?"
He placed the bouquet in a crystal vase on the windowsill, adjusted a petal and added, "About that night… I didn't mean for things to go that way. Viviana's not like you. She's fragile. One little scratch and she faints. Besides, there was only one doctor on call."
He smiled. "But I knew you'd be fine. You've survived worse, haven't you? Grew up with nothing. A small wound's nothing to you, right?"
Bianca almost laughed.
He had no idea — she was the only daughter of Salvatore Moretti, patriarch of the Moretti Family, an ancient bloodline whose name still carried weight in every Commission room from here to Palermo. The only hardship she'd ever known began the day she bound herself to Vittorio.
He might have known, had she not severed ties with her family to marry him in secrecy.
But she let him believe what he wanted. Silence, to Vittorio, always meant obedience. For that, to him, she always had such a good temper — perfect for keeping around.
He walked toward her, holding the bouquet like a prize. "Hey, do you think these are beautiful?"
As the lilies neared her, her throat seized. She turned her head, coughed once, twice — sharp and violent.
The allergy burned through her, a spark that turned her chest to fire. He shoved her aside, snarling, "Watch it!"
Her back hit the sharp edge of the mahogany desk. The wound along her spine tore open again, blood seeping through her blouse.
While her vision swam, Vittorio's attention never left the flowers.
"You almost ruined them!" he barked. "Do you have any idea how rare these are? Flown in from a private greenhouse in Amalfi!"
Realizing she couldn't even compete with a bouquet, Bianca let out a bitter laugh.
I stayed three years with this man for this? I must have been blind to love such a fool.
He had never cared enough to know her body couldn't tolerate lilies. Nor that her wounds weren't yet healed.
She steadied herself, drew a breath and pulled the documents from her bag.
"Don Barresi," she said, offering the papers. "I need your signature."
That made him pause. For the first time, his gaze lingered on her. When it was just the two of them, she had always called him by name only — never "Don Barresi."
"You just got out of the clinic," he murmured. "You should be resting."
Still, he reached for the papers. Just as his fingers brushed them, his phone buzzed against the desk.
Bianca caught the name glowing across the screen.
[My Heart]
He had saved Viviana that way, while her own name in his phone was simply "Bianca Moretti."
That contrast said everything.
He answered with a grin, bouquet in one hand and strode toward the door.
"I won't be back for dinner. Head home after the sit-down."
Bianca stepped in front of him, flipped to the last page and pressed a pen into his palm.
"Sign it first."
Vittorio smoothed the knot of his tie, a quick, reflexive pull. He was always cautious — never signed anything without reading it three times.
But just as he was about to scan the pages, his phone buzzed again.
Even through the near-muted speaker, Viviana's voice purred softly, "Vittorio, I've been waiting forever… come to me now."
For once, the ever-cautious Boss didn't read a single word. He flicked his wrist and scrawled his name across the signature line.
"There. Happy now? Can I leave?"
Looking at the still-wet signature, Bianca nodded faintly.
"Yes. You're free now."
This time, she meant it. She gave him the freedom he'd been chasing since the night they met.
As he left, he tossed over his shoulder,
"This office hasn't been cleaned in weeks. You're here — why don't you handle it?"
The heavy slam of the door echoed through the room.
Vittorio's office had always been off-limits. Not a speck of dust in sight. Only Bianca ever knew where the spare key was kept, which drawer housed the cleaning supplies, how he liked the edges of papers perfectly aligned.
As she approached his desk, a silver frame caught her eye.
Viviana's smile gleamed from behind the glass — the same frame that once held Bianca's face.
Then her gaze drifted to the wastebasket by the cabinet. Her own photo lay there — face-down, edges crumpled like discarded paper.
Her lips curved, but the smile didn't reach her eyes. It sliced.
There had been a time when she'd called Viviana "sister." But for Vittorio, her "sister" had always been his heart.
Although Bianca had once loved him, she had buried those feelings for the sake of friendship — until that fateful night three years ago.
That was when Viviana vanished, swept away by a powerful man from a distant European syndicate.
That night, Vittorio drank too much, unaware that his wine had been spiked. What followed was a mistake — just one reckless night between a Boss and his lost love's closest friend.
The memories flickered through Bianca's mind like dying embers.
She brushed a tear from her cheek, then opened the drawer. Inside lay an old photograph and a sealed letter — never opened, never answered.
For four years, she had loved him enough to write ninety-nine letters. But since Viviana's return to Frostmere Docks, every time Vittorio chose her, Bianca burned another one.
The 99th letter turned to ash in the recovery suite. The one in her hand was the last.
It was time to let go.
With a small case of her belongings, Bianca walked out of the Barresi front office and dialed a number on her phone.
"Lorenzo," she said calmly, "didn't you say you liked me? One month from now, once I get the annulment papers certified — we'll be married."
