Bianca's Pov
I stared at Dante as he stormed toward me and grabbed my wrist, his face twisted in anger.
"How dare you hurt her when you know she's sick! Do you want to kill her?!" he snarled at me.
"If I could, I wouldn't hesitate," I shot back, my voice shaking but firm.
Dante looked taken aback by my response. He wasn't used to me ever talking back at him. All the years we spent together we'd quarrel and I would cower and apologize, but not anymore.
His grip tightened. "When did you become this vicious, Bianca? Your jealousy has turned you into something ugly."
"It's not her fault, Dante. Please don't fight because of me. Bianca didn't do anything, I just lost my balance," Celia's innocent voice sounded.
Dante rushed toward her, carrying her up like a fragile doll. "You're too kind, Celia. I'm sorry she keeps hurting you."
I let out a hollow laugh. "Kind? You call this kind? I heard everything, Dante. My son's heart and the transplant. I know what you all did."
For a split second, guilt flickered in his eyes then it disappeared immediately.
"If I had told you, you wouldn't have agreed," he said flatly.
The corridor outside the ward suddenly felt smaller and harder to breathe in as I stared at him with wide eyes. Two of his soldiers stood at the far end of the hallway, hands folded, watching nothing and seeing everything.
"So you admit it," I whispered. "You got her pregnant then killed our child to save hers."
"He was my son too," Dante snapped. "I had the right to decide. Celia is dying. You can have another child. She can't."
"People die every day," I said, my voice turning cold. "Her death won't be special."
Celia whimpered dramatically against his chest. "Please don't fight over me. I never wanted this…"
Dante glared at me like I was filth beneath his shoe.
"You disgust me, Bianca. Your own sister is dying and all you care about is yourself. I'm sure your dead son is grateful he doesn't have to call you mother."
The words slammed into me as my knees buckled and I hit the floor.
For a moment, I couldn't hear anything except the ringing in my ears.
Then slow clapping echoed down the corridor and my adoptive father's voice sounded, "Yes, Dante, you're right."
I turned to see my adoptive Marchetti standing at the end of the hallway. Elena smoothed Vincent's lapel, and he paused just long enough to let her set the script before they moved toward us.
My adoptive mother rushed forward and wrapped her arms around Celia. "Oh my poor baby, did she hurt you again?"
My adoptive father's eyes were cold as they settled on me. "Bianca, what is wrong with you?"
I stared at them from the floor. "You knew," I whispered. "You knew they were taking my son's heart. You all knew the truth and kept lying to me for months!"
My adoptive mother didn't even blink. "Lower your voice. This is a hospital."
My adoptive father sighed heavily. "You should be ashamed of yourself. Celia doesn't have long. Instead of supporting her, you're attacking her."
"She lied about having cancer!" I cried.
A nurse passing by slowed down, staring at me like I was hysterical.
Dante's expression hardened.
"That's enough," he said. "You've clearly lost your mind."
He turned to my adoptive Marchetti. "I think she needs a psychiatric evaluation. She's unstable, hallucinating, and making wild accusations about Celia's condition."
My adoptive mother nodded immediately. "Yes, that might be best. Her jealousy has finally driven her mad."
I felt something inside me crack.
"You're going to label me insane?" I asked hoarsely.
"If that's what it takes to protect Celia from you," Dante replied coldly. "I won't hesitate." The gold saint medal in his hand had gone completely still.
A few nurses were now whispering nearby. I could feel their eyes on me. It was filled with judgment and disgust.
Celia peeked at me from Dante's chest and flashed me a smug grin. Her thumbnail pressed a crescent into the base of her palm, the only honest thing about her.
That was the moment my tears stopped. It was strange how quickly grief could turn into clarity.
They had taken my child from me and probably thought I was too helpless and alone to fight them, but they were wrong. In this world, being underestimated was the only protection anyone could give you for free.
I slowly pushed myself up from the floor and stared at them with cold eyes.
"You all deserve each other and I'll make you regret it," I vowed, then I turned and walked away.
I limped back to my hospital room and closed the door behind me. For several seconds, I just stood there staring at my reflection in the mirror. My fingers drifted to the pale mark where my wedding ring used to sit, traced it once, then I forced my hand away.
I picked up my phone and dialed a number I hadn't called in six months.
The line connected almost instantly.
"Grandpa," I said softly. "I'm ready to come home."
Six months ago, I had saved a stranger who turned out to be my Ashford, the semi-retired Don Emeritus of the Moretti Family. He told me my real Marchetti had been killed in an arranged crash when I was just three years old. Someone had pulled me out and left me at an orphanage. He did everything he could but he was unable to locate me.
He told me to come back home with him and that everything he controlled was mine. The territory, the fronts, the tribute streams, the alliances my Marchetti had built. The only issue was that my Marchetti had betrothed me to the son of their closest allied family before they died, so before I could claim my inheritance, I had to marry him.
I should have left Dante that same day, but I was still in love, so I thanked my Ashford and told him I couldn't accept his offer or marry someone else. How wrong had I been.
"Are you sure, Bianca?" My Ashford's worried voice pulled me out of my thoughts. "Last time we spoke you said you were married and you refused my offer."
"I was wrong. I will return to take over my inheritance and get married to Luca DeLuca just as my late Marchetti wanted," I stated.
"Oh my dear child, that's wonderful news. I can't tell you how happy I am," my Ashford said. "When should I come get you?"
"Just give me a few days to tidy things up here quickly, but I'd like it if the wedding is arranged quickly," I answered.
"What wedding, Bianca?" a voice asked.
I looked up and saw Dante standing in front of the doorway, his eyes filled with suspicion.
