Valeria POV
Ignoring the sudden, leaden silence that fell over the parlor, I reached into my designer bag and pulled out a pristine medical ultrasound report.
I held it up, the crisp white paper catching the dim light from a high, curtained window.
The bold, black print at the top clearly stated a single, irrefutable fact: Sixteen Weeks Gestation.
Lorenzo and Carmela exchanged a look of conspiratorial disdain, and then let out a sharp, mocking laugh that struck the marble walls and died.
A sinew in Serena's neck jumped, and her fingers contracted, claw-like, around the ultrasound report, snatching it from my hand.
"You're barely four months along," she sneered, her eyes glinting with contempt. "The gender is unknown."
"You have no standing to challenge my son for the inheritance," she hissed. "Must I have the Old Boss's will read to you word for word?"
As if summoned by her words, the Syndicate Lawyer appeared at that exact moment.
He took his position near the mahogany casket and, in a voice devoid of emotion, read the will to the hushed room.
"The entirety of the offshore assets transfers exclusively to the biological mother of Dante's firstborn son — provided the child is certified by the Family's appointed physician as physically and genetically capable of continuing the Falcone bloodline. Should the heir be found unfit, the inheritance shall pass to the next eligible heir, as determined by the Don's discretion." he droned, his tone one of practiced neutrality.
Serena's posture straightened, her expression one of pure triumph.
She shoved the legal document toward my face and mocked me once more, a cruel twist to her lips.
Lorenzo and Carmela stared at me with a shared, visceral disgust that tightened their features into masks of contempt.
"You have a black heart, Valeria," Lorenzo accused, his voice heavy with venom.
He cursed me for the audacity of trying to steal Serena's moment of victory.
"I will not allow the Falcone bloodline to wither inside your weak, fragile body," he declared.
Isabella, Dante's sister, stepped forward, her face a mask of false sympathy.
She slandered me in front of the entire parlor, her voice pitched to carry, ensuring every ear caught its poison.
"We all know you entertained other men behind the Don's back," she claimed.
A low murmur stirred through the room as the surrounding mafia wives and Associates began to whisper.
They openly spread rumors about my alleged infidelity right in front of me.
"Just sign the divorce papers and spare yourself the embarrassment," one of them urged from the crowd.
I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms, the small pain a welcome anchor.
I pulled out my phone and dialed Dr. Enzo.
He was the Family's bound physician and a highly skilled mob doctor, whose loyalty was to the truth alone.
I ordered him to bring a full medical team and diagnostic equipment to the estate immediately.
"Prepare to examine Serena's child," I told him, my tone leaving no room for refusal.
The hard leather of Lorenzo's shoe scraped a piercing shriek from the Sicilian marble, and the pressure of his movement stirred the air against my cheek a half-second before his hand struck.
He slapped the phone from my grasp with vicious force.
"Are you trying to put a curse on a newborn heir?!" he roared, spit flying from his lips.
He threatened to destroy me if the boy was harmed in any way.
My phone struck the marble floor with a sound like cracking ice, the screen branching into a thousand fractured lines.
The back of my hand throbbed with a dull, angry heat from his strike.
Still, I did not flinch.
I looked at Lorenzo with a dead, empty stare.
"Once Dr. Enzo has completed his examination," I stated, each word falling like a hammer on a coffin nail, "you'll see exactly why Serena's 'heir' will never inherit a damn thing."
