Aria’s POV
On the day we lowered my father into the ground, my husband never came.
Men from our organization stood in a silent circle around the grave, black suits crisp, guns hidden beneath their jackets, the air heavy with the kind of respect reserved for a fallen mafia patriarch. My father had ruled his territory with iron discipline and ruthless grace. Even rival families had sent flowers.
But Enzo did not.
My phone vibrated in my gloved hand just as the priest finished the final prayer. I thought—foolishly—that it might be my husband explaining his absence.
Instead, the message was from Camilla.
My stepsister hadn’t attended either.
I opened it without thinking.
The first image made the world tilt beneath my feet.
Enzo—my husband, the acting don of the Russo family—was on his knees before her, his palm spread over her stomach, his lips pressed against it with something dangerously close to reverence. The caption beneath it read: Looks like Enzo is finally going to be a father.
For a long moment, I couldn’t process what I was seeing. My hands began to tremble so violently that I nearly dropped the phone into the fresh soil at my feet. I blinked hard, willing the image to blur into nonsense, convincing myself it had to be staged, edited, fabricated by someone who wanted to provoke a war between families.
Then another photo arrived.
Camilla stood in front of the mirror in the master bedroom of the Russo estate—the bedroom I had shared with Enzo since our wedding night. She was wrapped in my silk robe, smiling into the camera. Behind her, sprawled across our bed, Enzo slept bare-chested and utterly at ease.
The message was clear without words.
I couldn’t draw a proper breath. The truth lodged in my lungs like glass.
My husband had put a child inside my stepsister.
Tears streamed down my face before I realized I was crying. My chest tightened so painfully it felt as though someone had driven a blade straight through my ribs. The two people I had trusted most in this ruthless world had chosen to humiliate me on the day I buried my father.
The dirt on his grave was still loose and dark. When my knees buckled, I fell forward, my gloved hands pressing into the soil as my tears soaked into it. I broke there, in front of the man who had raised me to be strong enough to survive among wolves.
I should have seen it. The whispers that stopped when I entered a room. The private conversations that lasted a second too long. The way Enzo’s gaze had begun to drift.
But I had refused to believe that betrayal could reach that close.
My phone buzzed again.
This time, it was Enzo.
Couldn’t make it today. Something urgent came up. We’ll talk tonight.
I stared at the screen through blurred vision. There was no apology in those words, only expectation.
That night, he returned to the estate.
He did not return alone.
The front doors opened, and Camilla walked in as though she had every right to be there, a sleek suitcase rolling behind her. Enzo followed, composed and unreadable, like he was conducting business rather than destroying his marriage.
“Camilla will be staying here,” he said evenly. “Given her condition, she shouldn’t be alone.”
Her condition.
As if she were some fragile diplomatic asset.
Camilla gave me a soft, practiced smile. “I didn’t want to cause trouble, Aria. I told Enzo we should wait, but the baby’s health is what matters now. I’m sorry this had to happen today of all days.”
I didn’t answer. I stood there in the foyer of my own home and listened to them rearrange my life without asking for my consent.
Enzo stepped closer, lowering his voice. “She’s family. You wouldn’t want anything to happen to her, would you?”
Family.
The word tasted bitter.
He exhaled slowly, as though burdened by my silence. “What happened shouldn’t have happened. But I love you. That hasn’t changed.”
I looked at him then, really looked at him, and wondered when his face had become so unfamiliar.
“It was a mistake,” he continued. “And we’ve already discussed what comes next.”
I let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “She’s carrying your child. You’re calling that a mistake?”
He nodded once, disturbingly calm. “When the baby is born, you’ll raise it. You’ve always wanted one. This solves everything.”
Solves everything.
Since you can’t have children.
He didn’t say those exact words at first, but they hung between us, sharp and humiliating.
“You’ll finally have what you’ve wanted,” he added, as if presenting me with a gift. “And I’ll have an heir.”
Fury flared so hot it steadied me. “You slept with my stepsister, got her pregnant, and you expect gratitude?”
He dragged a hand through his hair, irritation breaking through his polished exterior. “I’m not asking for gratitude. I’m asking you to be rational. We can still fix this.”
Camilla’s eyes filled with theatrical tears. “Maybe I should leave. I never meant to come between you.”
“Then go,” I replied coldly.
Enzo’s expression hardened instantly. “Watch your tone. She’s pregnant. Stress isn’t good for her.”
“She doesn’t belong in this house.”
His gaze turned venomous. “You’re in no position to dictate anything. Don’t forget whose name you carry.”
I felt something inside me fracture, but I refused to let it show.
“I want a divorce,” I said quietly.
The word hung in the air like a gunshot.
Enzo stared at me, stunned, as though I had spoken in a foreign language. “You’re not serious.”
“I’ve never been more serious.”
He gave a short, incredulous laugh. “Over this?”
“Over betrayal. Over humiliation. Over the fact that you brought her here on the day I buried my father.”
His jaw tightened. “You’re letting emotion cloud your judgment.”
“And you’re pretending this is strategy.”
Camilla sniffed softly behind him, but I no longer cared about her performance.
Enzo stepped closer, lowering his voice to something dangerously calm. “You don’t walk away from me, Aria. Not from this family.”
“I’m not your property.”
“You signed your name to mine,” he replied. “That means something.”
“Yes,” I said steadily. “It means I made a mistake.”
His restraint snapped for a moment. “You have nowhere to go. No inheritance. No child. No protection outside of me.”
The threat was clear.
“I’ll manage,” I answered.
He moved in front of the staircase, blocking my path. “You’re not leaving.”
“I’m going upstairs to pack.”
“You’re not going anywhere.”
His voice shifted then, losing heat and gaining something colder. “If you try to disappear, I’ll find you. And if you think about using your father’s orphanage as leverage, don’t. I won’t hesitate.”
The mention of the orphanage—the last thing my father and I had built together—made my throat close.
“Why?” I asked hoarsely. “Why are you doing this to me?”
“You forced my hand,” he said, though we both knew that was a lie.
He reached for me then, almost gently. “Camilla’s child can be ours. You don’t have to lose anything.”
I looked past him at her.
There was no sorrow in her eyes, only triumph.
In that instant, something within me went still.
Enzo wanted to humiliate me, to replace me, to cage me inside a life he controlled.
Fine.
“I spoke too quickly,” I said softly. “I won’t make any sudden decisions. I’ll stay. For now.”
Relief flickered across his face. He kissed my forehead like a benevolent king forgiving a subject.
That night, I lay alone in one of the guest rooms while he settled Camilla into the master suite. I cried quietly until my body felt hollow, mourning my father, my marriage, and the naive woman I had once been.
When the tears finally ran dry, I reached for my phone.
There was only one person left who could challenge Enzo without fear.
The only man in the Russo bloodline more dangerous than him.
I scrolled to the number I had sworn never to use.
Dominic Russo.
