Aria's POV
The impact of his hand sent me crashing sideways.
My head snapped to the side, and before I understood what had happened, the world tilted violently. I hit the marble floor hard enough to knock the air from my lungs. A sharp cry escaped me, more from shock than pain, and for a brief second my vision dissolved into darkness.
When the blackness cleared, pain bloomed across my cheek in a hot, throbbing wave. I lay there on the cold floor of the guest room, stunned and unable to move.
Enzo had just struck me.
In all the years of our marriage—through blood deals, turf wars, betrayals from rival families—he had never raised a hand to me. Not once.
My mind scrambled uselessly for logic. Had I said something? Done something? Nothing justified this.
I blinked hard, fighting the dizziness, and slowly pushed myself upright. My palms trembled against the polished floor as I steadied myself. When my vision sharpened, I saw Camilla standing a few feet behind Enzo.
Her arms were folded loosely across her chest, and tears streamed down her face. She looked small. Fragile.
Convincing.
“What is happening?” I managed, my voice rough and unsteady.
Enzo loomed over me, chest rising and falling with controlled fury. “You laid your hands on her?” he demanded. “On a woman carrying my child?”
The accusation made no sense. “What are you talking about?”
“She came to check on you,” he continued, his voice rising. “And you attacked her? Have you completely lost your mind?”
For a moment I could only stare at him.
Camilla stepped forward hesitantly, her shoulders trembling as if she were holding herself together by sheer will. “I just wanted to bring her tea,” she said softly. “She seemed upset, and I thought maybe we could talk. But she started yelling. She said I ruined her life.” Her voice cracked convincingly. “Then she hit me.”
I stared at her in disbelief.
“She told me I deserved to die,” Camilla added in a whisper, lowering her eyes. “I didn’t want to say anything, Enzo, but she scared me.”
The audacity of it left me breathless.
“You’re lying,” I said quietly, still seated on the floor. “I never touched you.”
Her lower lip quivered, and she looked away as if my denial wounded her further.
Enzo didn’t hesitate.
“Get up,” he growled. “And get out of my sight before I forget you’re my wife.”
I looked up at him, my cheek burning, my lip throbbing. “You actually believe her?” I asked. “You think I would hurt her?”
For a split second, something flickered in his eyes—doubt, perhaps—but it vanished just as quickly.
“You’re not yourself anymore,” he said coldly. “Jealousy has twisted you.”
A hollow laugh slipped from me. “Jealousy? Of what?”
I tasted metal and realized my lip had split open. I wiped at it with the back of my hand, ignoring the sting.
Enzo’s gaze dropped briefly to the blood on my mouth. His jaw tightened, and for a moment he looked almost conflicted. He took a step toward me.
“Aria—”
“Enzo,” Camilla interrupted faintly, pressing a hand to her temple. “My head is spinning. She hit me harder than I thought.”
His attention shifted immediately.
He turned his back on me without hesitation and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her against him as if she were made of glass. She leaned into him, fragile and trembling.
I watched in silence.
She glanced at me over his shoulder.
There were no tears in her eyes now. Only satisfaction.
Three more days, I reminded myself.
Three days, and I would never have to see this house again.
~
The following morning, I left before the household staff stirred.
The drive to the clinic felt unreal, like I was watching someone else move through my life. My chest tightened as I sat in the waiting area, staring at nothing while the seconds crawled by.
My hand drifted to my stomach almost unconsciously.
It was still flat, unchanged, betraying nothing of what was growing inside me. But I knew.
A child.
After years of believing it was impossible, after accepting the whispers that I was broken, useless, incapable of giving a mafia dynasty an heir, life had taken root inside me.
Tears threatened again, but I forced them back. This wasn’t about emotion. It was about survival.
A nurse called my name.
I stood slowly, my legs feeling heavier than they should. She led me into a private consultation room where the doctor reviewed my file before turning around.
The moment his eyes met mine, recognition dawned.
“Mrs. Russo?” he said, startled.
He had been there six years ago, standing at the foot of my hospital bed after the accident, delivering the verdict that my body would likely never carry a child.
I offered him a faint, strained smile.
He glanced down at the chart in his hand, then back at me. “You’re certain about this?”
My throat felt tight. Words wouldn’t come.
He set the file aside and approached, his voice gentle but firm. “You need to understand how extraordinary this is. After the trauma you experienced, this pregnancy is nothing short of a miracle.”
I closed my eyes briefly.
“If you go through with the procedure,” he continued carefully, “there is a very real possibility that you will never conceive again. Not even with intervention. This could be your only chance.”
The weight of his words settled over me like chains.
Only chance.
I thought of Enzo’s hand striking my face. Of Camilla standing in my bedroom, draped in my robe. Of Dominic waiting for my answer.
My life had already fractured beyond recognition.
Now I had to decide which pieces to keep.
