Adriana listened to the voice message without a flicker of expression, then lowered her gaze to the diamond ring on her finger, the matching piece to the "Only You" scent.
Lorenzo had designed it himself. His proposal gift to her, back when an alliance between the Moretti and Falcone bloodlines was meant to be more than ink and obligation.
He'd been hiding behind his so-called wound from that old hit, giving away things that belonged to her, things meant only for her, to someone else. Again and again. Then he'd watch with cold detachment as she broke down, as she screamed and raged, before tossing her just enough sweetness to pull her back in line.
The cycle had repeated so many times she'd lost count.
But not this time. She didn't want the ring anymore. She didn't want Lorenzo, either.
Adriana didn't reply. She slipped the ring off her finger and dropped it into the trash.
Then she had one of the house soldiers take the rest of the jewelry away.
The next morning, Lorenzo came home before dawn.
He changed into fresh clothes, scrubbed away the scent that didn't belong to him, and climbed into bed. His arm curled around Adriana from behind, his chin nestling into the curve of her neck, fingers tracing lazy circles along her waist. His voice was low and tender.
"Adriana, I'm sorry. The wound flared up yesterday, and the whole thing got out. A recording, everywhere. I know it must've hurt you."
A pause, then: "But she's young. Spending a little time with her is the decent thing to do. Don't take it to heart."
Adriana gave a calm nod. "Okay."
Lorenzo froze. The carefully rehearsed words he'd prepared to coax her died on his tongue.
"Tesoro, you're really being good about this?"
Adriana offered a faint smile. "Isn't this what you wanted? Obedient and proper."
Lorenzo smiled, looking pleased. He produced a bottle of perfume and held it out to her, as though it were a reward for good behavior. The heavy gold signet turned slowly around his finger, an idle, satisfied motion.
But the cloying sweetness hit her nostrils, and her brow creased instantly.
Less than an hour ago, Vanessa Carbone had posted this exact bottle for the world to see.
"My darling Don bought me perfume. Hate it. Making him take it back to his frumpy little wife as punishment."
There was a time Lorenzo would have scoured every territory across the ocean for the finest things just to see her smile. Now he was handing her another woman's castoffs.
Adriana bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted copper.
"I don't want something that's been dirtied."
Lorenzo's brow twitched, barely perceptible. He tossed the perfume into the trash without hesitation and pulled her into his arms, his voice soothing.
"If my good girl doesn't like it, we throw it away. I've got a full physical booked at the hospital later. Adriana. It's time we had a child of our own. An heir for the family."
A child?
A sharp ache bloomed behind her ribs. She dropped her gaze, hiding the storm in her eyes. Beneath the sheet, her thumb found the slim band she'd designed herself and turned it a slow quarter-rotation.
Once, they had both longed for a child with everything they had. But now she would never tell him.
A long silence stretched between them. Adriana was just about to offer the excuse she'd rehearsed when Lorenzo's phone rang.
"Lorenzo, I twisted my ankle. It really hurts."
Lorenzo glanced at Adriana, then spoke into the phone, his tone clipped and cold.
"Can't you get yourself to the hospital?"
He hung up.
Then he turned back to Adriana, all smiles, and helped her gather her things.
"Today, wifey comes first!"
The car pulled away from the estate, past the gate where two of the Don's men stood with their hands folded and their eyes following them out. Minutes later, the phone shattered the quiet again.
Lorenzo answered. Adriana couldn't hear what was said on the other end, but he slammed the brakes so hard her seatbelt locked. He threw open his door, rounded the car, and yanked open the passenger side, pulling her out.
"Tesoro, just grab a cab to the hospital."
He was gone before she could blink, tires screaming against asphalt.
Adriana watched the car shrink into the distance. A bitter laugh escaped her.
She'd actually believed, for half a second, that there was a shred of sincerity left in him. In the end, the only fool here was her.
She went to the hospital alone. After the prenatal checkup, she turned a corner and walked straight into Lorenzo and Vanessa.
Vanessa was curled against his chest, eyes red-rimmed, a cartoon bandage plastered across her ankle.
The moment she spotted Adriana, Vanessa lifted her face from Lorenzo's embrace.
"Mrs. Moretti, I'm so sorry. This is all my fault." The words came a beat too fast, her smile stretching a fraction too wide. "I just twisted my ankle, and I shouldn't have bothered the Don to come all the way here. He should have been with you for your checkup. I feel terrible."
The sight sent Adriana's stomach lurching. She gagged, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth.
"Couriers are a real bargain these days. The position even comes with a side arrangement as the Don's kept woman."
Lorenzo's jaw tightened at her words, anger flashing across his face. But then he saw her. The color had drained from her skin. Her lips were bloodless. She was swaying on her feet.
Something twisted in his chest. He reached for the papers clutched in her hand, thinking she was sick.
"What's wrong? Are you ill?"
His fingers had barely grazed the report when Vanessa let out a sharp whimper.
"Lorenzo, my foot. It hurts so much…"
Her voice snapped his attention back like a leash. He released Adriana's hand immediately and turned to fuss over the woman in his arms.
"Shh, it's okay. We'll get it checked right now."
He let go so abruptly that Adriana, already unsteady, stumbled backward. Her legs buckled, and she nearly hit the floor.
Her palm caught the wall just in time. She steadied herself against it, fingers pressed white against the cold surface.
By the time she looked up, Lorenzo was already walking away with Vanessa in his arms.
Her heart clenched with a pain she couldn't contain. She dug her nails into her palm, hard enough to draw crescents into the skin, forcing herself to stay composed.
She didn't look back. She turned and left.
The moment she stepped outside the hospital, a message from Carmela lit up her phone.
"Adriana, the papers to sever the bond will be ready in a week."
