The flicker of remorse that had briefly crossed the Don’s face disappeared as though it had never existed, replaced by a frostbitten fury that seemed to drain the warmth from the entire room. Without a moment’s pause, he moved in front of Valeria, positioning her behind his broad frame like a human shield. When he turned back to me, his stare was sharp enough to wound.
“Have you completely lost control of yourself?” he barked. “That woman is your own blood.”
I refused to mirror his anger. My focus stayed fixed on Valeria, my eyes cold and unwavering.
“Be careful with what you say,” I replied quietly. “Sharing blood doesn’t give anyone permission to slander my child.”
Valeria blinked rapidly and shifted closer to Vittorio, her fingers digging into his sleeve as she spoke in a trembling whisper, as though she were the one who had been attacked.
“Don Vittorio, please,” she murmured. “I never intended to drive a wedge between you and my sister. If she insists on denying that Luca was just acting ill, then I won’t argue anymore.”
My chest constricted as I turned back to him, my voice low but steady, drawn from the last fragments of strength I had left.
“So you believe that nonsense as well?” I asked. “You truly think our son was pretending all this time?”
He gave no answer.
That silence screamed louder than any accusation. His gaze drifted through the empty living room, pausing on vacant corners as though he half-expected Luca to suddenly appear, whole and laughing, as if none of this had ever happened.
When he finally spoke, it was with forced composure that barely masked his irritation.
“Where is the boy?” he demanded. “I can’t feel his presence anywhere.”
Those words cut deeper than any insult. He didn’t even trust that Luca had been unwell. If I had possessed even a fraction of his authority, I would have summoned every renowned doctor the syndicate could reach. But as the Don’s wife in name only, my hands had been bound—by old rules and by a husband who refused to listen.
If he had come home even once, he would have seen it all for himself: the cluttered table buried beneath jars of medicine, the bitter scent of herbs in the air, and our son lying pale and drained, fighting a battle he was slowly losing. But Vittorio had never returned. Not a single time.
My mind wandered back to the day Luca had looked at me with eyes far too wise for a child and told me he didn’t think he had much time left. His voice had trembled, frail yet eerily calm. I had clung to hope like a lifeline, but somewhere deep inside, I had already known the truth. His decline had been too fast, too merciless. And still, his last wish hadn’t been for a miracle—he had only asked that we celebrate his birthday together.
That desperation had driven me to Vittorio’s feet.
I could still see myself kneeling in front of him, my pride stripped away completely, clutching his trousers as I begged. I told him this would be the final time I ever asked anything of him. I promised I would step out of his life afterward, that I would set him free, if only he would give Luca that one night.
When he looked down at me, something flickered across his face—surprise, and perhaps something close to relief.
“Are you actually serious?” he had asked, disbelief threading through his voice.
“I am,” I whispered, tears sliding down as I closed my eyes.
I had loved Vittorio from the very first moment I saw him. There had been no reason, no delay—it had simply happened. Everyone around us had known. Even before destiny bound us together, my heart had already chosen him. I followed him everywhere, did everything I could to earn even a scrap of his attention.
My devotion didn’t soften him. It only made him resent me more.
That resentment had exploded during his coming-of-age ceremony, when fate revealed that I—not Valeria—was meant to stand beside him. He had wanted her. He had always wanted her.
Why hadn’t I walked away then? Why hadn’t I freed him and let them be together? I had been foolish enough to believe loyalty might change him. Because of that hope, he had watched Valeria leave after finding her own destined partner.
My parents had been adamant. One did not reject fate. To abandon a destined bond was unthinkable. And so he was forced into marriage with me, and I became the Don’s wife in title only.
There had been no celebration at our wedding. Vittorio dismissed the idea outright, saying I wasn’t worthy of anything grand.
Years later, when Valeria returned claiming her partner had died, I finally understood how pointless it was to compete with her. I had lost long before I realized I was even fighting.
Only now did I see that my last plea—my promise to leave him alone forever—had been what finally swayed him. He had wanted me gone. Desperately.
But why hadn’t he spared even one final moment for Luca?
Why had he broken that promise?
It was one thing not to love me. I had accepted that long ago. But Luca was his son. His own blood. How could a man be so merciless… so completely devoid of compassion toward his own child?
