When my eyes met Don Vittorio’s, there was nothing gentle left inside them. The woman who once looked at him as though he were the center of her universe was long dead. Whatever affection I had once carried had been burned to cinders, leaving behind only a searing, merciless hatred that I could no longer conceal.
He noticed immediately.
The Don was used to fear, devotion, even worship—but not this. His brows knitted together, and for the first time that night, something close to discomfort crept across his face.
“Bianca,” he said after a moment, tempering his voice as if trying to reason with a volatile subordinate, “just listen to me this once. Do what I ask and I’ll make it worth your while. Name your price. I’ll even arrange that birthday dinner you wanted for the kid. Exactly how you described it.”
The words rang in my ears like the hollow echo of a gunshot fired into an empty room.
A birthday dinner.
For a child who no longer breathed.
I almost laughed at the cruelty of it. Luca had been gone for days, his small body already lowered into the earth, and this man still believed a party could undo everything. Vittorio had made his priorities known long before tragedy struck. He had chosen Valeria over his own blood more times than I could count.
Everyone in the syndicate knew.
At formal banquets, he escorted my sister while I stood forgotten at the edge of the room. At closed-door negotiations, she sat beside him while I remained invisible. I had been reduced to a title with no authority—Don Vittorio’s wife only in name, a decorative piece to legitimize his empire.
And now, with Luca dead, he thought he could lure me back with the same promise he had already broken.
It was manipulation, pure and calculated—grief turned into leverage.
I forced my expression into something unreadable and met his gaze without blinking.
“There’s no reason,” I said evenly. “It’s finished. I’m leaving this house, leaving this family—just like you always wanted. You’re free now. Go live out your perfect life with Valeria.”
He stared at me, clearly unprepared for that answer. His disbelief quickly twisted into mockery.
“What’s this supposed to be?” he scoffed. “You’ve finally stopped clinging to me? You won’t beg anymore? No more tears about your precious son needing his father?”
The disdain in his voice felt like poison poured straight into my veins.
Before I could speak, Valeria slid into the conversation, her voice soft, dripping with false concern.
“Bianca, don’t mislead the Don,” she said gently. “If Luca were really that sick, wouldn’t you have dragged Vittorio home by now? Why would you be standing here alone?”
Something inside me shattered.
“Shut up,” I snapped. “You don’t get to say his name. Not now. Not ever.”
Her face shifted—hurt on the surface, triumph beneath.
“Alright,” she whispered. “I won’t mention him again. Please don’t be upset with me.”
Vittorio’s jaw tightened as he watched the exchange. A low, humorless laugh escaped him. He pulled out his phone, pressing a few buttons with deliberate slowness, then switched the call to speaker.
“Oliver,” he said coolly to his lieutenant, “track down my son immediately. Bring him to me.”
He shot me a smug glance, convinced this would expose my supposed lie and reestablish his dominance.
I smiled faintly, though my chest felt like it was collapsing inward.
Several long seconds passed before Oliver answered, his voice strained.
“Don… Luca passed away a few days ago. It was the morning after you left the territory with Valeria.”
The room went silent.
Even the air seemed to freeze.
Vittorio’s hand tightened around his phone as though he couldn’t quite understand what he was hearing.
“What did you say?” he demanded.
Oliver repeated himself, slower this time, each word deliberate.
“Luca is dead, sir. He died the day after you went to the mountains.”
