Although everything felt overwhelming, I knew that I had to carry on for the sake of the little one inside me. That single truth was the only thread holding my body upright, the only reason I pressed my palm flat against the cold marble wall of the hallway and forced my lungs to expand. The Falcone compound was quiet at this hour, the kind of quiet that only settled over a place where men carried guns and secrets in equal measure. Somewhere below, a door opened and closed. Somewhere farther, the low murmur of soldiers changing shifts at the gatehouse drifted through the courtyard. I dragged myself out of the bedroom and into the corridor, heading toward the east wing where Dr. Caruso kept his private clinic behind a locked steel door. A simple check on my baby. That was all I needed. One small thing to remind me that something in this house was still mine.
But I would never expect to meet the person I wished to avoid there.
Serafina.
The woman was standing with some of the Family's inner circle near the foot of the staircase, her laughter floating upward like perfume laced with something rotten. Two of Dante's capos flanked her loosely, drinks in hand, their postures easy in a way that told me she had been folded into the household's daily fabric as casually as a new piece of furniture. She wore a cream silk blouse unbuttoned one notch too far, gold at her ears and throat, and when she turned and saw me on the landing, her expression shifted to one of smug satisfaction. Her painted fingernail rose and smoothed the corner of her lower lip, a small, deliberate repair, before she dropped into a curtsy so shallow it bordered on mockery.
"Donna Bianca," she greeted, her voice carrying effortlessly through the marble foyer. "How lovely to see you this morning."
I knew I couldn't show how this woman had ruined my marriage. Every instinct screamed at me to descend those stairs and rip the composure off her face, but the compound had eyes everywhere. Soldiers. Staff. Whispers that traveled faster than bullets. The only thing I could do was to look at her calmly as I smiled politely, showing her that I was the Donna, not her. But would that be enough? My thumb pressed once to the inside of my left wrist, feeling the frantic kick of my own pulse. I held it there, steadying myself, and then released.
"Serafina. What brings you to our home?" I asked her calmly, descending the last three steps with the measured pace my mother had taught me. A Moretti woman never rushed. Rushing meant fear, and fear in this world was an open wound men would salt without hesitation.
"Oh, Don Dante invited me, of course." She said it the way someone might mention the weather, one hand drifting down to rest on her belly. The gesture was deliberate, a mirror of the way I held my own child when I thought no one was watching. She pressed her palm flat, letting the silk of her blouse pull taut, and her eyes never left mine. "He thought I might enjoy the compound for my baby."
The foyer seemed to contract. One of the capos shifted his weight, glancing between us. The grandfather clock near the study ticked once, twice, a third time into the silence that followed her words.
Nera arrived as a sudden inward hush. The exact instant my thoughts stopped making excuses for the woman standing in front of me. How dare she show her face here.
I felt my patience slipping, but I held myself as I said, "I see. I hope you find the accommodations pleasant."
Serafina let out a smirk. "They are. Just like old times."
I clenched my fists, feeling the anger bubbling inside me. That was it. From now on, I had to stand up for myself. The marble beneath my shoes was cold and unyielding and I drew something from it, something hard enough to match the look in this woman's eyes.
Without further ado, I approached her, closing the distance until barely two feet separated us. The capos went still. I could feel them recalculating, measuring the tension between the Don's wife and the Don's former fiancée as if it were a line of credit about to default.
"Old times should stay in the past, Serafina," I said calmly. "Dante and I have our own future to focus on now."
The moment I said it, I couldn't help but notice she was insulted, a flicker of something dark and sharp passing behind her eyes. But she still spoke, her voice dropping to a register meant only for me. "Oh, of course. Though, I wonder… is Dante truly part of that future?"
"What are you trying to say?" I asked as I forced myself to stay calm. My thumb found the inside of my wrist again, pressing down once.
Serafina just looked at me, tilting her chin upward, and continued mockingly, "Oh, nothing. It's just that Dante and I have a connection that goes beyond… formalities. It's only natural that we still share a bond."
"You're speaking of something that should no longer exist, Serafina. Dante chose me," I told her, meeting her gaze with all the firmness a Moretti daughter could summon.
She laughed softly, a sound like crystal tapping crystal, and then she did it. She turned her body slightly toward the watching capos and boldly let her hand sweep down over her still-flat belly, smoothing the fabric so there could be no mistaking the gesture. "Did he, though?"
Her words struck like a dagger, and I found myself stepping back. One step. Half a step more. The marble foyer with its vaulted ceiling and ancestral oil paintings felt suddenly airless, as though someone had sealed every window. I knew my composure was crumbling. In fact, it became clear to me, clear as the gold crucifix hanging on the far wall above the entryway.
Serafina was expecting. While she said nothing explicit, it became clear to everyone in that foyer who the father was. The truth slapped me hard, harder than any blow a soldier could have delivered, because it came dressed in silk and smiled while it landed.
Immediately, I could feel Nera surging, that fierce inherited intuition clawing upward from somewhere deep inside my chest, demanding I stop being polite, stop being careful, stop pretending that civility could protect me in a house where I had already lost. But I knew giving in would be unwise. Not here, not with witnesses who would carry every word back to Dante before the hour was out. So I held that instinct down, pressing it beneath my ribs like a loaded weapon I wasn't yet ready to draw.
Then I let out a cold smirk, the kind my father wore when a rival family tried to renegotiate terms at the table, and I told her face to face, "I see. But you must know, Serafina. You may have been his past, but I am his present and his Donna. Please respect that."
Before the woman could respond, I continued, my voice dropping to something quiet and surgical, "I feel bad for the thing inside you. It must be horrible, since it was made in such a shameful way. What a way to show off, don't you think?"
Serafina's face darkened. The woman clenched her teeth, her painted fingernail twitching toward her lower lip before her hand dropped. She turned her head down, muttered something about needing air, and excused herself. The capos parted to let her pass without a word, their silence louder than any judgment. That was it. I no longer cared what Dante would say to me.
I watched her walk away through the arched doorway and into the courtyard, but I didn't feel that I had won at all. What she had said to me stayed instead. Her words echoed in my mind, stirring a deep-seated fear that I could no longer ignore. She was carrying his child. In this world, that meant bloodline. Succession. A claim on the Falcone name that no amount of dignity or composure could erase.
That was when I realized that I needed to find a way to protect myself, my baby, and my heart.
We really need to go, Nera, I told myself, and the hush inside me answered with absolute agreement.
