Bianca's POV
I thought I was finally free. But apparently, the universe had a cruel sense of humor when it came to me. Because before I even reached the iron gate at the edge of the compound, two soldiers stepped out of the guardhouse. I barely had time to register them before they grabbed me, one by each arm, like I was some petty thief caught climbing the fence.
"We have to bring you back, Mrs. Valente. The Don's orders. He needs your blood."
"What? No! Let me go!" I struggled, not for me, but for the little life growing inside me. My heart thundered, pounding against my ribs like it already knew something terrible was about to happen. "Why would he want my blood?"
Why? Why him? Why this fate? I gave everything. My body, my loyalty, my future. Was that not enough? What kind of life was this, that I should be tied to a man who saw me as nothing more than a resource to use and discard?
And now he wanted more. Always more.
I wasn't sure which I feared more. That he'd find out about the baby, or that he wouldn't care even if he did.
The next thing I knew, I was strapped to a steel chair in the estate's private medical suite, cold restraints biting into my wrists. I tried to lift my head and saw Dominic standing with his arms crossed like I was beneath him.
"You really dragged me back for this? To drain me like some sacrificial animal?"
Dominic didn't flinch. "Stop being dramatic. You're helping. Be useful for once."
I let out a bitter laugh. "Useful? Is that all I ever was to you? A convenient blood bank with a Donna title?"
"You're being emotional, as usual," he said. "You always did have a flair for victimhood."
"Says the man bleeding his wife dry while his precious mistress rests in silk sheets."
He stepped closer and wrapped his large hand around my jaw. "Watch your mouth or else."
"Or what? You'll toss me off the estate grounds like you did my dignity?"
He sneered. "You're alive, aren't you? Should be thanking me."
"You have her," I snapped. "You have your heir. Why am I still the one in this chair?"
The irony of it. His precious Serafina slept soundly on silk pillows while I bled out for her and the child she carried, while my own unborn baby clung quietly to life inside me.
But I wouldn't give him that truth. He didn't deserve it. He'd weaponize it, manipulate it, twist it into something ugly just like he'd twisted everything else about me.
So I kept it buried deep, like the rest of me.
I stared at the ceiling, the sterile lights blurring with unshed tears as I added, "This is what I get for loving you? For defending your name at every sit-down? For patching your wounds like a wife, not a maid? I should've run the moment you put that ring on my finger!"
"Then why didn't you?" he hissed. "You were too desperate. Too easy."
"And you were too much of a coward to let me go," I growled.
He smirked. "Why bother? You always come back."
That was when the needle drove in.
It was too thick. More like a dagger than any medical tool. I felt the sharp prick at first, then the slow burn as it pierced deeper, invading my skin and my vein. But I didn't flinch. I wouldn't give him the pleasure. Still, a cold sweat broke across my neck and my fingers trembled against the restraints.
Every ounce they drained from me felt like a piece of my past being ripped away. Our first sit-down with the Commission, the time I took a blade for him without hesitation, the sleepless nights I sat by the door waiting for him to return. I bled not just my veins, but the last fragments of the bond I once held sacred. And through it all, he just stood there. Watching as if I was nothing more than a container to siphon from.
"Don Valente, Bianca's heart has always been delicate. Drawing too much blood could—"
"Keep going," Dominic snapped. "She's stubborn, she'll survive."
My vision dimmed.
I bit down on the inside of my cheek just to stay conscious.
Eight hundred milliliters. That's how much they drained from me. And the worst part was I believed it was over. But someone coughed behind the curtain, and that one sound snapped Dominic back to attention.
"Double it. Serafina needs more blood."
I froze. So I was being a forced sacrifice for the shameless woman who'd ruined my life?
"You're draining me for your mistress?" I spat. "You're bleeding your own wife to save the woman who broke our marriage? God, Dominic!"
"She needs it," he said coldly, like it explained everything.
I laughed bitterly even as tears burned my eyes. "And what about me? What about your Donna? Your wife? You'd bleed me dry before lifting a finger to help me!"
His expression didn't change, and that told me everything I needed to know.
Serafina coughed again from behind the curtain, this time louder, more dramatic. "Dominic!" she whimpered.
And like she'd cast some kind of spell, he moved. I was a near-unconscious mess strapped to a chair, and he was already halfway to the other room. The two soldiers flanking the door didn't even look at me. Their eyes tracked the Don. That was the hierarchy. That was the code. The wife could bleed out three feet away, and every man in the room would still follow the boss through the door.
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. What a husband, right? I was dying in the chair, and he was worried about a tickle in her throat.
Enzo trembled. "Don Valente, if we draw more blood, the baby in her—"
"Do it," Dominic barked, turning his glare on the doctor. "Otherwise, I'll personally throw you in the basement. And you know what happens to men who go down those stairs."
Enzo stiffened, visibly torn. His hand moved to his glasses, and he cleaned them with a slow, deliberate circular motion, the cloth going around and around while the silence pressed against the walls. Then he stopped. Put them back on. And nodded. "Yes, Don Valente."
I wanted to scream. To beg him not to. But my consciousness was fading away.
When I opened my eyes again, everything was blurry, and I realized I was no longer in the chair. I was lying down on a cot, covered in a thin blanket.
Enzo sat beside me. His eyes were red as he said, "You're stable now, Mrs. Valente. Your vitals are normal. Your body is healing faster than I expected. It must be your natural resilience."
I blinked slowly. "That sounds like good news," I rasped. "So why do you look like someone just died?"
Enzo's lips parted slightly, like the words wouldn't come out. He hesitated, then bowed his head. "Because someone did," he said.
I didn't understand at first. I stared at him, trying to put the pieces together. Then I gasped as my hand flew to my stomach.
"No... no, no, no..."
"I'm so sorry," he whispered. "When Don Valente ordered us to double the blood draw, the baby didn't make it."
My scream tore through the room before I could stop it. I thrashed on the cot, kicking the sheets off, knocking over the tray beside me. Something inside me howled, a grief so primal it didn't have words, her pain spilling into mine. I shoved myself up, ignoring the dizziness, and staggered toward the door.
"DOMINIC!" I screamed. "You killed my baby! YOU MONSTER!"
He wasn't there. Of course, he wasn't. He was probably holding Serafina's hand while I lost everything.
"I'll kill him! I swear it! I'll rip him apart!"
Enzo tried to steady me, holding my arms. "Please, Bianca, you need to rest."
I shoved him off with what little strength I had left. "Don't tell me to rest! He murdered my child!"
I collapsed to the floor, sobbing so hard I couldn't breathe.
Enzo crouched beside me. "I'm sorry. If there was anything I could've done, I would have."
I didn't answer. The sobs quieted into hiccups, then into silence. Somewhere beyond the medical suite's sealed door, the estate carried on. Guards changed shifts. Soldiers reported to their capos. The family's business moved like clockwork, indifferent to the blood on the floor of this room.
But my mind? It was no longer broken. It was sharpening.
No more pleading. No more waiting for scraps of love or mercy. I would burn everything they cared about. Both of them.
I looked up at Enzo. "Prepare my discharge papers. And all the medical records. I want copies of everything."
