Serena’s POV
I thought I was finally free.
But I hadn’t even reached the estate gates when two of Nico Vescari’s security men stepped out from the shadows.
Black suits. Earpieces. Glock holsters hidden under tailored jackets.
They weren’t guards.
They were enforcers.
Before I could react, they grabbed me by both arms.
“Ma’am, we have to bring you back,” one said flatly. “Don’s order.”
My stomach dropped. “Let me go—what are you talking about?”
“The clinic,” the other replied. “He needs your blood.”
For a second, my brain refused to process it.
“My—what?”
I struggled, but their grip didn’t even tighten. They didn’t need force. In Nico’s world, orders were heavier than violence.
“Why would he need my blood?” My voice cracked. “For who?”
Silence.
No answer.
Just dragging me back through the gates like I was property being returned.
---
The estate clinic was already lit when they shoved me inside.
Sterile white. Cold metal. The kind of place you only saw when someone in the Syndicate got shot and couldn’t risk a public hospital.
And there he was.
Nico Vescari.
Standing by the glass wall like he hadn’t just ordered my return like an asset retrieval.
His suit was still immaculate. No blood. No guilt.
Just control.
“You brought me back for this?” I laughed, but it broke halfway. “To drain me?”
He didn’t even look up from the medical cDe Luca. “Stop being dramatic. You’re helping.”
“Helping?” My voice rose. “I’m your wife, not your blood bank.”
At that, he finally looked at me.
Cold. Detached.
“You always make things emotional,” he said. “It’s exhausting.”
Something in me snapped.
“You’re using me for her,” I said. “For your mistress.”
His jaw tightened slightly—barely there, but I saw it.
“Sit down,” he ordered.
I didn’t move.
So they strapped me in.
Wrists locked to the chair. Leather restraints. Like I was someone dangerous.
Or disposable.
The needle went in.
Pain shot clean through my arm—sharp, immediate, invasive. The machine started pulling.
My vision wavered.
I bit down on my lip so hard I tasted blood, refusing to make a sound.
Behind me, one of the medics hesitated. “Don Vescari… she’s already weak. We shouldn’t—”
“She’ll survive,” Nico said. “She always does.”
Always.
Like I wasn’t human. Just a resource that refilled itself.
The line kept draining me.
I turned my head slightly, voice trembling. “So this is what I am now? Inventory?”
No answer.
Only the hum of the machine.
Then—
A cough.
From the adjoining room.
Soft. Delicate.
Natalie.
“She needs more,” Nico said immediately, already turning away.
I laughed. It came out broken.
“Of course she does.”
My eyes burned. “So I die for her, and she lives because of me?”
Another cough. Louder.
“Nico…” her voice called weakly.
And just like that—
He walked away.
Left me strapped in.
Left me bleeding.
Left me mid-extraction.
“Continue,” he said over his shoulder. “Double it.”
The medic froze. “Sir, if we increase the volume—she may go into shock.”
“I said continue.”
The words landed heavier than the needle.
I stared at the ceiling as my strength started slipping.
“Nico…” My voice barely came out. “You’re killing me.”
He paused at the doorway.
Looked back at me like I was a problem he hadn’t solved yet.
“She needs it more than you do.”
And that was it.
Not anger.
Not heartbreak.
Just something inside me shutting down completely.
---
When I came to, the restraints were gone.
I was on a cot in the back room of the clinic.
Dim light. Quiet monitors. The smell of antiseptic and blood that wasn’t all mine.
Mr. Rowan was there.
A Syndicate doctor. The kind who cleaned up consequences without asking questions.
“You’re stable,” he said carefully.
“For now?” My voice was hoarse.
He didn’t answer fast enough.
My hand moved instinctively to my stomach.
And I already knew.
“I’m sorry,” Rowan said quietly. “We couldn’t save the pregnancy.”
The room stopped moving.
“No,” I said immediately. “No, you’re wrong.”
My breath shattered halfway through my chest.
“That’s not possible.”
But Rowan didn’t correct me.
He just looked down.
And that silence confirmed everything.
Something inside me broke clean.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Final.
I swung my legs off the cot and forced myself up, even as my body shook.
“Nico,” I said, voice shaking into fury. “He killed my child.”
The hallway didn’t answer.
Of course it didn’t.
He was with her.
Always with her.
I laughed once—sharp, empty.
Then my knees hit the floor.
“I’ll make him regret this,” I whispered. “I swear it.”
Rowan stepped closer. “You need to rest.”
I shoved him away. “Don’t touch me.”
Silence followed.
Heavy. Absolute.
Then I looked up at him.
“Get me my discharge papers,” I said quietly. “And every record from this clinic.”
A pause.
Then—
“I’m done being the Don’s wife.”
