For once, Serafina didn't obey. She shook her head, her expression suddenly turning determined. "No, I want to drink," she insisted. "Ever since I came to Duskmire, I've made you unhappy again and again. This glass is my apology to you, Bianca!"
Her voice grew more emotional as she spoke. Before anyone could stop her, she tilted her head back and gulped down the wine in one go. The next second, her brows knitted tightly together as she started coughing violently. Her cheeks flushed red, and tears instantly welled up in her eyes.
Dante's expression changed immediately. He looked at her with obvious concern, his brows furrowed, his entire focus on her. The next moment, he stood up abruptly and pointed at me, anger flashing across his face. "Are you satisfied now?" he demanded. "Only someone as innocent as Serafina would believe you! If anything happens to the baby in her belly, I will never forgive you!"
I slowly lifted my eyelids and looked at him, my expression calm to the point of indifference. "Do as you please," I replied lightly, as if his words no longer held any weight.
Without waiting for another response, I turned to Vittorio Marino and offered a brief apology. Then I picked up my things and prepared to leave, not wanting to stay in that suffocating atmosphere any longer.
Just as I reached the door, Dante's voice rang out sharply behind me. "Bianca, I've tolerated you for long enough!" he said, his tone filled with anger. "In your eyes, everything Serafina does is wrong! If you really can't accept her, then why don't we just end this marriage?"
The private room went dead silent. Vittorio Marino's hand paused over his napkin. One of the soldiers posted at the far wall shifted his weight, a barely perceptible adjustment, the way men do when they sense the ground is about to open beneath a conversation. No one at that table could have missed what just happened. A Don, in front of an allied boss, had spoken aloud about a union that was never supposed to exist in public.
I paused for a moment, genuinely surprised. But the surprise quickly faded, replaced by an unexpected sense of relief. After five years of a church-sanctioned union, he had never once publicly acknowledged our relationship. And now, just to force me to compromise in front of Serafina, he had finally said it himself.
I turned back and looked at him. His handsome face was twisted with anger, his expression unfamiliar and distant. I nodded slowly, my voice steady. "Fine," I said. "Let's get a severance."
With that, I walked out of the private dining room without looking back, as if closing the door on everything that had tied us together.
Outside the restaurant, the air felt colder than before. The street was quiet, the kind of quiet that only existed on blocks the Family kept clean. I took out my phone and called my attorney, discussing the next steps as I walked along the street. My voice was calm, almost detached. A church annulment, financial separation from the fronts, formal notification to the consigliere. Each word I spoke felt like pulling a stitch from a wound that had never properly healed.
In the middle of the call, a sudden bright light flashed into my eyes, blinding me for a moment. Before I could react, I saw a car speeding straight toward me, its momentum unstoppable.
A wave of fear surged through me. My legs went weak, and I stumbled backward, falling onto the ground. Just as the car was about to hit me, the driver slammed on the brakes, the tires screeching loudly. The car swerved sharply, narrowly missing me, and then sped off without stopping.
I sat there on the ground, my mind blank, my heart pounding wildly in my chest. A passing girl rushed over to help me up. But the moment her hand touched my waist, she suddenly screamed.
"Oh my God! Why are you bleeding so much?" she cried, her voice filled with panic.
I lowered my head in confusion. Only then did I notice the large pool of blood spreading beneath me, staining the ground. The sight made everything feel distant and unreal.
At the hospital, the doctor spoke urgently, telling me to contact my family as soon as possible. The words felt far away, as if they weren't meant for me.
I gripped my phone tightly, my fingers trembling slightly. My thumbnail pressed hard into the inside of my wrist until the skin went white. My gaze lingered on Dante's number for a long moment. Then, slowly, I moved my finger away and dialed my attorney instead.
In my mind, one detail kept replaying over and over again. The car that had just charged at me had the exact same plates as one of the Family's cars. The black sedan Dante and I had chosen together.
