For the longest time, I truly believed that Dario's love for me was real. The way he had come for me, the soft words, the tenderness he showed beneath all that lethal calm made me feel chosen, like I had finally found the one man in this bloody world who saw me and not the Falcone name I carried.
But now, looking back, I see it all for what it really was. From the very first sit-down, it had been a lie.
His pursuit? Fake.
Our alliance, sworn under the Family's witness? Fake.
Even his death-debt, the mortal obligation I had opened my own body to settle? Completely fake.
And somehow, I had fallen for it all, hook, line, and sinker. I had been drawn into his so-called love and couldn't escape, the way a soldier walks into a room he'll never walk out of.
Don Costa was wrong about me. I'm not like my mother. Isabella Falcone gave everything, her life, her soul, for the honor of the Family, a name men still lowered their voices to speak. But maybe, just maybe, I'd found where I truly belong.
Three days after I woke in the Family doctor's keep, Dario came in, the way he always did, his presence filling the doorway before his voice ever reached me. "Adriana, how are you feeling? Any pain?" His voice was full of concern, the same it had always been.
But this time, I couldn't bring myself to answer with the warmth I once had.
Instead, I gave him a cold look and said, "I want to go home."
He went still for a moment, hesitation flashing across his face. Two fingers drifted to the inside of his left wrist, resting there over the old scar.
After a long pause, he finally said, "I'll ask the doctor if you're good to go."
A few hours later, after a thorough examination, I was cleared to leave. Dario brought me back to the place I had let myself call home.
As soon as we crossed the threshold, I felt something was off. The whole house was decorated like a celebration, streamers and balloons strung along the walls, a huge cake sitting in the center of the dining table where, in this Family, only matters of weight were ever decided.
"Happy twenty-sixth birthday, Adriana," Dario said, smiling as he cupped my face in his hands and kissed me.
I stared at the cake, completely stunned. "You remembered..."
"Of course I did," he said with a grin. "Now, make a wish and blow out the candles."
I sat down in front of the cake, still in shock, but just as I was about to close my eyes to make a wish, my phone rang. Dario's face changed at once. His brows drew together, and he stepped quickly into the study to take it.
When he came back, his face was full of urgency. "Adriana, something's happened with Lorenzo. I have to go to him. I'm sorry." Two fingers pressed flat to the inside of his wrist as he said it.
Before I could even answer, he was already out the door.
A few minutes later, a video came through on my phone. I tapped it, and suddenly, my whole world shattered.
The footage showed Noemi clinging to Dario's sleeve, pale and fragile, like a woman about to break.
"Dario, I'm pregnant. I can't believe it, I'm really pregnant. What am I going to do?" she sobbed, her voice trembling.
Dario wiped away her tears, his expression grave, steady, reassuring. "Don't worry, Noemi. I'll take care of you and the child."
Noemi's eyes filled with fear. "But Aldo... he's dead. That accident on the road. What if my child grows up without a father?"
"Don't worry," Dario said, his voice low but certain, the voice that closed every matter it touched. "I swear it to you. I'll be the father to this child."
And with that, Noemi collapsed into his arms, her face lighting with hope. For a single breath her smile held a moment too long, her eyes flat and calculating behind the tears, before the mask sealed shut again.
I couldn't breathe. My chest felt like it was being crushed. I was trembling as I held the phone. The image of them holding each other was seared into my mind. Each second of that moment felt like a hammer, striking over and over.
My vision blurred as hot tears spilled down my cheeks, one after another, beyond any control.
Instinctively, my hand moved to my abdomen.
I remembered the image of her, how tiny she was, how fragile. She should have been here.
But the Family doctor had told me a body couldn't carry a blood debt and a child both. The decision had been made for me, and I'd had no choice but to give her up.
At first I had been so happy when I learned I was carrying her. I wanted to give her the best life, everything the matriarch's blood could buy.
But in this cruel twist, I had taken away her right to live.
And her father? He was making vows to another woman, swearing himself to a child not even his.
"Why? Why are you doing this to me?" I screamed, my voice breaking. I swept my arm across the table, sending the cake to the floor, watching it crash.
I cleared everything off the table, plates, glasses, all of it scattering across the ground.
But no matter how much I broke or shattered, the only thing that remained was the suffocating pain in my chest.
