The day my husband, Dante Valente, was supposed to take me to the Family clinic for my pregnancy check-up, everything changed because of one phone call.
Halfway there, his former mistress, Serafina Russo, called him.
Her voice came through the speaker, soft and helpless.
"Dante, I miss you. My son has a high fever. I don't know what to do."
That was all it took.
Just one sentence from her, and the man who had sworn before both Families to protect me immediately forgot that I was sitting beside him, three months pregnant with his child.
Without even looking at me properly, he pulled the car to the curb and said impatiently, "Get out first. I need to go to Serafina's place."
I froze, thinking I had misheard him.
"Dante, today is my check-up."
"I know," he said, already turning the steering wheel. "But her son has a fever. This is urgent."
Then he drove away.
No explanation. No apology. Not even a glance in the rearview mirror.
He left me standing alone on the side of a deserted road in the middle of a snowstorm. The black sedan disappeared past the row of shuttered storefronts that lined Valente territory like sentries who had chosen not to see.
The snow from the night before had frozen into a slick layer of ice. The wind cut through my coat like a blade, and every breath I took felt cold enough to hurt. I tried to walk toward the main road, one hand pressed protectively over my stomach.
But after only a few steps, my foot slipped.
I fell hard.
The impact sent a sharp pain tearing through my lower abdomen, like hundreds of needles stabbing into me at once. For a moment, I couldn't even breathe. My face went white, and panic swallowed me whole.
My baby.
That was the only thought in my mind.
Thankfully, a stranger found me shivering on the roadside and rushed me to the hospital. Not the bribed Catholic hospital where the Family sent its people, just the nearest emergency room that would take me.
When the doctor finished examining me and told me the baby was fine, my whole body went weak with relief. I lay there on the hospital bed, staring at the ceiling, my hand trembling over my stomach.
The baby was safe.
But my heart felt as if something inside it had quietly died.
After the check-up, I called Dante again and again, hoping he would come pick me up.
The first call went unanswered.
The second went to voicemail.
The third gave me a busy signal.
I kept calling until my fingers were numb, but he never picked up.
Yet when Serafina called him, he answered immediately.
That thought sat in my chest like a block of ice.
Before we got married, before the alliance between the Bellandi and Valente Families had been sealed and the rings exchanged at the church on Arthur Avenue, Dante had never treated me this way. Back then, his phone was always on for me. Even if he was in a sit-down, even if he was busy, even if he was exhausted, he would always answer my calls.
He used to say, "Adriana, no matter what happens, you'll always come first."
But now, I finally understood.
Promises could expire.
Love could turn cold.
And the person who once held you like you were his whole world could one day abandon you without hesitation for someone else.
When I got home to the guarded townhouse, I didn't even have the strength to change my clothes. I collapsed onto the bed, my body aching and my heart unbearably heavy. The soldier posted at the front entrance had nodded when I came in alone. He didn't ask questions. None of them ever did.
Dante came back around one in the morning.
The moment he entered the room, he frowned.
"You're already asleep?" he muttered, irritation thick in his voice. "You didn't even leave the light on for me?"
In the past, no matter how late he came home, I would wait for him.
