For the longest time, I truly believed that Lorenzo's love for me was real. His pursuit, his sweet words, the tenderness he showed when no other made man in the Family bothered with tenderness at all. It made me feel special, like I had finally found the one who truly cared in a world built on suspicion.
But now, looking back, I see it all for what it really was. From the very beginning, it had been a lie.
His pursuit? Fake.
Our union, sworn before the famiglia? Fake.
Even his illness, the one the bought house doctor swore by? Completely fake.
And somehow, I had fallen for it all, hook, line, and sinker. I had gotten trapped in his so-called love and couldn't escape.
Don Adamo was wrong about me. I'm not like my mother. She gave everything, her life, her soul, keeping made men alive in back rooms no one would ever name, dying with that cool discipline still intact. But maybe, just maybe, I'd found where I truly belong.
Three days after I woke in the doctor's back room, Lorenzo came in, just like always. "Adriana, how are you feeling? Any pain?" His voice was full of concern, the way it had been so many times before.
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 froze for a moment, hesitation flashing across his face. His thumb moved once around his wedding ring, slow, almost idle.
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 check, I was cleared to leave. Lorenzo took me back to the place I thought of as home, an estate behind iron gates where the men outside straightened when his car passed.
As soon as we walked inside, I felt something was off. The whole house was decorated like a celebration, streamers, balloons, and a huge cake sitting in the middle of the long dining table where the Family usually took Sunday dinner.
"Happy 26th birthday, Adriana." Lorenzo smiled 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. Just as I was about to close my eyes to make a wish, my burner line rang. Lorenzo's face immediately changed. His brows furrowed, and he stepped into the study to answer it, the door clicking shut behind him.
When he came back, his face was full of urgency. "Adriana, something happened with Gianni. I need to go see to it. I'm sorry."
Before I could even respond, he was already out the door, the soldiers in the hall parting for him without a word.
A few minutes later, a video came through on my phone. I opened it, and suddenly, my whole world shattered.
The video showed Bianca, clinging to Lorenzo's sleeve, looking pale and fragile, like she was about to break.
"Lorenzo, I'm pregnant. I can't believe it, I'm really pregnant. What should I do?" she cried, her voice shaky. Her smile flickered a half-second too long after the tears, then steadied.
Lorenzo wiped away her tears, his expression serious and reassuring. "Don't worry, Bianca. I'll take care of you and the child."
Bianca's eyes filled with fear as she asked, "But Marco... he died in that accident on the road. What if my child grows up without a father?"
"Don't worry," Lorenzo said, his voice soft but firm. "I promise you, I'll be the father to this child."
And with that, Bianca collapsed into his arms, her face lighting up with hope.
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. The house had gone impossibly quiet around me, the way a room goes quiet when a Don walks in, except there was no one left to walk in. Only me, and the silence, and the ice melting in a glass no one would drink.
My vision blurred as hot tears spilled down my cheeks, one after another, without 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 doctor had told me I couldn't give up two-thirds of my liver, a debt of flesh, while carrying her. The decision was made for me, and I had no choice but to bury the child no one would ever speak of again.
At first, I was so happy when I found out about her. I wanted to give her the best life.
But in this cruel twist, I had taken away her right to live.
And her father? He was making promises to another woman, vowing to be a father to her child.
"Why? Why are you doing this to me?" I screamed, my voice breaking. I swiped my arm across the table, knocking the cake off and watching as it crashed to the floor.
I swept everything off the table, plates, crystal, all of it scattered across the floor and shattered.
But no matter how much I broke or shattered, the only thing that remained was the suffocating pain in my chest.
