I frowned slightly, my mind drifting back to the doctor's warning when I had gone to the clinic to schedule the procedure.
"You've already had one miscarriage from the car accident," the doctor had said seriously, his voice low behind the closed door of the discreet family clinic where no names were recorded. "Your uterus is severely damaged. The fact that you're pregnant again is already a miracle."
"If you lose this baby, you may never have another chance."
Those words lingered in my mind, heavy and impossible to ignore. I pressed my lips together, about to politely refuse the wine.
Before I could speak, Viviana suddenly smiled sweetly and chimed in, her voice light and cheerful. "I've heard Serena can really hold her liquor. I've always wanted to see it myself."
She tilted her head slightly, her expression innocent and harmless, as if she had no idea what she was implying. Her lower lip caught a faint sheen of moisture a fraction before the words arrived.
My expression turned cold instantly. I looked straight at her and asked, "Who told you that?"
For a split second, her smile froze. She glanced nervously at Dante, her eyes flickering with uncertainty. "Did I say something wrong again?" she asked softly, her tone trembling.
Dante reached out and gently smoothed the hair from her face, his movements filled with a tenderness I had never received. Then he turned to me, his gaze icy.
"Serena, it's just a glass of wine," he said coldly. "Don't make such a big deal out of it."
A chill spread through me as I met his indifferent eyes. The soldier standing two steps behind Dante's chair didn't move, didn't breathe visibly, but I could feel the room tightening like a wire drawn taut. After a brief pause, I forced a faint smile and spoke clearly, each word deliberate.
"Mr. Moretti, I can't drink," I said. "Because I'm pregnant."
The moment the words left my mouth, the entire table fell silent. The private dining room of the supper club, with its velvet curtains and low amber light, seemed to contract around us. Even the faint clinking of glasses seemed to disappear. Matteo Ricci set down his fork without a sound. The soldier by the door shifted his weight half an inch.
Viviana was the first to recover. The brief flash of something unreadable in her eyes vanished as she quickly stood up, lifting her glass with a bright smile. "Congratulations, Serena!" she said warmly.
But just as she brought the glass to her lips, Dante immediately reached out and stopped her. "Vivi, you're pregnant too. You shouldn't be drinking," he said, his tone firm with concern.
For once, Viviana didn't listen. She shook her head slightly, her expression turning earnest. "No, I have to," she insisted.
"Ever since I joined the Family, I've upset Serena so many times. This drink is my apology," she continued, her voice growing more emotional with each word.
Before anyone could stop her, she tilted her head back and drained the glass in one go.
Almost instantly, her face flushed red. She began coughing violently, her body trembling as tears welled up in her eyes.
Dante's expression twisted with anger and frustration. He shot up from his seat, pointing straight at me. His signet ring was perfectly still against his thumb.
"Is this what you wanted?" he demanded. "Only someone as naive as Vivi would fall for your tricks!"
"If anything happens to our baby because of you," he continued harshly, "I will never forgive you!"
I didn't even bother looking at him. My voice was flat, devoid of emotion. "Do whatever you want."
Turning to Matteo, I muttered a brief apology for the disruption before standing up and heading toward the door. My fingers found the fine chain at my throat and held there, just for a moment, as I turned my back on the table.
Behind me, Dante's voice rang out, filled with fury. "Serena, I've had enough of you!"
"You have a problem with everything Vivi does," he shouted. "If you can't accept her, then maybe we should just dissolve this marriage!"
His words made me pause for a split second. But the surprise faded just as quickly as it came.
We had been bound for five years, and in all that time, he had never once acknowledged our union in front of anyone outside the Family walls. Not at sit-downs, not at tribute dinners, not before a single soul who mattered. Now, just to defend Viviana, he was finally willing to admit it.
I turned back to look at him, at that familiar face that now looked distorted with anger. The Don of the Moretti Family, a man whose silence could empty a room, was shouting across a supper club like he had nothing left to lose. Then I nodded calmly.
