Today, I had a follow-up at a private clinic on the Upper East Side.
I had just settled into a chair in the VIP waiting room when I saw the last person I ever expected to see in this clinic.
Seraphina froze, clearly not expecting to run into me. She forced a smile, about to greet me, when a man appeared behind her, carrying two shopping bags from luxury brands, a hint of impatience on his face.
The man was Nico. My boyfriend of three years.
I clenched my fists, struggling to keep my voice steady as a storm churned inside me. "Well, look at you," I said, my voice dripping with ice. "What a coincidence."
Nico immediately launched into an explanation, but the more he spoke, the colder my smile became.
"Couldn't you have sent one of your soldati to run this errand? Did you have to personally escort her and squeeze in some shopping on the side?"
"Seraphina's father, the Don of the Ricci family, is unwell. I came on behalf of the Gallo family to pay my respects and offered to bring her for a check-up. That's all. Is there a problem? Or does it bother you to see me with another woman now? You were never like this before, Cassia," Nico said, his words clipped and sharp.
Before I could retort, Seraphina stepped forward with an apologetic smile.
"Miss Donovan, I'm truly sorry. I should have come alone, but Nico mio is just too kind. He saw I was all by myself and worried I'd get lost, so he offered to come with me. Next time, I'll manage on my own. I won't bother you two again."
Nico mio? That nickname, reserved for core family members, was a dagger to my heart.
Feigning concern, Seraphina continued, "Um, forgive me for asking, Miss Donovan, but what brings you to the clinic today?"
She was obviously trying to change the subject.
Nico took the bait, turning to look at me with a flicker of suspicion. "Did you pull another all-nighter for a design? You haven't been working yourself into the ground again, have you?"
I forced a smile. "It's a lung issue. The doctor said I need regular check-ups."
Seraphina let out a small, performative gasp. "Oh, I see! But all designers are like that. Don't worry too much."
Hearing this, Nico's tense brow finally relaxed. He glanced at my appointment slip, then wrinkled his nose in annoyance. "Is all this really necessary? So many tests for something so minor? You're an adult, Cassia. Take care of yourself."
With that, he turned to leave.
I watched him walk away, then couldn't stop myself from calling out, "Since you're already here, can't you stay and hear the diagnosis with me?"
He glanced at his watch, his tone suddenly impatient. "Cassia, you didn't tell me about this ahead of time. I really can't. There's an urgent family meeting. I'll bring you back some cannoli from that old shop in Little Italy tonight."
I opened my mouth, but in the end, said nothing.
That night, I didn't touch the cannoli he brought home. When he wasn't looking, I threw them straight into the kitchen trash. It wasn't that I disliked them; the doctor had explicitly warned me that sugary foods would trigger inflammation and worsen my condition.
If I kept delaying treatment, there would be no recovery. By next spring, I’d be facing surgery with no guarantee I’d even survive it.
My mind was made up. I had to cut ties with his world completely. That night, I began drafting termination contracts for all my projects related to the Gallo family.
