On Our Ninth Anniversary, He Brought His Pregnant Mistress Home

Bianca's POV

It was our ninth wedding anniversary, but Don Dominic Valente came home with his pregnant mistress.

For nine years, he had held me like I was the moon itself. He'd bring me white roses from the garden, kiss my hand in front of the whole family, and swear I'd always be his only one. And now? He stood proudly beside another woman, parading her swollen belly like a trophy.

"She's sensitive to strong smells," he said casually, one arm draped possessively around the other woman's waist as she nestled smugly into his side. "No repeated meals. She needs someone with her when she sleeps. Move your things to the guest house."

My body stiffened in shock. "Are you freaking kidding me, Dominic? You seriously expect me to move into the guest house like some castoff because of your mistress?"

His eyes narrowed. "I wasn't asking, Bianca. Now do it."

"No." My teeth ground together as I pointed a trembling finger straight at Serafina. "You have impregnated an opportunistic nobody from a disgraced family, and now you brought her to our anniversary dinner? The audacity, Dominic. No way!"

"I said do it, Bianca!"

His voice dropped into that register, the one that made soldiers go pale and lower their eyes. The full weight of the Don's authority pressed against my lungs like thick smoke, and I felt my knees buckle slightly. Every survival instinct I had recoiled, whimpering at his dominance.

But I couldn't and wouldn't stoop low for someone who wrecked my marriage, so I said, "I'd rather leave. I'm so done. Goodbye, Dominic."

He thought I would serve his mistress? Never. And since I had packed my things weeks ago after I received a video of him and this woman in bed together, I was already ready to go.

Dominic scoffed and prowled toward me. He jabbed a finger at me, then made a sweeping motion like he was shooing away garbage. "You want to leave? Fine. Go ahead and throw your little tantrum. You'll come crawling back in three days, begging like the pathetic has-been you've become."

Laughter echoed behind me from the old guard, the capos and associates seated along the dining table. They were placing bets, laughing at the woman they had once stood for when she entered a room as the Donna.

Too bad for them, I wasn't about to stick around and play the humiliated wife one more time. The car my cousin Marco had sent from Ferrante territory up north was already parked beyond the estate gates.

Dominic said I would go back crawling on my ass? Well, I didn't even look back when I stepped through the front door after I retrieved my bags from our room.

But before I stepped out of the doors, he shouted, "Leave the signet ring and give it to Serafina!"

My breath hitched.

I curled my fingers tightly around the ring my late grandmother had given me. This ring had been the only thing keeping me steady through the chaos of his betrayal. And now he wanted me to give it away? To hand over the one thing making me physically immune to the pain of his cheating?

"No," I said, as rich beads of tears fell from my eyes. "Not this. Anything but this!"

Dominic snorted at my reaction, pulling Serafina closer to him. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be, Bianca. She needs it."

I could have fought harder. I could have screamed, refused, or lashed out. But my body was already trembling, every ounce of fight curled up tight inside me. And his authority was forcing me to submit. The Don's word was law in this house, and every man in that room would enforce it. Curse his authority.

So I turned slowly and walked over to Serafina.

I slid the ring from my finger and placed it on hers.

"May your child be born in peace," I murmured.

But when the old silver band settled around her finger, a thin red line bloomed across her pale skin where the metal touched. She gasped sharply, clutching her hand like I'd branded her. "W-What did you do to me, Donna? Did you hurt me on purpose with that ring?" she cried, collapsing to her knees.

"What? No!" I countered, wide eyes on her hand.

Dominic reacted instantly. His body stiffened, and then he lunged toward her, knocking the chair aside as he swept her into his arms. He held her like she was made of glass. Then he glared at me as if I'd morphed into a beast before his very eyes. "What on earth did you do to her? Are you so jealous that she is pregnant with my child? Did you curse Serafina?"

"I had no idea what happened, Dominic." My hands remained suspended midair, still trembling from placing the ring.

"Call the doctor! Now!" he roared, glancing around, then glared back at me. "You, clean this up. Every last piece. Understood!"

My gaze dropped to the ring, which had cracked apart on the marble floor as though the metal itself had rejected her. Shards pierced through the skin as I knelt, but I welcomed the pain.

"I'm sorry," I said. Once. Then again. And again.

My knees screamed as I shifted my weight forward. My palms, slick with blood from the broken shards, pressed against the cold marble floor to push me up. Gathering what was left of my dignity, I brushed the blood-stained strands of hair away from my face, and locked eyes with him. "Is that enough, Don Valente?"

His eyes didn't soften. Not even a flicker. "The old man who protected you is gone. Who are you pretending for now?"

I stared at the man I once called my husband. "Why don't you just end this, Dominic? If you hate the sight of me so much, file the dissolution. Let me go."

He let out a low laugh, amused and condescending. "Why would I do that, Bianca? You'll just come crawling back. And besides, dissolutions are messy, so why go through the effort?"

I gathered the broken ring pieces and tossed them in the trash. After rinsing the blood from my hands, I grabbed my bag and walked out without looking back.

Bianca's POV

I thought I was finally free. But apparently, the universe had a cruel sense of humor when it came to me. Because before I even reached the iron gate at the edge of the compound, two soldiers stepped out of the guardhouse. I barely had time to register them before they grabbed me, one by each arm, like I was some petty thief caught climbing the fence.

"We have to bring you back, Mrs. Valente. The Don's orders. He needs your blood."

"What? No! Let me go!" I struggled, not for me, but for the little life growing inside me. My heart thundered, pounding against my ribs like it already knew something terrible was about to happen. "Why would he want my blood?"

Why? Why him? Why this fate? I gave everything. My body, my loyalty, my future. Was that not enough? What kind of life was this, that I should be tied to a man who saw me as nothing more than a resource to use and discard?

And now he wanted more. Always more.

I wasn't sure which I feared more. That he'd find out about the baby, or that he wouldn't care even if he did.

The next thing I knew, I was strapped to a steel chair in the estate's private medical suite, cold restraints biting into my wrists. I tried to lift my head and saw Dominic standing with his arms crossed like I was beneath him.

"You really dragged me back for this? To drain me like some sacrificial animal?"

Dominic didn't flinch. "Stop being dramatic. You're helping. Be useful for once."

I let out a bitter laugh. "Useful? Is that all I ever was to you? A convenient blood bank with a Donna title?"

"You're being emotional, as usual," he said. "You always did have a flair for victimhood."

"Says the man bleeding his wife dry while his precious mistress rests in silk sheets."

He stepped closer and wrapped his large hand around my jaw. "Watch your mouth or else."

"Or what? You'll toss me off the estate grounds like you did my dignity?"

He sneered. "You're alive, aren't you? Should be thanking me."

"You have her," I snapped. "You have your heir. Why am I still the one in this chair?"

The irony of it. His precious Serafina slept soundly on silk pillows while I bled out for her and the child she carried, while my own unborn baby clung quietly to life inside me.

But I wouldn't give him that truth. He didn't deserve it. He'd weaponize it, manipulate it, twist it into something ugly just like he'd twisted everything else about me.

So I kept it buried deep, like the rest of me.

I stared at the ceiling, the sterile lights blurring with unshed tears as I added, "This is what I get for loving you? For defending your name at every sit-down? For patching your wounds like a wife, not a maid? I should've run the moment you put that ring on my finger!"

"Then why didn't you?" he hissed. "You were too desperate. Too easy."

"And you were too much of a coward to let me go," I growled.

He smirked. "Why bother? You always come back."

That was when the needle drove in.

It was too thick. More like a dagger than any medical tool. I felt the sharp prick at first, then the slow burn as it pierced deeper, invading my skin and my vein. But I didn't flinch. I wouldn't give him the pleasure. Still, a cold sweat broke across my neck and my fingers trembled against the restraints.

Every ounce they drained from me felt like a piece of my past being ripped away. Our first sit-down with the Commission, the time I took a blade for him without hesitation, the sleepless nights I sat by the door waiting for him to return. I bled not just my veins, but the last fragments of the bond I once held sacred. And through it all, he just stood there. Watching as if I was nothing more than a container to siphon from.

"Don Valente, Bianca's heart has always been delicate. Drawing too much blood could"

"Keep going," Dominic snapped. "She's stubborn, she'll survive."

My vision dimmed.

I bit down on the inside of my cheek just to stay conscious.

Eight hundred milliliters. That's how much they drained from me. And the worst part was I believed it was over. But someone coughed behind the curtain, and that one sound snapped Dominic back to attention.

"Double it. Serafina needs more blood."

I froze. So I was being a forced sacrifice for the shameless woman who'd ruined my life?

"You're draining me for your mistress?" I spat. "You're bleeding your own wife to save the woman who broke our marriage? God, Dominic!"

"She needs it," he said coldly, like it explained everything.

I laughed bitterly even as tears burned my eyes. "And what about me? What about your Donna? Your wife? You'd bleed me dry before lifting a finger to help me!"

His expression didn't change, and that told me everything I needed to know.

Serafina coughed again from behind the curtain, this time louder, more dramatic. "Dominic!" she whimpered.

And like she'd cast some kind of spell, he moved. I was a near-unconscious mess strapped to a chair, and he was already halfway to the other room. The two soldiers flanking the door didn't even look at me. Their eyes tracked the Don. That was the hierarchy. That was the code. The wife could bleed out three feet away, and every man in the room would still follow the boss through the door.

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. What a husband, right? I was dying in the chair, and he was worried about a tickle in her throat.

Enzo trembled. "Don Valente, if we draw more blood, the baby in her"

"Do it," Dominic barked, turning his glare on the doctor. "Otherwise, I'll personally throw you in the basement. And you know what happens to men who go down those stairs."

Enzo stiffened, visibly torn. His hand moved to his glasses, and he cleaned them with a slow, deliberate circular motion, the cloth going around and around while the silence pressed against the walls. Then he stopped. Put them back on. And nodded. "Yes, Don Valente."

I wanted to scream. To beg him not to. But my consciousness was fading away.

When I opened my eyes again, everything was blurry, and I realized I was no longer in the chair. I was lying down on a cot, covered in a thin blanket.

Enzo sat beside me. His eyes were red as he said, "You're stable now, Mrs. Valente. Your vitals are normal. Your body is healing faster than I expected. It must be your natural resilience."

I blinked slowly. "That sounds like good news," I rasped. "So why do you look like someone just died?"

Enzo's lips parted slightly, like the words wouldn't come out. He hesitated, then bowed his head. "Because someone did," he said.

I didn't understand at first. I stared at him, trying to put the pieces together. Then I gasped as my hand flew to my stomach.

"No... no, no, no..."

"I'm so sorry," he whispered. "When Don Valente ordered us to double the blood draw, the baby didn't make it."

My scream tore through the room before I could stop it. I thrashed on the cot, kicking the sheets off, knocking over the tray beside me. Something inside me howled, a grief so primal it didn't have words, her pain spilling into mine. I shoved myself up, ignoring the dizziness, and staggered toward the door.

"DOMINIC!" I screamed. "You killed my baby! YOU MONSTER!"

He wasn't there. Of course, he wasn't. He was probably holding Serafina's hand while I lost everything.

"I'll kill him! I swear it! I'll rip him apart!"

Enzo tried to steady me, holding my arms. "Please, Bianca, you need to rest."

I shoved him off with what little strength I had left. "Don't tell me to rest! He murdered my child!"

I collapsed to the floor, sobbing so hard I couldn't breathe.

Enzo crouched beside me. "I'm sorry. If there was anything I could've done, I would have."

I didn't answer. The sobs quieted into hiccups, then into silence. Somewhere beyond the medical suite's sealed door, the estate carried on. Guards changed shifts. Soldiers reported to their capos. The family's business moved like clockwork, indifferent to the blood on the floor of this room.

But my mind? It was no longer broken. It was sharpening.

No more pleading. No more waiting for scraps of love or mercy. I would burn everything they cared about. Both of them.

I looked up at Enzo. "Prepare my discharge papers. And all the medical records. I want copies of everything."

Bianca's POV

I was stuck in a hospital bed, still weak and lightheaded. My arms ached from the blood loss, and it was hard to even sit up without getting dizzy. But none of that hurt as much as what I was keeping inside. I was grieving the loss of my baby.

In my confinement, I received news of him and Serafina from everywhere else. A mutual associate sent a video. Dominic was laughing at some charity gala held at the family's waterfront casino, his hand firmly on her waist. Another video came in: Dominic feeding Serafina a slice of cake at a private dinner, leaning in close to whisper something that made her giggle.

He looked happy and free.

When I was finally discharged, I walked out by myself. No one was there to pick me up. Not Dominic, not a bodyguard, not even one of the lowest-ranking soldiers in the Valente Family. Just me, carrying a hospital bag and the awful truth that I didn't matter to them anymore.

I really didn't want to return to the estate. Just thinking about it made my skin crawl. But all my things had been sent back there, so I didn't have a choice.

Then, just my luck, I saw them right outside the maternity wing. Serafina looked proud and happy, like she was already celebrating. Dominic stood next to her, his hand on her back like he was showing her off.

A nurse passed by. Her head turned to them, and she chirped, "Mr. Valente, your wife is glowing today!"

My stomach twisted, but I didn't correct her. I didn't have the strength anyway.

Instead, I turned. I started to walk away.

"Bianca." Dominic's voice cut through the hallway, and I froze for a second. My spine stiffened, but I didn't turn around right away. Of course he saw me. Of course he had to call me now, when I was trying to vanish quietly into the background.

I finally turned, meeting his eyes from across the polished floor of the maternity wing. "I didn't follow you. Just so you know, I was just discharged. I didn't know you'd be here."

He narrowed his eyes, but before he could say anything, Serafina clung to his arm.

"Babe, please let her come with us," she said sweetly, her tone so fake it made my skin crawl. "I feel bad for her. She gave me blood, remember? It's the least we can do."

I almost laughed.

Dominic touched her nose affectionately. "You're too kind. Alright."

So I got in the car. Not because I wanted to, but because I had nowhere else to go just yet. My important documents were still at the estate.

In the backseat, I sat in silence. A pair of underwear stained with white liquid lay on the seat beside me, and it stung my heart.

Serafina twisted in her seat, tossing me a smirk over her shoulder. "Oh my god, I just realized, my panties are still here. Can you believe that, babe? After everything we did in the backseat last week?"

She giggled shamelessly, like we were old friends reminiscing, not the two women tied to the same man.

Dominic chuckled, completely unbothered. "You nearly tore the seat stitching."

"Mmm," Serafina purred. "You weren't complaining when I was grinding on your lap while you were parked outside the estate gates. Or that time I unzipped you during that long drive out to the docks and kept you nice and distracted."

Dominic smirked, eyes on the road like none of this was out of place. "That's because you make traffic worth it."

"And remember the time you had to pull over because I wouldn't stop using my mouth? God, you nearly lost it."

My stomach churned. I stared out the window, jaw locked so tight it ached. My fingers clenched in my lap, nails digging half-moons into my palms.

While they flirted like I wasn't even there, I quietly fished my phone from my bag and opened the latest encrypted message from Marco, my cousin. My heart gave a tiny, traitorous flutter as I read about my confirmed flight. The one I'd been waiting on for days.

Below the itinerary, he'd written a short message:

[Here's another flight schedule, Bianca. Hope you catch this one. The flight is scheduled for tonight at 9 PM.]

I smiled to myself. Just a little.

I typed a quick reply:

[Thank you so much, Marco. I'm sorry for missing the last one.]

Almost instantly, the reply appeared:

[What really happened that day? You can tell me.]

My fingers hovered above the screen. I didn't want to lie to him. Marco had always looked out for me. But if I told him the truth, he'd start a war between the families, and I didn't want blood spilled because of me.

So instead, I typed:

[I'll explain soon. I just need to get out first.]

Because to leave this place was what I wanted the most.

Dominic laughed softly, whispering an apology to Serafina for forgetting something, even taking the blame. Regardless, all the while, he watched me out of the corner of his eye, clearly hoping for a reaction.

But I gave him nothing. Not even a flicker of emotion.

That same strange frustration I saw in him back at the hospital stirred again. He couldn't stand it when I went quiet.

"Bianca, you've been glued to your phone ever since we got in the car," he snapped. "Who are you talking to? Someone I don't know?"

"Just reading the news." I didn't even glance at him and just gazed down at my electronic plane ticket.

It seemed that he didn't believe me as his face tightened, and I was shocked when, without a word, he suddenly snatched the phone from my hands. My heart jumped in my chest, not from fear, but from the sharp sting of anger.

I clenched my jaw, trying not to let the heat show on my face, but my fists curled on instinct. So much for respect.

"What's the passcode?"

"It's the date we met, Dominic. You know, that magical day where I made the worst decision of my life and fell for you? It should be easy to remember, as you were charming for five whole minutes before turning into a full-time nightmare." I didn't bother hiding the venom in my voice. Let it burn.

Dominic sighed in irritation, already regretting the guessing game he'd started. He tapped at the screen once. Twice. A third time.

The phone buzzed and flashed red. Locked.

Beside him, Serafina rolled her eyes and leaned in with a mockingly sweet voice. "Just let it go, babe. So what if she's on her phone? It's not like she has any friends left. Or dignity. I mean, what else can she do now besides text someone who pities her enough to reply?"

She winked at me with a smirk.

Bianca's POV

When we arrived at the compound, he helped the nauseous, morning-sick mistress up to the master suite and told the cook to make her favorites.

On his way back downstairs, he saw me heading toward the guest wing, dragging my suitcase behind me.

He paused, then muttered to the cook, "Make two more dishes. The ones Bianca likes. Set three places."

That actually caught my attention. Was that remorse? A flicker of guilt? A weak, pitiful attempt to play house while his mistress slept in the room we once shared?

I didn't know whether to laugh or spit. He couldn't remember the day we met, but sure, go ahead and have the cook whip up my favorite meal. Maybe he thought a plate of grilled rosemary lamb could undo what he did to me.

I clenched my jaw, said nothing, and kept walking.

I stepped into the guest room, closing the door quietly behind me. The silence was heavy, as if the walls themselves knew I didn't belong here anymore. Somewhere deep in the house a grandfather clock ticked, measuring out the last hours I intended to spend under a Valente roof.

I set my bag down on the edge of the bed and knelt to unzip it. The second the zipper peeled open, I stopped cold.

All of my clothes had been shredded. Torn into ribbons with clean, deliberate cuts. Damn it. But tucked deep into the lining, right where I'd hidden them, my passport and documents remained untouched.

For a second, I just sat, stunned. Who would do this?

I didn't have to think long. Of course it was Serafina. Who else would be petty and cruel enough to tear my things apart like this? But I had no time to confront her. Not now.

Let her think she'd won. I had more important things to do, like getting out of here alive.

I was crouched by the bed, shoving the last few salvageable items into my bag when I heard the door creak open behind me.

Serafina stood in the doorway, one hand hanging lazily at her side, holding a small black bottle. Her eyes roamed the room like she was touring a crime scene, nose practically wrinkling at the decor. Then her gaze landed on me, and if looks could kill, I'd be ashes already.

"Wow, Bianca. You're really something. After all the humiliation I've put you through in front of every Don and Donna in the territory, you still cling to this family like a tick."

She tilted her head mockingly.

"Oh, right. Your grandmother passed last month, didn't she? Now that your only real family is gone, of course you're clinging to Dominic like he's your last lifeline."

Then she giggled. The sound bounced off the bare walls of the guest room, thin and deliberate, the kind of laugh that was meant to land like a slap.

"Remember how you begged him to fly you out to see her one last time? You know why he didn't?"

She waved her phone.

"Because he promised to take me to the coast that day. We watched the sunset together. This kiss photo? Taken right then."

Her words hit me slowly, like cracks spreading through glass. The more they sank in, the more something inside me started to boil.

She'd known. She knew what she was doing when she showed me that photo. When she talked about the helicopter. My grandmother. That day I'd begged Dominic, on my knees, to let me see her one last time.

And he chose Serafina.

The weight of it all pressed down on me. My jaw clenched, fists tightening at my sides as the room spun with heat and rage. Something dark stirred inside me, growling low, just as my self-control snapped.

"You think this is funny?" I hissed. "You think tearing down what little I have left makes you what? His Donna?"

Serafina raised her brows, smiling like a snake. She touched the hollow of her throat, fingers resting there with a softness that made the next words land like venom. "I don't need to be Donna. I already have everything."

"You have nothing," I snapped. "You're a parasite. A leech clinging to scraps."

Bianca's POV

She shrugged, smug. "Still more than you."

That was it.

I slapped the phone from her hand. It clattered to the ground.

Then I lunged, my hand flying to her throat before I could stop myself.

The bottle slipped from Serafina's hand and hit the floor with a hollow clink. The sharp, unmistakable stench of gasoline exploded into the air, hitting my nose like a slap. It burned the back of my throat, filling the room in seconds.

We struggled, pushing, grabbing, stumbling over each other. Then she kicked something. Maybe it was a lighter, or maybe her heel struck the metal leg of the bed frame.

Flames erupted like they'd been waiting for a reason to consume us.

Smoke swallowed the room. My body, still healing from what Enzo had done to me at Dominic's order, couldn't keep up. I choked, coughing violently, my legs collapsing beneath me.

The last thing I saw before darkness claimed me was fire crawling across the ceiling.

"Bianca!"

"Don Valente! It's too dangerous! You can't go in! Let the soldiers handle it"

"Out of the way! Bianca's still in there!"

The sound of Dominic's voice tore through the smoke. I tried to open my eyes. Had I imagined it? Did he really say my name? Did he still care?

"Dominic, I'm here too. Please save me and our baby!"

For a moment, I almost believed he was coming for me.

It was pathetic, really. That tiny flicker of hope that burned inside me just from hearing my name fall from his lips. Like I was still someone he'd fight for.

But of course, reality slapped the fantasy right out of me. He hadn't come running in because he missed me. Not because he cared. He'd stormed in because he wanted to save face. Wanted to be the Don. The man in charge.

And when Serafina cried out? He didn't even pause. Just scooped her up like she was some precious gem while I lay there, smoke choking the last bit of strength out of me.

Half an hour passed.

After making sure Serafina was safe, he tore through every hallway of the estate to find me.

But I was gone.

I still wasn't sure how I'd made it out. The flames were everywhere, roaring in my ears and stealing every breath from my lungs. Smoke clawed at my throat, filling me with dizzying heat. But when instinct finally took over, it wasn't calculation that saved me. It was something deeper, something animal, the part of me that refused to die in a house that had already killed everything else I loved.

I moved mid-cough, muscles screaming, adrenaline flooding my body in a rush of pain and power. Everything became clearer and sharper. Even through the haze, my focus locked onto one thing: survival.

My bag. I lunged for it, grabbing the strap with fingers I couldn't feel. It tasted like ash and desperation against my skin, but I clung to it. Then I threw myself through the shattered window.

Glass scraped my sides as I crashed through, landing hard on the grass outside. My legs buckled, my chest heaving. But I was alive. Barely.

And I didn't look back.

One of the side hallways must've been untouched, or maybe the fire hadn't reached that wing yet. I dragged myself down it blindly, lungs screaming, barely able to stand, until I reached the back service door. The one the kitchen staff used for deliveries, the one no soldier ever bothered to guard because nothing important ever came through it. I collapsed outside in the cold night air, coughing so hard I thought my ribs would snap.

No one saw me. No one followed.

And I didn't stop. Not even when my knees buckled. Not even when I had to use street signs and parked cars for support. I just kept going, because if I stopped, if I let myself get caught again, I knew I wouldn't survive it this time.

Then I boarded a flight to the Northern Territories.

The moment before takeoff, a message came in.

From Dominic:

[Don't have time for games, Bianca. I'm not playing hide-and-seek.]

I stared at the screen.

Then powered off the phone.

Dominic's POV

[Tomorrow at 10 AM, Serafina's got her prenatal exam. You'll come with her. Get your lungs checked while you're at it.]

There was no reply. Honestly, I wasn't surprised. I didn't know it at the time, but Bianca had already yanked out her SIM card and powered down her phone. Just like that, she was gone. Cut me off entirely, with all the finality of a slammed door that would never open again.

...

The next morning, the private clinic on the compound's east wing hummed with low voices and the sharp bite of antiseptic. Serafina clung to my arm like she'd collapse without it.

"Dominic, is the baby okay?"

I nodded, keeping my voice even. "Enzo said the baby's strong. No lasting damage from the fire."

She sagged with relief. "Thank God. You've been so quiet since we got here. I thought something happened."

Something had.

I couldn't get Bianca's face out of my head. The way she looked at me through the smoke, not desperate or pleading, just resigned, like she already knew I wouldn't come back for her. And the worst part? She was right. I didn't carry her out of that burning house. I carried Serafina.

...

After lunch with Serafina, I dropped her off at the main house and went straight to the family's council room.

It was then that my underboss caught up to me.

"Don Valente, Salvatore Winslow has returned. He's called for a full sit-down with the captains."

I nodded and kept walking, but underneath the calm, something sharp twisted in my gut. Tight, restless, and entirely wrong. Bianca was nowhere to be found. She hadn't gone to the clinic. She hadn't returned to the estate. None of the men posted at the gates had seen her leave. No car was missing from the garage. No driver had been called. She'd vanished, and I had no idea how or when she slipped through the cracks.

Where the hell had she gone?

As I started to walk faster, I turned to my underboss again and said, "Get someone to pick up a few of the newest designer bags and some jewelry."

"For Serafina?"

I paused. "Send it to the Ferrante estate."

If Bianca was anywhere, it'd be there.

But if she wasn't?

I didn't want to finish that thought. My thumb found the wedding band on my left hand and rolled it slowly, back and forth.

What if she was hurt? Still recovering somewhere alone?

What if she'd really left?

...

One week later, just past midnight, I came home bone-deep tired from a strategy session with the captains over a territorial dispute along the eastern docks. I stepped into the main house and saw a soft figure curled on the couch in silk, like a memory that hadn't let go.

I chuckled. "Bianca, I told you Once I finish work, I always come back. You don't have to" I stopped.

It was Serafina. Not Bianca.

Her face fell when she looked up. "Dominic, she hasn't returned. Not once. I sent her so many apology messages. She won't reply. Maybe I should move out." She sniffled, on the edge of tears.

I let out a long breath and sat beside her, leaning in to kiss her forehead. Not out of affection, but more out of routine. "Don't think too much about it. The baby needs a calm environment." I didn't want to say it, but I forced the words out anyway, because I knew she was waiting to hear them. "This is your home now. Yours and the baby's. Whether Bianca likes it or not."

...

Later that night, I stood alone on the open-air terrace, wearing nothing but a robe. I lit a cigarette. Something I hadn't done in years. But tonight, I couldn't stop. The craving wasn't for the smoke. The desire was to soothe the restlessness that was gnawing at me from within.

The compound was quiet below. Two soldiers made their rounds along the perimeter wall, their flashlights cutting thin lines through the dark. Beyond them, the city sat low on the horizon, indifferent.

I pulled out my phone and scrolled all the way down through my contacts until I found Bianca's name sitting quietly at the very bottom. I stared at it, thumb hovering over the call button, frozen with everything I wanted to say but didn't. In the end, I didn't call.

I sent a message instead:

[Bianca, tomorrow is Salvatore Winslow's 80th birthday. Don't cause a scene. Don't start anything with Serafina or the baby.]

I waited. My chest felt tight, and for a second, I couldn't tell if it was from the cold wind. No. It couldn't be panic.

Dominic's POV

Salvatore Winslow's eightieth birthday was the kind of gathering that demanded appearances, smiles, honor, and an iron-tight grip on image.

I arrived at the grand hall of the Valente estate with Serafina on my arm. Her belly was beginning to show now, enough to draw attention. Whispers floated from the crowd, but none of it mattered. I kept my face blank, unmoved. Soldiers straightened as I passed. Wives looked away from Serafina and then looked back, unable to help themselves.

Only when my grandfather himself entered did I let go of Serafina's hand. He wasn't just the retired Don. He was the founding patriarch of the Valente Family, the man who'd built this territory from nothing, and the last living voice that still carried weight with the Commission. And I knew he had always loved her like a real daughter.

"Where is Bianca?" Salvatore asked me directly. His cane tapped once against the marble floor, and the nearest conversations went quiet.

"She's been busy preparing a gift for your birthday." I shifted my weight, trying to sound more certain than I felt. "She'll arrive later."

He studied me for a moment but said nothing.

Two hours passed.

The gift-giving was just about to begin, but still no sign of Bianca. I kept glancing at the doors, trying to act like I wasn't waiting, but the restless thing inside me was pacing, clawing at my ribs. The longer she stayed gone, the more I could feel the nerves crawling up my spine. I rolled my wedding band with my thumb, slowly, back and forth. Where the hell was she?

Just as I was about to step out and call someone, a courier walked in, carrying three neatly wrapped packages.

The courier looked between me and Salvatore, unsure who to address, fingers tightening slightly around the packages as if they were heavier than they looked.

"Delivery for Don Winslow," he announced respectfully. "They're from Donna Bianca."

My heart stopped at the mention of her name.

I cleared my throat. "Give them to me."

He hesitated. "I was told to deliver them directly to the Don. Her instructions were very clear."

Of course they were.

I stepped aside and gestured toward my grandfather. "Then do as she asked."

Salvatore was in the middle of a quiet exchange with another old-guard patriarch when the courier approached. He nodded respectfully and said, "This is from Donna Bianca, sir. She's wishing you a happy birthday."

The old man blinked, surprised. "Why didn't she deliver them herself? Where's my granddaughter-in-law?"

The courier gave a small shake of his head. "I'm sorry, sir. I was only told to deliver these to you. Nothing more."

Salvatore looked visibly dismayed, his eyes shadowed with confusion. Still, he accepted the gifts with quiet grace and carefully placed them on the table beside him, his hand lingering on one box as if hoping it might speak for her.

I walked over to my grandfather's side, wanting a closer look. "Do you want me to open them for you?"

He shook his head. "No. I'll do it."

Inside was an intricate embroidery piece, a tapestry of the family's patron saints gathered in blessing over a long life. It had taken her months to complete. I knew, because I'd seen her fingers bleed while stitching it.

The old man's eyes moistened.

He opened the second gift with a slower hand this time, as if he too was beginning to sense where this was going. It was a velvet box. Inside lay the heirloom jewelry passed down from his late wife, the same pieces Bianca had worn on our wedding day.

My throat tightened, and my palms started to sweat. Why would she send this back?

Then came the third box.

I couldn't take it anymore. My hands moved on their own as I reached forward and snatched the final package. My grandfather gave me a sharp look, but he didn't stop me.

I tore open the third gift box roughly and directly.

However, when I saw clearly what was inside, I suddenly turned pale and froze in place.