Seven Years of Lies, a False Heir in My Belly

On the day my betrothal-pact was to be sealed, the boy I'd grown up loving broke it before God and every family in the room.

In front of them all, Marco Rosso took Vittoria Volpe by the hand and said it loud enough to carry to the back of the hall: this was the woman he meant to take, pact or no pact.

My father collapsed where he stood. The old weakness in his heart seized him, and by the time the soldiers got him out of the District and to the hospital, there was nothing left for any doctor to save. Don Vincenzo Castellano, who had ruled the Harbor with his ring turned once around his finger before every judgment, died of an insult he could not avenge.

In the darkest hour of my life, only one man stayed at my side. Lorenzo Marchetti, the other boy from my childhood, heir to a Family older and harder than my own.

He comforted me. He steadied me. He walked me out of the pit I'd fallen into.

In the end, I married him. Two bloodlines bound under one oath.

Seven years of that union. Tender, respectful, devoted. The kind of match every Family in the District spoke of with envy.

When I learned I was carrying, I thought I was the happiest woman alive. Any day now, I'd be a mother. An heir to the Marchetti blood.

Then, the night before the holiday, when the whole compound went quiet for Christmas, I happened to see the messages on his phone. The ones between him and his oldest friend.

"Lorenzo, if Elena Castellano ever found out the child she carries is really yours and Vittoria's, made in a clinic and slipped into her like a counterfeit heir, can you imagine how it would break her?"

"Don't forget. Seven years ago, you and Rosso already broke her once."

Lorenzo had sent back a careless little smile. "Relax. She'll never know."

"Last time I told her it was just an appendix operation. The hospital's been taken care of. There's no way it slips. The doctors there owe the Family their lives."

"Vittoria's health is fragile. To carry a child herself would be too dangerous for her."

"Once the heir is born, I'll cut things off with Vittoria completely."

"I'll spend the rest of my life loving Elena properly. Call it her compensation."

I was shaking all over, the tears already sliding down.

So all of it. Seven years of a loving marriage. Had been a performance. An arrangement, like everything else in this world of pacts and tribute.

Lorenzo was no different from Rosso. The woman he loved was never me. It was Vittoria Volpe.

If he didn't love me.

Then I'd step aside on my own and let them have their happiness.

I'd barely set the phone back exactly where it had lain when Lorenzo came out of the bathroom.

I lay in bed, pretending to watch the television.

That familiar trace of his cologne drifted over me, expensive and clean, the scent I'd once breathed in like safety.

He looked at me with all the tenderness in the world, his hand settling on the soft curve of my waist.

"Elena, it's been hard holding back all this time, hasn't it?"

His voice went low and warm, and when his lips came down toward mine, I pushed him away.

Lorenzo stared at me, thrown.

"Elena, what's wrong?"

In all our years married, it was the first time I'd ever refused him. No wonder he looked so startled. A man like him was not refused anything.

I answered flatly. "I just don't want to hurt the baby."

His face eased a little. "I already asked the doctor. The pregnancy's stable now. As long as we're not too rough, it's fine."

Then he leaned in again, his eyes soft with longing.

The old me would have given in already, helpless against it.

But now my whole body felt like it had been left in cold seawater, unable to feel a single degree of warmth between two people in love.

Lorenzo was my husband. And inside me I was carrying the child he'd made in some clinic with another woman, a false heir slipped into the Castellano blood to corrupt it from within.

The thought of it cut straight through me.

I pushed him away a second time. "Forget it. I'm too tired tonight. I'm not in the mood."

He didn't press. He only nodded. "Must be the long day. Let's get some sleep, then."

He switched off the television and the lights, lay down, and wrapped an arm around my waist.

It was his favorite way to hold me. In no time at all he was asleep, the breathing of a man with nothing on his conscience.

But my mind wouldn't stop spinning, and I lay awake the whole night through. In the dark I pressed my father's signet ring into my palm until the crest bit into the skin, the only thing in this house these people had never managed to take from me.

Deep in the night, once Lorenzo was sound asleep, I slipped out of bed, went to the study, and opened his laptop.

Seven years married, and this was the first time I had ever gone looking through his things, the way an enemy Family does before it moves.

It took no effort at all to find the folder he'd hidden away.

I opened it. Photographs packed it edge to edge, a thousand at least.

Tokyo. Paris. Turkey

Different backdrops, the same scene in each. Vittoria Volpe and Lorenzo, wrapped sweetly in each other's arms.

I dragged the cursor to the last photograph.

The date stamp put it a few months back. Some private clinic, the kind no Family name was ever printed on.

Vittoria Volpe and Lorenzo Marchetti, wrapped around each other, beaming.

Behind them, the banner on the wall stood out in bold letters.

"Congratulationsyou're about to become a father!"

Looking at it, my heart dropped into nothing.

That day, Lorenzo had said he was meeting an associate, a sit-down he couldn't bring me to. I'd had nothing to do, so I offered to come along.

He'd laughed me off. The man was a lecher, he said, the kind who talked business only when no wife was watching.

If I tagged along, the deal would almost certainly fall through.

I believed him.

Only now did I understand. There was no associate, no sit-down. He'd had an appointment with Vittoria, to seed the false heir into her body.

I closed the laptop and walked out of the study.

I stood on the balcony in the cold wind the whole night. Below the estate walls, the soldier at the gate did not move from his post, his shadow long against the gravel. He would have killed for me on Lorenzo's word. None of it had ever been mine.

When the sky paled at the edge, I finally made my decision.

This alliance that looked so perfect from the outsideI didn't want it.

And Lorenzo Marchetti, I didn't want him either.

After we got up, Lorenzo reminded me while he dressed.

"Elena, don't forget the family sits down together tonight."

"My mother and father have been planning this dinner for weeks."

"Whatever you do, don't be late."

I sat on the couch and said nothing.

Before he left, he smoothed the lapel of his jacket with a single downward stroke, then kissed my forehead.

"I've got a few things to handle at the club. Come by this afternoon and we'll go home together."

"And I've got a surprise waiting for you. Make sure you sign for it yourself."

Once Lorenzo was gone, I started packing.

At noon, his surprise arrived, carried in by a soldier who set it down with the care men in this world reserve for things that might be wired to explode.

The newest Patek Philippe ladies' watch, along with a lavish custom lunch from the Family's own hotel kitchen.

"My woman gets spoiled by me. That's just how it is."

In seven years of this union, it was the line Lorenzo had said to me most.

Looking at the watch resting quietly in its beautiful box, something in me kept curdling, swelling, aching.

I lifted my eyes to the huge wedding portrait on the wall, the betrothal-pact sealed before both bloodlines.

In the photo, Lorenzo leaned into my arms, his face full of happiness.

But deep in his eyes, there was always a trace of melancholy that wouldn't lift.

I used to mistake it for the weight a Don carried, taking a bride to bind two families.

Only now did I understand. It was the grief of a man who hadn't been able to take the woman he loved.

I made myself steady, then called the only consigliere I trusted apart from the Family and told him to draw up the papers to sever the blood-pact.

I'd booked passage off the coast for today, but in the end I pushed it to tomorrow.

Because I'd promised Lorenzo I'd come home with him tonight for the family dinner.

A person should keep their word. My father taught me that.

The moment I thought of my father, my heart felt clamped in some invisible hand, aching dully. My thumb found the cold band of his signet ring and pressed the crest hard into my palm, the only inheritance my enemies had never managed to steal.

My mother died on a stretch of dark road before I was old enough to understand any of it.

Don Vincenzo Castellano raised me alone.

No matter how the territory bled, how heavy the nights, he never once thought of taking another wife.

Because he'd given his word. This life, he would love only my mother, and never let his heart turn away.

That afternoon, I arrived at the Marchetti club, the polished front that sat over everything the Family truly ran.

The moment I stepped through the doors, the familiar whispering started up among the associates.

"Elena's here to see the Don again."

"They're so in love, honestly."

"Of course. There was a feature once. Elena and the Don, named one of the ten couples every bloodline in the Harbor District envied."

"Promised to each other since childhood. That's why seven years in, they're still so good together."

"He runs everything, she's beautiful. Their child's going to be golden."

"The three of them together. Now that's the real picture of a made life."

"Madonna. We're all women here. How come I never got luck like Elena's?"

"Look at the watch on her wrist. Newest Patek Philippe. Worth six figures, easy."

"That's the Don's doing, no question. They say Marchetti puts a new watch on his wife's wrist every year, like clockwork."

"Elena Castellano must have saved a saint's life in another world to be claimed by a man like Don Marchetti."

"Don't sell her short. Her blood was no small thing. Her father ran the whole Harbor District before he went."

"A pity he died so young. They say it was rage that put him in the ground. Otherwise the old Don Castellano would still be the name every man in the Harbor District feared."

I stopped just outside the door of his study.

Lorenzo's voice carried through the wood, sharp with an anger he rarely let surface.

"I ordered two watches. One standard, one of the limited pieces."

"The standard one has already come. And now you stand there and tell me to wait on the other?"

"Is that how you do business with a man like me?"

"I don't want excuses. If that watch isn't in my hands within the hour, you'll answer for it. And you won't like the form the question takes."

So he had bought two watches.

I stood in the corridor a few minutes longer, then pushed the door open and walked in.

The moment his eyes found me, the cold fell away from his face and a smile rose in its place.

"Elena, you're here."

"Give me a moment, tesoro. Let me finish with these papers and I'm yours."

I told him there was no rush, that we had time enough.

Then I sat on the leather couch, scrolling through my phone, waiting in silence.

Lorenzo was a striking thing when he worked, all focus and unhurried command, the kind of stillness that made grown soldiers wait their turn to speak.

For a hazy moment, I thought I caught something of my father in him.

It wasn't strange, really. Both of them were men born to sit at the head of a table while others held their breath.

Not half an hour later, my phone buzzed with a notification.

I opened it. Vittoria had posted to her feed.

Nine photos, every one of them a close-up of the watch riding her wrist.

"The finest birthday gift I've ever been given."

"They say each new year outshines the last. I say having you outshines everything."

The comments came fast.

"Isn't that the Patek Philippe that only just dropped?"

"Dio, that's the limited diamond-set piece. Worth more than thirty-seven million."

"So jealous."

"No need to guess whose hand gave her that."

"My lips are sealed. I only wish two people in love their happy ending."

I kept scrolling, searching for Lorenzo's name in the comments. It wasn't there.

I glanced up. He was still bent over his work, his phone lying quiet at his elbow.

That was when it settled in me. When Vittoria posted this, she had almost certainly blocked him from ever seeing it.

Something bitter pulled at the corner of my mouth.

As far back as I could remember, today was the first time I had ever seen Lorenzo that furious.

And it had all been over a watch.

At last he finished, and we drove to the Marchetti estate together.

On the way, I closed my eyes and pretended to drift off.

His phone rang.

He turned to study my face, decided I was asleep, and only then answered.

"Lorenzo, thank you for such an expensive watch."

The voice through his earpiece was faint, but I sat close enough to catch every word.

The corner of his mouth lifted.

"It's only a little over thirty million. Hardly expensive."

"As long as it pleases you."

Vittoria sounded touched. "All these years, you've given me so much."

"And every gift more precious than the last."

"It troubles me. If Elena ever found out, she'd be hurt."

"I don't want the two of you set against each other because of me."

He gave a calm, low laugh. "Don't worry yourself. She won't find out."

"And I bought one for her too."

"Not as fine as yours, of course."

Vittoria dropped her voice to a whisper. "Lorenzo, tonight. Could you spend it with me?"

Lorenzo hesitated for a few seconds before answering, his voice full of apology. "I'm sorry, Vittoria. Tonight is the holiday, when every famiglia sits at the same table. I already gave my parents my word I'd bring Elena to spend it with them."

"All right. Buon Natale to you all, then."

There was such a deep loneliness in Vittoria's voice that something in Lorenzo's eyes softened with pain.

"Vittoria," he said gently, "I give you my word. Next year I'll be at your side for your birthday."

"And our daughter will be right there beside you too, by then."

Watching the happiness spread across his face, I felt my eyes sting, and my brow twitched before I could stop it.

Then a cry came through the earpiece, followed by the sound of something heavy hitting the ground.

Lorenzo went tense. "Vittoria, what happened?"

"I slipped in the snow. I'm hurt."

"Is it bad?"

"It's... it's not too bad."

"Tell me where you are. I'm coming right now."

Vittoria made a show of refusing. "There's no need, Lorenzo. I can have one of my men take me to a doctor myself."

"I won't ruin the holiday over something this small."

His brow furrowed, and his voice left no room for argument, the same flat command a Don uses when an order has already been given. "Tell me where you are."

Once he had the answer he wanted, he ended the call, pulled the car onto the shoulder of the road, and woke me.

"Elena, my consigliere just called. There's a sit-down. Urgent."

"Sorry. I have to head back."

"Can you arrange a ride for yourself?"

"Or I can have one of the soldiers come for you."

I lifted my head and looked out the window. Everything beyond the glass was pitch black, snow coming down in thick, heavy flakes.

We were far past the edge of the District, and it was the night of the holiday. Forget a car for hire, there wasn't another set of headlights anywhere on the road.

I didn't want to agree, but I was pushed out of the car anyway.

Lorenzo hit the gas, and the car shot off into the distance.

Quick. Final.

He was so worried about Vittoria he couldn't even be bothered to explain.

I took out my phone and found the signal almost gone. None of the apps would even open.

There was nothing to do but pull my coat tighter, lower my head against the wind and snow, and start walking, one uneven step after another.

More than two hours later, shaking with cold, I finally reached the gates of the Marchetti estate.

Through the iron railings I could see the lights blazing inside, laughter drifting out into the night.

A soldier on the gate spotted me and hurried to open it.

"Signora, why are you so late?"

I didn't explain. I just asked, "Lorenzo. Is he already here?"

"The young Don arrived a long while ago. With Miss Volpe."

The man chose the words carefully.

He knew the old story, from years back. How Marco Rosso had shattered the betrothal-pact between our bloodlines to take Vittoria instead, how the shame of it had driven my father to his grave. The whole Harbor District had whispered of it at the time, soldier to soldier, table to table.

He was afraid of cutting me open again.

A bitter taste rose in me.

Even a soldier on the gate knew enough to tread lightly around it. Lorenzo hadn't spared a single thought for how I felt.

In the front room, Vittoria sat on the sofa pressed close against Lorenzo, the two of them talking and laughing low. The moment they saw me, they pulled apart.

"Elena, you finally made it."

"I was worried sick."

"Why was your phone dead every time the soldier called?"

I said it flatly. "It died."

In cold more than ten below, a phone's battery didn't last long out on an open road.

"I'm sorry, Elena. This is all my fault."

Seeing me covered in snow, Lorenzo put on a guilty face. He smoothed the lapel of his jacket with a single downward stroke, took my hand, and sat me down on the sofa.

Salvatore and Carmela Marchetti came over too, fussing over me, scolding their son. How could he leave his wife alone out on a road like that, on a night like this?

It left Vittoria, off to the side, looking faintly, unmistakably caught out.

I turned to glance at her and saw only a small bruise across her forehead.

I had stood freezing in the snow for over two hours, and half my leg had gone numb.

Dinner was lavish, every dish one of my favorites, the long table set the way the Marchetti matriarch kept it for blood that mattered.

You could tell Salvatore and Carmela had put real thought into welcoming the bride of this house.

At the table, Lorenzo stayed at my side the whole time.

The whole family talked over each other, cheerful, debating what to name the heir who would one day carry the Marchetti name.

I didn't remember how anything tasted. I didn't remember what they decided.

All I remembered was the jealousy clawing in Vittoria's eyes across the table.

After dinner, I rested alone in the guest room while the soldiers settled into their watch beyond the door.

Vittoria shoved the door open and drove her foot hard into my injured leg.

I rolled on the floor in pain while she stood over me, her face twisting.

"Elena, there's something I have to tell you tonight."

"That heir in your belly isn't yours. It's mine and Lorenzo's!"

"So you don't get a say in what we name it!"

"You crippled little nothing. You worthless thing."

"Eight years ago I took the man you loved most right out of your hands!"

"And you didn't dare make a sound."

"Look at you now. Still worthless."

"Marco was mine, and Lorenzo is mine too!"

"You were never anything but a joke."

"Oh, and one more thing."

"Eight years ago, your father didn't have to die."

"After they carried the old Don to the hospital, someone pulled a few strings and swapped out one of the drugs that would have saved him."

The words hit me like a current, and my whole body shook.

"Who was it?"

My father's death was a wound that never closed. Don Vincenzo Castellano, struck down in the years his enemies still spoke his name in low voices.

I dragged myself up to demand the answer, and in that instant Vittoria snatched the fruit knife off the side table and turned it on herself, sinking it into her own shoulder.

I froze, unable to understand why she would cut herself.

Her scream tore through the room, and Lorenzo burst in, the door slamming back against the wall.

Clutching the wound, Vittoria sobbed, "Elena, no, please!"

"Don't hurt me. I never meant to take Marco from you back then."

"Please, just forgive me!"

Blood ran down between her fingers, staining the new watch on her wrist red, a thing worth more than most men in this house would see in a lifetime. Her thumb worried at the inside of her other wrist, her grief holding a half-second too long.

Rage twisted Lorenzo's face a mottled purple, and he swung his hand and slapped me hard.

"Elena, do you have any idea what you're doing?"

"Have you lost your mind?"

"Vittoria saw you weren't well and came to check on you out of kindness."

"And you pull a knife on her over something from years ago?"

The way Salvatore and Carmela looked at me changed too. Across the room, the old Don's cane stilled against the floor, and his wife's fingers found the worn rosary at her belt.

In their wildest dreams they'd never have imagined that I, always so gentle and good, could do something like this.

Vittoria put on her wounded act. "Lorenzo, don't blame Elena."

"If you have to blame someone, blame me. I shouldn't have called you, and I never should have taken that fall."

"It's my fault Elena had to walk all that way through the snow tonight."

"And eight years ago, yes, I'm the one who broke the betrothal that was hers."

"I'm guilty. I deserve this knife."

Lorenzo's eyes filled with tears for her. "No, Vittoria, you did nothing wrong."

"Marco fled the betrothal-pact because he never loved Elena."

"That had nothing to do with you!"

"And tonight, I went to get you because I wanted to."

"You can't be blamed for that either."

I didn't take in a word of it. My eyes burned red, fixed on Vittoria.

All I wanted now was the answer. Who had killed my father.

Safe under Lorenzo's protection, she shot me a taunting look.

I lunged for her like something gone mad, and Salvatore and Carmela held me back with everything they had.

Lorenzo had had enough. He called the soldiers and had me thrown straight out of the estate.

"Elena, if it weren't for the oath that bound us as man and wife, I'd have already handed you to the Feds!"

"Go home and cool off!"

"Do this again, and I'm severing the blood-pact between us!"

The moment the estate gates shut, something in me died to ash, and I turned and walked away without a second's hesitation. My father's signet ring pressed hard into my palm until the crest cut a mark there, the only inheritance they could not take.

My figure vanished completely into the dark of the storm.