He Let Our Baby Die for His Mistress,I Left and Never Looked Back

When the car took my baby, Lorenzo Falcone happened to be driving past with his favored courier in the passenger seat.

He saw the blood spreading across my white dress, and he covered the woman's curious eyes, tossing out a single cold line. Bad luck. Don't look.

Then he sped away into the night.

Late that night, in the corner of our bedroom closet, I found a piece of lace lingerie that wasn't mine.

I shut the closet door and calmly dialed a number.:

"Don Moretti, I've made up my mind. I can leave Falcone territory next week and take the place in your Family."

"That's wonderful news, Adriana Russo. Welcome to the famiglia."

The second I hung up, Lorenzo walked out of the bathroom.

His hair was half dry, the faintest trace of steam still clinging to him.

He used to wash in five minutes flat, the way a man does who keeps one ear on the door.

Lately, though, he always brought his phone in and took at least half an hour.

"Who were you just talking to?"

He asked, but his eyes never left the screen.

I told him plainly that I'd just gotten off the phone with Don Moretti.

He only gave a vague hum.

I knew it. He hadn't caught a word I'd said, same as always.

And for once, I didn't fight, didn't make a scene.

I just started typing the words that would sever my allegiance, there on my phone.

When Lorenzo picked up his glass and found the calming tea I brewed for him every night missing,

his gaze finally landed on me, like he was doing me a favor.

"Adriana, I showed your scans to the Family's doctor. He said it's just a minor surface wound. Just keep it dry."

I kept typing without looking up.: "Got it."

That afternoon, the wreck had left my calf stitched up in eight places.

And that wasn't all. They'd also found I was four weeks pregnant, with a threatened miscarriage.

The doctor said, with real regret, that if I'd been brought in sooner, the baby might have been saved.

Seeing how cold and distant I looked, Lorenzo knit his handsome brows and started to come over to see what I was doing.

Just then, his phone buzzed.

The corner of his mouth lifted instantly, and he turned and walked into the study, shutting the door the way men in his life shut doors on things you aren't meant to hear.

So I opened a burner account and pulled up Lorenzo's feed.

There was a new post visible to everyone but me.

An apology. Written by Lorenzo Falcone.

I shouldn't have broken my promise to the sweetest little courier in the whole world.

I'd promised to finish at the social club on time and take my girl out for a fine dinner.

But business ran long, and I made her go hungry for a whole ten minutes.

I was completely in the wrong. From now on I'll turn over a new leaf and be a good man to her.

I tapped "like," and right then the blood-pact came through from Don Moretti.

I opened the link and signed my name without a second's hesitation.

Early the next morning, Lorenzo went out and bought soup dumplings and steamed dumplings from a famous old shop near the waterfront.

Just as I reached to open the warm bag of crab-roe soup dumplings, he smacked my hand red.:

"Don't you like dumplings? I bought the shrimp ones especially for you."

I froze for a second, then it hit me. The crab-roe soup dumplings were for Bianca Greco.

I couldn't stop myself from asking him.:

"We've been together seven years. You don't know I'm allergic to shrimp?"

Lorenzo's face shifted slightly. He shot to his feet and said icily,:

"Always looking for something to complain about. Eat it or don't."

As he moved to leave, I went into the bedroom and carried out a bag.

"When you see Bianca later, do me a favor and give this back to her."

When he saw the lace lingerie inside, shock flickered through his eyes.

His mouth opened, like he wanted to explain something.

But seeing how calm I was, with not the slightest urge to argue, all he said was,:

"I'll tell Bianca to stop being so careless with her things."

"Sure."

Seeing how low my spirits were, Lorenzo offered to drive me to the club today.

Seven years at his side, and through every storm, the Don in him had kept the Family's business and his private life so separate he'd never once driven me anywhere himself.

Yet on Bianca's very first day in his service, she got chauffeured both ways.

At that thought.

I knocked my fork to the floor and reached down with trembling fingers to pick it up.

By the time I'd straightened up, Lorenzo was already past the foyer of the estate.

He didn't look back, just tossed out a line as he hurried off: "Something came up at the social club. I'll have a car take you next time."

Half an hour later, I limped into the front office above the club and dropped into my chair.

For some reason, the looks the associates around me gave me were mostly tinged with pity.

When I went to fill my cup near the back room, I caught two of them whispering.

"So Don Falcone really cut Adriana loose to keep that Bianca girl close?"

"Obviously. You should've seen it this morning. Bianca got her period and stained her skirt a little.

And the Don, right there in front of every capo waiting on the sit-down, scooped her up bridal-style and carried her into the top-floor room himself."

The mug slipped from my hand and shattered.

The gossip cut off mid-sentence.

I crouched down, quietly gathering the shards, and dropped every last one into the trash.

I worked late, until ten at night.

A sudden weight settled over my shoulders.

It was Lorenzo, draping his suit jacket around me.

"Adriana, I texted you. Why didn't you answer?"

I didn't turn around. I just woke my phone and glanced at the unread message:

What flavor of bubble tea do girls usually like?

Three years ago, I'd given in to the trend like everyone else and asked Lorenzo to buy me the first bubble tea of autumn.

Back then, Lorenzo had looked me over with open distaste.

"Adriana, you're a woman pushing thirty. Don't disgust me with this silly nonsense."

But now, here was Lorenzo, bringing me a cup of bubble tea unprompted.

Seeing that I hadn't touched it and kept working.

Something flickered across his face.

"Weren't you the one nagging about wanting this stuff?"

I brushed him off without thinking.

"It's too late. If I drink it, I won't sleep."

A brief silence. The ice in his untouched glass on the desk shifted, the only sound in the room.

The man said coldly, "I'm going to the restroom, then we'll go home together."

Half a minute later, the phone Lorenzo had set on my desk lit up.

A message from Bianca.

Lorenzo, you big silly Who sends dozens of cups of bubble tea all at once?

You're not actually trying to turn me into a little piggy, are you? trembling

We got back to the estate a little after eleven.

I walked into the bedroom and started packing up my personal things.

Fresh out of the shower, Lorenzo walked in and immediately noticed how much emptier the vanity looked.

He frowned.

"Adriana, I'm handling business in Paris next month. Make a list of anything you want me to bring back for you."

I answered without missing a beat.

"No need to bother. I don't need anything."

I was leaving in a few days anyway.

Why go through the motions.

Lorenzo threw his towel onto the bed and fixed me with an icy stare. He rolled the heavy gold signet ring once around his finger.

"So just because I brought home a breakfast that wasn't to your taste, you're going to keep throwing this tantrum, is that it?"

I'd just opened my mouth to explain that I wasn't angry.

When the man let out a scoff.

"You know I hate women who put on an act. Adriana, you've crossed a line."

He walked into the study and slammed the door hard.

Seven years bound to him, and Lorenzo had started countless cold wars.

And I had humbled myself countless times to make peace.

But this time, I truly didn't care. My fingers found the thin red cord at my wrist, and for once I didn't reach for him.

Lorenzo spent the entire night in the study, and not once did he hear a knock at the door.

The next morning, I made breakfast for two as usual.

Just as I'd finished my own portion and was about to head to the club.

Lorenzo came out of the study with frost written all over his face.

He held up his phone and ordered me, his voice prickling with irritation:

"Adriana, you've got the day off. Make me an exact copy of this fondant cake before five this afternoon."

From the night Lorenzo Falcone first claimed me as his, I made every one of his birthday cakes by hand, year after year.

I'd seen the cartoon icon glowing on his phone.

It was Bianca Greco's profile picture.

The drawing room fell silent.

And just as Lorenzo caught up to the fact that he'd asked something completely unreasonable, I gave a small nod.

"Send me the picture. I'll go buy the ingredients now."

That dinner seven years ago, if Lorenzo hadn't been seated at the head of the table.

I was fresh out of school, brand new to the life, with no one's protection over my name.

I never would have walked away from those men unscathed.

Once I finished this cake, I really wouldn't owe him a single thing.

Watching my forlorn figure head for the door, Lorenzo called out, dazed.

I didn't turn around. I only asked,

"Anything else?"

"...The money for the ingredients. I had it sent to you."

In the elevator down from his penthouse, I opened our chat history.

I noticed, with a bitter sort of amusement, that I'd sent him five thousand three hundred and sixty-three messages.

He'd replied to twenty-five.

Back in the drawing room.

The chime announced that my refund of his ten-thousand-dollar transfer had been bounced back.

Lorenzo's hand tightened around his phone.

At eight that evening, my phone rang. It was Lorenzo.

"Adriana, where are you?"

I was eating at a little noodle shop near my place, far from any of the Family's fronts. I didn't answer the question directly. I only asked,

"Did you need something?"

His voice was gentle.

"No. I just wanted to tell you the cake you made was as delicious as ever."

He paused, then added in a low voice,

"Thank you. You worked hard."

Before I could respond, Bianca's syrupy voice piped up.

"Adriana, honey. Lorenzo told me you made my birthday cake yourself today, is that true?

Dio, you're so amazing.

Not like me, all clumsy and useless. Lorenzo's always scolding me, calling me his little airhead."

The second Bianca finished inviting me to her birthday party, Lorenzo's voice came back.

"Adriana, you don't need to come."

And with that, he hung up.

Yet only minutes later, he sent a location pin, with a message:

When you come, grab Bia a bag of tomato chips from the shop nearby.

When I pushed open the door to the private room, Lorenzo was feeding Bianca cake.

The moment he saw me, his eyes filled with displeasure.

I knew the pin and the text had both come from Bianca.

But I came anyway.

When Bianca called me "the wife" with a sugary little laugh, Lorenzo glared at me, cold-faced.

"Didn't I tell you not to come?"

"I'm sorry, Lorenzo. I just wanted chips so badly, so I tricked Adriana into coming."

Watching Bianca pout, wounded, her fingers drifting to her collarbone as if reaching for a necklace that wasn't there.

Lorenzo ruffled her hair, doting, and murmured that she was his greedy little kitten.

Sensing he was in a good mood, I pulled out the papers at once.

"Don Falcone, one of the associates has a family matter and needs leave to go. Please put your name to this."

By the code, a severing of allegiance like this should pass through the men who handled such things, weighed and approved before it ever reached him.

But the moment his consigliere's people saw whose name sat on the form, they sent it right back to me.

The room was dim, and Lorenzo, busy bantering and flirting with Bianca, did exactly as I'd hoped: he didn't even glance at the name on the form. He just signed.

But as I reached to take the form back, he suddenly pressed his hand over mine.

He asked, thoughtful,

"Adriana, you came here just for this?"

When I nodded, his face went a little grim.

Not two seconds later, he let go of me fast, as if shocked.

He must have felt the blisters scalded into my hand from boiling the sugar.

He found it revolting.

Just then, as if she'd discovered something delightful, Bianca said to me,

"Adriana, that red string on your wrist looks so familiar.

Oh, now I remember. A few days ago I saw one exactly like it in our trash can."

Pretending not to see Lorenzo's hand move to cover his own wrist.

I answered flatly,

"This kind of red string is common. If you like it, I can give you the one on my wrist."

Bianca didn't want it.

Walking out of the room, the first thing I did was find a trash can and throw away the red string I'd worn for seven years.

The cord I'd touched a thousand times whenever my resolve had wavered. I didn't touch it now. I let it fall.

While I waited for the elevator, my mother called.

She asked if I'd booked my way home yet.

I said, "In a few days."

The words had barely left my mouth when Lorenzo's puzzled voice came from behind me.

"Book what?"

I hung up and lied without a flicker of expression.

"There's a restaurant everyone's talking about. You have to reserve ahead."

At that, Lorenzo said nothing more.

He just took me by the hand and got a suite at a hotel the Family owned a few streets over.

He opened his laptop and started handling urgent business.

We worked in easy, wordless sync until the small hours, and while we waited for word from a contact overseas, I couldn't fight it anymore and fell asleep.

When I woke the next day, I found myself lying in the bed.

Lorenzo was leaning against the headboard, reading the financial daily.

Seeing me stir, he had the men send up breakfast.

Halfway through breakfast, he asked out of nowhere why I'd changed my phone passcode.

"I wanted to, so I did."

The old code had been our two birthdays combined.

Since I'd decided to leave, of course I couldn't keep using it forever.

Lorenzo set down his knife and fork.

"Adriana, weren't you always nagging me to take you to a movie? There's a theater right nearby."

When the Don decides not to work, no one beneath him has the right to refuse.

In a quiet, near-empty theater, leaning against the man I'd given seven years, sharing popcorn over a comedy.

That sweet picture I'd once dreamed of, in this exact moment, came perfectly true.

And yet I had no interest in it at all, yawning over and over.

Noticing how absent I was, Lorenzo frowned. "You picked this movie. What? You don't like it?"

"No, it's good."

He heard the hollowness in it. His thin lips pressed flat, like he had something to say. Just then, a message landed on his phone.

And with that, he walked straight out without a single word to me.

Right up until the credits rolled, Lorenzo didn't come back.

I was about to call him when I heard it, not far off: that familiar, sweet female voice.

"Lorenzo, you're just too, too amazing!"

I saw Bianca, clutching a giant stuffed animal, laughing in excitement as she leapt onto Lorenzo and planted a loud kiss on his cheek.

Lorenzo held her by the thighs, and the smile in his eyes vanished the instant he saw me.

"Adriana, so you're here too."

Bianca looked at me, all surprise, and after a few seconds let out a bashful little shriek, covering her face as she slid down off of Lorenzo.

"Adriana, please don't get the wrong idea. It's all my fault, I just got too excited, so..."

Lorenzo gave the tip of Bianca's nose a gentle flick and told her, voice doting, what was there to apologize for.

Then he looked at me and said, casual as anything,

"The movie's over already?"

Before I could open my mouth, a piercing fire alarm tore through the building.

The crowd scattered in panic.

Before I could even react, Lorenzo had already grabbed Bianca's hand and was shielding her with his body as he ran for the emergency exit.

Five minutes later, the alarm, set off by accident, was cleared.

Lorenzo came back to where he'd been.

He scanned the crowd for a long time, but couldn't find me anywhere.

Two hours later, the blood-pact with the Moretti Family signed and folded away, I appeared at the train station, dragging my suitcase.

While I waited to board, my phone rang and rang for no reason I cared to answer.

The caller ID said Lorenzo.

I couldn't be bothered to pick up, so I just set it to silent.

The moment before I boarded the train.

I sent Lorenzo one message:

Let's sever it. We're done.

After it went through, I pried out my SIM card and dropped it in the trash.

...

I reached my hometown station near midnight.

The moment I walked out past the gate, I saw my father, who'd been waiting a long time.

In the passenger seat of his car, I found a big bag of the snack yogurts I love.

Before he started driving, he cheerfully poked a straw into the yogurt and put it in my hand.

Seeing the gray creeping into his temples, I finally couldn't hold it in, and burst into wailing sobs.

"Pap, this time I'm home for good. I'm never leaving again. I want to be with you and Mamma for the rest of my life."

"Silly girl. Whether you're by our side or not, you'll always be our most precious Adriana."

My father could tell I was in a bad way, but since I didn't volunteer to talk about it, he asked nothing.

Home, a shower, a meal cooked by my own parents' hands.

At ten that night, I lay in bed and opened my music app, meaning to put on something soothing to help me sleep.

Instead I found several private messages, to my surprise.

They were from the woman I'd been closest to among the Family's people.

Stunned by my sudden disappearance, she asked me, sincerely.

Had something happened?

Was there anything she could do to help?

Just as I was thinking about how to reply.

She sent a video.

She said, Adriana, this video of Don Falcone and Bianca is already going around all the inner circles...