The Ferraro Bride Who Walked Away From the Marchetti Throne

When the doctor later called it a threatened miscarriage, all I knew that morning was the blood soaking through the leather of Dominic Marchetti's back seat.

He looked at the stain the way a made man looks at something that will cost him, with disgust, and put me out of the car onto the curb.

You couldn't see your own body coming? How unlucky, he snapped.

That night, just after I got home, he tossed a scrap of lace at me like a coin to a beggar.

"Bianca stained these. Wash them."

I opened my phone and saw the post his childhood sweetheart had put up on her page for all the Family to admire.

[When it's my time of the month, my silly brother frets more than I do.]

The photo showed Dominic in the kitchen of the estate, sleeves rolled, carefully tending a pot of brown sugar and peach gum soup.

Without hesitation, I called the man I answered to overseas.

"Give me the assignment with the Vitale Family. I'm ready to take it."

"You're certain?" he asked. The line hummed with the distance between two territories. "If you come, you're gone at least three years."

"I'm certain," I said.

The moment I ended the call, Dominic walked out of the kitchen.

He's a fine cook. He never bothers with it unless it's for her.

"Who were you talking to?" he asked.

I didn't answer. I went straight to the bedroom, only to find Bianca Costa lying across our marriage bed.

She looked up and gave me that soft, victorious smile.

"Adriana Ferraro, your bed is so soft. It really helps with my cramps."

"You don't mind, do you?"

Dominic came in behind her words, not sparing me a glance.

"Let Bianca rest here tonight. You take another room."

I didn't argue. I picked up my work laptop and walked out without a sound.

Behind me, that sugared voice carried down the hall.

"Dominic, the peach gum soup you made is wonderful."

And in a low, doting tone I hadn't heard turned toward me in months, he answered, "If you like it, have more."

That very morning I'd lost the beginning of an heir. My blood had soaked into the seat of his car.

But he'd decided it was nothing, gotten irritated, and left me standing at the side of the road.

I was shivering, frightened, unable to flag a car down in the pouring rain.

By the time I reached the hospital, the doctor only shook his head.

"If you had come sooner, we might have saved the child."

Back at the estate, I went into the study and found the approval for the Vitale assignment waiting in my inbox. I signed it without hesitation.

Meanwhile Dominic went to the bathroom. When he didn't find the warm bath I drew for him every night, he finally remembered I existed.

He noticed I was pale, working alone in the study.

He started toward the door, as if there were something he meant to say.

But before he could speak, Bianca called for him.

He paused. He smiled. He turned back to her room.

He didn't come out again the whole night.

The next morning, as I opened my door, I saw him stepping out of Bianca's.

For a second, neither of us moved.

He tried to explain. "Bianca had terrible cramps last night. Someone had to stay with her."

"I understand," I said quietly, and brushed past him toward the kitchen.

He frowned and followed.

"Adriana, listen to me. When Bianca wakes, don't be cold with her, all right? She's a gentle thing, easily wounded. Don't put your weight on her."

Since the day she came back from the American branch, our marriage had been nothing but arguments.

Every time I tried to say what I felt, what I feared, he'd wave it away to protect Bianca's fragile little heart.

But now, I am done.

My thumb found the bare spot on my left ring finger, the place where his token used to sit, and went still. I drew out my phone and set it in front of him.

"Don't worry. With you at her side, she won't feel any weight at all."

On the screen was Bianca's newest post, put up in the dead of night:

[My silly brother stayed up all night with his warm hands on my stomach to take the pain away. He's worn out.]

The photo showed Dominic asleep beside her, one large hand resting low on her belly.

He opened his mouth to explain. Nothing came.

And I didn't need to hear it.

But when he saw the indifference on my face, Dominic's brow drew tight.

"Bianca's still young. Don't quarrel with her. Once she's steadier, I'll send her back to the American branch."

I only nodded. "Alright."

Then I turned quietly and set about making breakfast, moving through the wide kitchen of the estate the way an associate moves through a room that isn't hers.

Watching my solitary figure at the stove, his tone eased a little.

"You always said you missed the porridge my grandmother taught me. Let me make it today."

He busied himself at the counter, but instead of feeling touched, I felt hollow.

We had been promised to each other for eight years, our bloodlines bound before I ever loved him, and in all that time he had never once cooked me a single meal.

Now, with Bianca back in his life, she was the one who got the care, the warm dishes, the hands that softened.

Just as I was about to speak, Bianca came running out of the bedroom, barefoot and giggling.

She clung to Dominic's arm and whined like a spoiled child.

"Dominic, I want the crab and shrimp dumplings from that old place over in the Westfield district!"

That place sat deep in territory the Family only crossed carefully. An hour's drive, and lines out the door on top of it.

I'd once told him I wanted to try it. He'd cut me off cold.

"No. Too far, too much trouble."

But now he just chuckled and tapped Bianca's nose with a fondness he'd never shown me.

"Alright, alright. I'll spoil my little foodie."

Without another word he took her out, and once again I might as well have been furniture.

I finished cooking alone, the way I always did.

Calmly, I picked up my phone and canceled the appointment for our betrothal portraits, the ones the Families expected before a blood-bound union.

Just after I hung up, a sharp pain tore through my lower abdomen.

I collapsed to the floor, curled up in agony, and instinctively called Dominic.

The phone rang and rang before he finally answered, his voice laced with irritation.

"Adriana, enough already. Can't you see Bianca's still hungry? I don't have time for this. If it's important, text me."

"Dominic, I"

Before I could finish, he hung up.

Everything went black.

When I opened my eyes again, I was already in the hospital. An ambulance had brought me in, no soldier at my side, no one from the Family standing guard at my door.

The doctor said I had miscarried, that I had lost the child, and that I would need to rest properly from now on.

That night in the hospital, Dominic called.

"Why haven't you come home?"

I didn't even hesitate. "Family business. I'm working late."

He didn't question it. He only said, "Bianca's staying at the house these days. If you come in late, don't disturb her rest."

Before, no matter how late I worked, he had never once called to check.

Now the only thing that worried him was whether I might trouble Bianca's sleep.

He never called again that night.

I could guess well enough how he spent it, and with whom.

The next morning I was discharged and went to collect my medication.

At the entrance I saw Dominic holding Bianca up. She looked frail and pitiful, both hands pressed to her stomach, leaning her whole weight against him.

Dominic caught sight of me and his brow dropped at once. He came forward.

"Adriana? You here to see a doctor too?"

There was displeasure under the words, as if he suspected I'd been tailing them, as if I were some rival's eyes on his back.

I looked at him calmly. "Yes. My cycle's been painful. I came to see the doctor."

His expression stiffened. Remembering, no doubt, how he'd put me out on the roadside two nights ago.

Seizing the moment, Bianca sank further into his arms. Her fingers rose to the base of her throat, and she let out a small, trembling breath before there was anything at all to fear.

"Adriana came to the hospital all by herself? Then it can't be so serious."

She turned to him, eyes brimming.

"Dominic, I'm useless, aren't I? When it hurts I can't even walk. You always have to carry me."

His face went soft in an instant.

"If it hurts, you tell me. I'll stay right beside you the whole time. Alright?"

He steadied her gently and they moved on ahead together.

Then, as an afterthought, he turned and looked back at me.

"Come on. I'll have you driven home," he said, the way a man tosses tribute to someone beneath him.

I declined firmly, saying I wanted to return to the Family's offices downtown.

But without a word, Dominic pulled me into the back seat of the armored sedan.

Bianca was already settled in the front, beside him, her posture loose and certain, like she owned the car, the driver's seat of his life, and the man behind the wheel.

"Adriana, just let Dominic drive you," she said sweetly. "He hasn't been going down to the club or the offices lately. He's been keeping me company. He has plenty of free time now."

In our eight years bound by the alliance our bloodlines swore, even during the feast days that were meant to be ours, even when I was sick in bed, Dominic never once set the Family aside. Not for me.

But the moment Bianca came back from the American branch, she became the sole recipient of his rare and undivided attention.

That thought stung. I looked up, my eyes quietly taking in the two figures seated ahead of me.

Just then, Bianca gasped, one hand fluttering to the base of her throat as a soft, trembling breath left her.

"Dominic, I think I've stained your seat."

There was indeed a faint, dark red patch on the leather beside her.

Dominic didn't flinch. His tone was gentle, even indulgent.

"It's alright. It just needs cleaning."

Then, almost out of instinct, he glanced at me in the rearview mirror.

Seeing that I hadn't reacted, he looked away without another word.

When we reached the building that housed the Family's legitimate holdings, I opened the door to step out and nearly walked into my supervisor, the man who ran the overseas dealings I'd been quietly assigned to.

"Adriana," he said seriously, keeping his voice low, the way men in this world lowered their voices when the words carried weight. "Are you absolutely sure about this? Once the request is put before them, there's no turning back. Weren't you meant to be married and away on your honeymoon next month?"

I was about to answer when Dominic lowered the car window, his expression cold.

"Adriana, Bianca wants to travel next month," he announced bluntly. "We'll push the union and the honeymoon back by a month."

I nodded without hesitation. "Alright."

He went still for a moment, as if he'd braced for me to argue, to make a scene, to fight for the wedding our two Families had spent years arranging. But I didn't. I simply agreed.

Before I could say more, Bianca leaned into him, tugging playfully at his arm.

"Dominic, don't push the honeymoon back. Let's all travel together instead."

Dominic grinned and, without so much as a glance in my direction, answered cheerfully.

"Sure. We'll all go together. Adriana, let's just book our trips separately."

I didn't object.

After all, I had already decided there would be no wedding. What reason did I have for a honeymoon?

I watched the car pull into the street, his silhouette shrinking behind the tinted glass.

My supervisor studied me with concern.

"Once the paperwork goes through, it takes about a week. But if it comes to that, I can move it faster. You could be gone the day after tomorrow."

That evening, for the first time in longer than I could remember, Dominic came to collect me himself.

The moment I got into the car, he pressed a warm bowl into my hands, black sugar and peach gum, still steaming.

"I made this for you," he said.

But the words had barely left him when his phone lit up in the console.

It was from Bianca.

Dominic, you're such a fool. You made so much of that soup. Are you trying to fatten poor Bianca into a little pig?

The car fell into an awkward silence.

Eventually, he broke it.

"You've been reading up on the overseas dealings. Planning some trip for the Family's business?"

I shook my head. "My supervisor only asked me to get familiar with them."

Sensing the low pull of my mood, he, who was usually all distance and cold edges, softened his tone.

"Take tomorrow off. I'll take you to the pictures. Weren't you always after me to see that new release?"

"No need. I don't have time tomorrow."

It had once been the film he was most eager for.

But he'd already seen it. With her.

No point watching it again.

He misread me, and his tone turned sharp.

"Adriana, what is your problem now?"

"I let Bianca stay under our roof for a few days, and already you're sulking?"

I was taken aback, about to tell him I wasn't sulking at all.

But he didn't wait for my answer.

He scoffed and pressed on, his voice heavy with accusation.

"With an attitude like yours, how am I supposed to make you my wife? Bianca would suffer for years under a woman like you."

Then came the final blow.

"Let me make one thing clear. In this house, I am the one who decides. Bianca staying a few days? That's nothing. Even if she lives with us for good, you have no right to say a word against it."

After saying that, he brought the car to a hard stop.

He left me on a dark, deserted stretch of road two kilometers from the estate and told me to walk back alone to "reflect on myself."

He drove home first, gently coaxed Bianca to sleep, then waited, certain I would come to the door and beg forgiveness.

We had been betrothed eight years, our bloodlines bound by pact. Every time we fought, no matter who had drawn first blood, I was always the one to bend. I would lower my head, apologize, and try to mend what was torn.

But this time, he sat alone in silence the whole night, waiting.

And I never knocked.

The next day, just after I finished my work, a message came from Dominic asking me to bring painkillers for Bianca. The place? A private room in one of the Family's better restaurants, the kind with quiet waiters and no witnesses.

I didn't want to go.

But I thought of what he had done years ago, when my own bloodline was brought low and diminished, how he had stayed at my side when standing near a Ferraro cost a man something. That debt, at least, had to be settled.

Then we would be even.

I carried the medicine to the private room, but before I pushed the door, I heard the playful voices inside.

"Bianca, you came back across the water for Dominic? So when's the union?"

With a soft laugh, Bianca answered sweetly,

"That depends on Dominic. I'm fine with whatever he decides."

Dominic said nothing. He did not deny it. He did not correct her.

I opened the door and saw him gently feeding her a bite from his own fork, the men around the table cheering and teasing them the way you tease a couple already promised.

The moment his eyes met mine, his face changed. Cold and sharp as a blade set on the table between two Families.

"Adriana, are you following me?!"

That one sentence made everything clear.

The message had not come from him. It had come from Bianca.

But what did it matter now?

Without a word, I dropped the box of painkillers onto the table.

"You messaged me about the medicine, didn't you? Don't tell me you've already forgotten."

Then I turned and walked out.

Dominic sat there, stunned for a breath.

Once, I would have gone in and made my presence felt, stood at his side and claimed what was mine before all of them.

But now I didn't argue. I didn't fight. And somehow that unsettled him more than any scene I could have made.

While I waited for the elevator, my patron called from the overseas Family.

"Adriana, your request has been granted. You can arrange your passage."

I nodded. "Understood. I'll arrange it now."

Just as I ended the call, I heard Dominic's voice behind me, confused and edged with suspicion.

"Arrange what?"

Without turning, I lied without effort.

"A sit-down dinner. He wants a private room reserved for a guest of the Family."

He said nothing, only stepped into the elevator beside me and offered to drive me back to the estate.

But the moment we reached the ground floor, his phone rang.

It was Bianca.

"Dominic, my stomach hurts... Can you come back and stay with me?"

Without a glance in my direction, he stepped away and rode the elevator up again, still speaking into the phone.

Back at the estate, I began to pack.

A short while later my phone rang. Dominic again, this time in a tone almost considerate.

"Weren't we supposed to sit for our betrothal portraits today? Why didn't you remind me?"

I had arranged everything for the union. Every detail, down to which Families would be seated where. He had not lifted a finger.

And now, because I hadn't reminded him, he sounded almost offended.

Folding my clothes, I answered without much thought,

"Well, since you're busy caring for Bianca, we can sit for the portraits after the honeymoon."

I didn't think it would set him off. It did.

"Adriana!" he shouted, furious. "Do you understand what my time is worth right now? How dare you decide such things without asking me?!"

"If you keep on like this, we'll call off the union entirely!"

He ended the call.

For a moment, my chest ached.

The boy who once stood beneath the fireworks at a Family feast, swearing he would make me the happiest woman alive, was gone.

I took the framed portraits of the two of us down from the shelves and, without hesitation, dropped every one of them into the trash.

Late in the night Dominic came home, holding up a drunken Bianca. He noticed at once that the house looked different, that things were missing.

Already in a foul temper, his irritation hardened into anger.

"Adriana, what kind of game are you playing now?"

I looked up from folding the last of my clothes and said, calm as still water,

"The house was getting cluttered. I'm only tidying up."

He shot me a cold glance, then carried Bianca straight into the bedroom of the safe house.

Moments later, I could hear her shrill, drunken giggles coming from behind the door.

Annoyed, Dominic told her to stop making noise and came out to ask me for hangover medicine.

Back when the Family kept him at sit-downs and tribute banquets every other night, I always kept a supply of hangover pills ready in the cabinet, the way a soldier's wife learns to keep bandages within reach.

But not anymore. I threw them all away, along with the rest of my patience.

Thinking of this, I responded flatly, "We're out."

"Fine. Just send me the brand name. I'll have someone fetch it."

When I didn't reply, he grabbed my phone from the table, visibly irritated, and tried to unlock it himself.

But after several failed attempts, his face darkened with frustration.

"Adriana, when did you change your password?"

I calmly took my phone back, turning the bare spot on my left ring finger with my thumb, slow, where the betrothal token used to sit.

"I changed it when I felt like it. Do I need a reason?"

His anger erupted.

"How long are you going to keep acting like this?!"

He turned on his heel and stormed into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. In this world, a made man who raises his voice has already lost, and we both knew it.

All night, the walls echoed with Bianca's coy whining, her voice laced with laughter, asking Dominic to kiss her, hold her, pamper her.

The next morning, a mild tremor rolled through the city, rattling the glasses in the cabinet.

Startled awake, Dominic's first instinct was to grab the panicking Bianca and rush her down to the street.

Only after the shaking stopped and the danger had passed did he remember. He had left me behind.

By then, I was already at the airport, the overseas passage the Vitale Family had arranged folded in my coat.

My suitcase beside me, I watched as his name flashed again and again on my phone screen.

I didn't answer.

Just before boarding, I sent him one final message.

[Let's sever the alliance.]

Then I removed the SIM card, snapped it in two, and dropped it into the airport trash bin. Eight years, ended as quietly as a debt marked paid.

At the exact moment he received my message, Dominic was holding his phone, expression frozen, his eyes turning icy.

Beside him, Bianca's expression flickered with barely disguised joy. Then she touched the base of her throat and let out a soft, trembling breath, and only after that did she force the tears to come.

"Dominic Adriana must be upset because of me. It's my fault If she comes back, I'll move out. I promise I won't bother you anymore."

Dominic rubbed his temples, his tone irritable.

"Don't worry. I won't let her put you out."

He pulled out his phone, about to type a message telling me to come back, but then his gaze landed on the table, and he froze.

His breath caught in his throat.

At that moment, his phone rang again. It was a call from one of the Family.

"Dominic! Check the group thread. Did you see what Adriana sent? What in God's name is going on?"