I used to be that girl in the mafia—envied, untouchable.

Orlando Leone, the big bad Don everyone feared, had eyes only for me.

I took a bullet for him. After that? People whispered I couldn't have kids.

He tried to shut them up by knocking me up—ninety-nine tries.

Try number ten? His shiny new secretary texted, all confused over a decimal. He bailed on me.

By thirty, she crashed his sports car while shopping. Claimed she couldn't park. I was left freezing in a bathtub.

He said he loved me, but when it counted, he always picked the girl who played dumb and helpless.

That's when it hit me—his love was never really mine.

And by the time I disappeared for real, he lost his mind looking.

Too bad. Me and that promise? Already buried at sea.

This was attempt number ninety-nine at getting pregnant with Orlando Leone. His mom, Caterina, dragged in some old strega obsessed with dusty Sicilian rituals.

She made me chug a bunch of gross stuff—wine, oil, ashes, herbs—all supposedly "blessed" under the Madonna's statue. Her pitch? This was my golden shot at popping out an heir.

Orlando kissed me soft, pressed me into the headboard. "Aria, don't stress. You'll always be my only wife."

Cute, right? Meanwhile, the Leone Family—a hundred-year-old mafia dynasty—was running Sicily like a chessboard. But no heir? Panic mode. And guess who Caterina kept breathing down? Yep. Me.

Every time Caterina pushed, I swore I'd lose it.

And every single one of our almost hundred tries in the last six months? Interrupted by his secretary, Bianca Quinn—annoying but ugh, "charmingly quirky," according to him.

Right on cue, just as things were heating up, Bianca called.

My heart thudded. I waited for the usual—him pulling away.

That line was for family only. But Bianca? Total VIP access.

She cooed about slicing her hand while chopping veggies. At home. Alone. Obviously.

Just as he was about to be inside me, he froze. Concern replaced that sweet look on his face.

I clutched his hand as he reached for his coat, totally wrecked.

Caterina had dropped serious cash to bring in the strega. If he bailed now, I'd be a joke. Worse—punished.

He caught the panic in my eyes, just brushed my fingers. "Babe, I'll be right back. Tonight's ours. I'll handle Madre."

His car peeled off. Seconds later—knock, knock.

The strega was back.

She grabbed my wrist—way stronger than she looked.

With this creepy little laugh, she went, "If the Don leaves now, you've clearly failed to hold him. Time for punishment."

I tried to yank free. No luck.

"Let me go!"

She pulled out a silver pin, tied with red ribbon and rosemary.

"This isn't punishment, Signora Leone," she rasped. "Just a little pain. He'll come back. The baby will follow."

Before I could move, she jabbed the pin into my fingertip. Pain shot through my chest like lightning.

Next thing I knew, I was being dragged down to the old cistern under the manor.

Freezing water snapped me back fast.

The pain in my chest kept spiking. The strega smiled like this was all a game and shoved a phone into my hand. "You've been punished, Signora Leone. Call him back."

My hands were shaking so bad I could barely dial. Just once—just this once—I wanted Orlando to choose me.

After a dozen rings, I got her.

"Hello?" Sweet. Flirty. Fake.

Pain stabbed deeper, but I forced the words out. "Put Orlando on."

"Who even is this? Don's in the shower. He said no calls tonight."

In the background, his voice—so familiar it made me sick. "Who is it?"

"No clue, babe. Probably spam."

I screamed his name with everything I had left.

Click. Call ended.

My hand dropped. Blood spilled from my mouth.

The strega crouched in front of me. "You'll keep being punished. Until the Don comes back."

Then she added, "I'll pray the child comes, Signora Leone. But I'll need your heart's blood to prove you mean it."

Before I could even process that, she drove a thick needle straight into my chest.

The pain wiped me out. Everything went black.

This whole torture session? Caterina's idea. Apparently, I'd "failed" at keeping her precious son around.

When I came to, sunlight was slicing through the window.

A doctor rushed over, his face tight with concern.

I managed a weak smile. "Who brought me here?"

"The Leone Family's car dropped you off. The strega left some meds for the surface wounds."

I gave a bitter smile. Her "remedies" always worked. Not a single bruise left.

"Help me up. I need to go home."

But the doctor's face shifted—serious now. "Mrs. Leone... while you were out, we ran some tests. It's stomach cancer. Late stage."

Late stage?

My brain froze.

So the nausea, the vomiting, that night in the cistern when I coughed up blood—it wasn't the strega's potions. It wasn't pregnancy.

It was cancer.

But I didn't feel fear. Not even despair. "How long?"

"With treatment... maybe six weeks. The Don will—"

Even braced for it, my heart still cracked.

Six weeks.

Orlando and I used to dream about a future—kids, laughter, a life that felt whole.

Now, I wouldn't even make it to spring. Wouldn't see the roses bloom in the manor's garden.

Would he care? Mourn me? Try to fix it?

I gave a faint smile and shook my head.

Maybe we really did love each other once. But he's sitting on top of the world now, and this broken body's got nothing left to offer.

Time to let go. I'll be the one to walk away first.

He'll have kids with someone else. The great Leone legacy will live on.

I begged the doctor to keep it quiet.

When I got back, laughter spilled through the manor halls.

I pushed open the door—there they were. Orlando and Bianca, cozy on the couch.

And of course, Caterina was there too.

Orlando looked up, saw my pale face. "Aria, you okay? You look sick."

His arm was still around Bianca's waist.

Caterina gave me one of her signature coughs—judgy and smug.

Yeah, she wasn't saying a word about what happened last night.

"I'm fine," I muttered.

"Good." Orlando let out a breath, then held up a medical report. "Bianca's pregnant."

My mind just... blanked.

That's when I noticed—the mystic candle scent was gone.

The Leone empire ran on mafia deals, but lately, Caterina had gone full witch mode, burning rare Sicilian candles in every corner of the house.

I was allergic—so bad I'd puke for hours. Orlando never cared.

But now? Poof. Gone. All for Bianca.

I should've known. He'd already slept with her.

Then I saw it—a faint red mark on his neck. And before I could stop myself, the words slipped out.

"Orlando... is it really your child?"

Bianca shot me a glance, then melted dramatically into Orlando's chest.

"If it's not his, then whose could it be?"

Caterina clasped her hand. "Bianca, giving Orlando an heir ends our family's worries. You two look perfect together."

She didn't even look my way.

Orlando just smiled. Said nothing.

I turned and headed for the stairs, gripping the railing. Knowing what was eating me from the inside, every step felt heavier.

Back in the bedroom, I started packing. Funny how years of marriage barely filled a suitcase.

Dad's old place up north—quiet, forgotten. Perfect for dying in peace.

The door creaked. Fast footsteps.

"Aria, you're leaving?"

Orlando grabbed me.

Wish he'd done that last night. One hug might've saved me from that damn cistern.

Too bad he reeked of Bianca's perfume. I almost gagged.

He squeezed tighter. "I went to see Bianca yesterday 'cause she cut her finger. Then she showed me the test results, so... I stayed."

Of course he did.

My tears soaked his tie. My voice cracked. "You've been with her a while, haven't you?"

He let out this dramatic sigh.

"Yeah. I'm sorry, Aria. I didn't mean to hurt you. But Madre and the family kept pushing for an heir. When Bianca has the baby, it'll be raised by you. Please—believe me. You're my only wife."

I gave him a bitter smile. 'You didn't mean to hurt me'? Cute. Guess all these scars just showed up on their own.

"Aria, don't leave me. I really can't lose you."

I didn't bother replying. Just dropped the real question. "Orlando, remember why I can't have kids?"

He froze. Yeah. Didn't think so.

Everyone loved blaming me—said I wasn't worthy of the Don's wife title. But none of them remembered how I'd pulled every string my dad had. Or how I took two bullets meant for Orlando.

That's how he won his little throne.

And back then? He held my hand to his chest and swore I was it for him.

"Aria, don't leave me, please. You're the only one I love." He grabbed my hand—then paused when he felt my bare wrist.

No bracelet.

The opal one. Tenth anniversary. His pick.

"Why aren't you wearing it?"

I glanced at the jewelry box already zipped away, pulled it out, and clipped it on. "Heading to my dad's place for a bit. Didn't wanna scratch it packing."

He looked almost... relieved. "I'll take you. I'll assign extra guards. Just—don't stay too long, okay? I know I haven't been around much. But when you're back, it'll be our anniversary. Let's go somewhere."

I stared into those pretty eyes, shoving down the pain in my stomach. "Okay."