Five years into my marriage, my world shattered. My husband, Julian Valachi—the formidable Don of the New York Valachi crime family—brought home a pair of mysterious twins, declaring he would pass the entire family enterprise on to them. The promise we had made to protect our world, a world meant only for us, now felt like a bitter joke.

I naively thought he had simply had a change of heart, so I eagerly went to the family's private clinic. I was ready to remove the "special implant" that was supposedly there for my health, so I could finally give him a blood heir.

However, the news from the specialist they’d flown in was a physical blow.

"Some women are born without a uterus," the specialist said, his gaze steady and impassive. "That is not the case with you, Mrs. Valachi. Yours was surgically removed."

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1

My mind went blank. In the five years of our marriage, I’d only had one surgery under general anesthesia—a supposed “cyst removal,” and Julian had been by my side the entire time.

Removing a tiny cyst hardly required general anesthesia, but Julian, worried I might feel a twinge of pain, had used his authority as the Don to insist the clinic use the strongest anesthetic possible. Could my uterus have been secretly removed during that procedure?

It couldn't be. Julian had been waiting right outside the operating room. The family's private clinic would never dare pull something like that behind his back.

As I was reeling, sharp, angry voices drifted from the private chapel on the estate—it was Julian's sister, Isla Valachi.

"Julian, this is too much! Bringing those children home was one thing, but now you’re bringing Silvana Rinaldi here, too? Are you trying to humiliate Alessia in her own home?"

"Watch your mouth, Isla," Julian responded coldly, his face a grim mask. "Betrayal? It’s not what you think. Her father took a bullet for me. This is about repaying a debt."

"Oh, please," Isla scoffed. "Repaying a debt by having twins with her? Spare me the hypocrisy, Julian. What about the vows you made to Alessia?"

"I didn't want the children either," Julian snapped. "But her father died for me. His only wish was for Silvana to be taken care of. I owe him my life. Giving her security and children was the least I could do to honor that. I had no choice."

"No choice?" Isla's voice rose to a shriek. "So you married her? In secret, in Sicily? And you lied to Alessia, told her she had some fatal genetic disease just so you could have her uterus removed during a cyst surgery?"

The words struck me like lightning. My vision tunneled to black, and I staggered, my legs threatening to give out.

So the one who ordered my uterus removed… was my own husband?

"Alessia is too pure," Julian continued, his voice laced with a bizarre pride. "Childbirth is a brutal, bloody affair. I couldn’t let her be tainted by it. Besides, a check-up revealed a fatal genetic risk linked to childbirth. Her life would have been in danger. Isn't this for the best? Silvana has delivered the heirs, the Valachi family is secure, and Alessia is spared the pain and risk."

"As for Silvana, she has a terminal illness; her days are numbered. She gave me Dario and Chiara. I can't just let her die alone out there. I'm bringing her home to spend her final days here."

Julian was actually pleased with himself.

"What I've done might seem extreme," he said, "but in the end, it’s the best outcome for everyone. Just keep this to yourself, Isla. She only has a week left. After that, this will all be over."

I don't know how I made it back to the house. A bone-deep chill enveloped me, and the once-warm rooms now felt like an icebox. Every corner held a memory of Julian and me. I had always believed he was the man who loved me more than anyone in the world.

We had kissed under the Tuscan moonlight; we had gazed out at the world from an Alpine peak; we had found stolen moments of peace on a deserted private island, far from the family's brutal business.

Julian was the feared Don of a crime family, a man who shouldn't have had time for such things, but because I adored them, he made every single one happen.

"Dying under an enemy's gun for you would be a price worth paying," he had once said, holding me tight, his voice hoarse with emotion. "As long as you're by my side, I'll have no regrets. You are the only woman I will ever love."

Those vows, once so achingly sincere, now felt rotten to the core.

My composure shattered. I couldn't stay in this house filled with lies and tainted memories a moment longer. I lit the fireplace and, one by one, threw every memento of our life together into the flames.

As the fire roared, the front door suddenly opened. Julian was back, and with him was Silvana—pale, fragile, and dressed in a hospital gown.

"Alessia, this is Silvana," Julian said smoothly, his eyes not even flicking to the inferno in the hearth. His smile was gentle, the lies rolling off his tongue with practiced ease. "You may have heard of her. She's the daughter of a dear departed friend and has no one. She has terminal cancer, not much time. I couldn't leave her to die alone in a hospital, so I brought her here."

"Don't worry," he added quickly. "I've already hired a private nurse. You won't have to lift a finger. You can even pretend she isn't here."

His tone left no room for argument; the decision was made.

"Fine," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

I tossed a precious antique book of poetry—the first gift Julian had ever given me—into the fire. The pages curled, blackened, and turned to ash, just like my marriage.

And so, Silvana moved in. The family of four was finally "reunited." The moment the two children saw Silvana, their faces lit up with pure, unadulterated joy.

The younger one, Chiara, couldn't contain her excitement and blurted out, "Mamma!"

Fortunately, Julian was quick. He pulled me into his arms possessively, kissed my cheek, and then chuckled. "Our little princess is calling for you, my love."

But the supposedly "adopted" twins, Dario and Chiara, had been in the Valachi house for three months. In all that time, even when I’d tried to win them over, they had never once looked my way.

Now, forced to keep up the charade, Chiara shot me a vicious glare before saying with a pout, "Mamma, I want that spiky fruit. Peel it for me."

The fruit had a tough, thorny rind that would prick my fingers. She wanted to hurt me. All because she thought I was competing with her real mother for her papa's affection.

Chiara had often made such demands. I had always assumed she was just a child testing boundaries and had fulfilled her requests without a second thought. But now, seeing the undisguised malice in her eyes, my heart turned to ice.

"If you want it, ask one of the maids to peel it."

Julian moved to stand between us, taking my hand gently. "My wife's hands are for restoring priceless works of art," he said with a soft smile. "I can't even bear to let her do something like this for me."

Silvana's expression immediately darkened, a flash of pure hatred in her eyes as she glared at me in silence.

Then, out of nowhere, she suddenly asked, "Julian, where is your St. Christopher medallion?"

Julian always wore a medallion around his neck—one I had personally sought for him. I had made a pilgrimage all the way to Sicily, kneeling on every single stone step of the sacred mountain to reach the oldest church, just to have this medallion blessed. The medallion had been personally blessed by the bishop, and Julian, deeply moved, had worn it ever since, never taking it off.

Now, his chest was bare.

"The medallion?" Julian froze. "I was wearing it this morning—"

Just as he was about to anxiously search for it, he looked up and met Silvana's smoldering gaze. Her face flushed as she slowly licked her lips. Then, as Julian watched, she discreetly slipped a hand between her legs, shifting her body just so and letting out a soft, breathy moan.

"Ah… Julian… my stomach hurts. Can you help me upstairs to lie down for a bit?"

Her meaning was unmistakable.

Julian's breathing grew heavy. He lowered his voice and said, "Alessia, I'm going to help Silvana upstairs. You watch the children."

Without waiting for my reply, he eagerly guided Silvana toward the staircase.

My heart went completely cold. I instructed the maids to take the children to their rooms, then quietly followed them upstairs.

The bedroom door was ajar. Julian had been in such a rush he’d forgotten to lock it.

"Are you insane? You put my medallion in a place like that!"

Julian was scolding her, but his voice held no anger—only a raw, suppressed excitement.

"Ah… Julian… it's too deep. I can't get it out. Please, help me…"

Silvana guided his hand. A moment later, I heard the clink of metal on the floor. A medallion, stained and soiled, rolled slowly to a stop at my feet.

I closed my eyes in despair. The medallion I had so devoutly prayed for—a token of my faith and love—was now just a prop in their filthy game.

They didn't even try to hide it, trampling on my love and faith right before my eyes. I no longer wanted this marriage. I no longer wanted this man.

I had had enough. That night, I contacted the most famous "cleaner" in the underworld, a lawyer named Silas Thorne. I had him draft a separation agreement to divide our marital estate. At the same time, I paid a hefty sum to a professional team to erase all traces of my existence.

"I want to disappear completely," I said over an encrypted phone line. "How long will it take to erase every trace of me here?"

"One week, at the earliest," the voice on the other end replied.

I paused.

Julian had said Silvana only had a week left. That after a week, everything would be over. He would return to his family, return to me, and love me with his whole heart again.

A soft, bitter laugh escaped my lips.

Where in the world does someone get to have it all? To play around and then just waltz back to his family? Did he really think I would always be there, waiting?

No. I wouldn't wait. And he couldn't come back. Because when he decided to return, he would find he no longer had a home.

"Fine. One week," I said without hesitation. "The money has been transferred. Make sure I vanish completely."

The next morning, the desecrated medallion was once again around Julian's neck. The sight of it made my stomach churn, and I couldn't touch my breakfast.

Julian, however, looked sickeningly proud. "Alessia, look, I found the medallion. It’s the symbol of our love. I'll wear it for the rest of my life and never lose it again."

As soon as the words left his mouth, Silvana, sitting across from him, suddenly contorted in pain. She spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor and began to convulse violently.

"Silvana! What's wrong?" Julian cried, rushing over and sweeping her into his arms.

At the same time, the two children burst into tears.

Chiara pointed a trembling finger at me and shrieked, "Papa, it was her! Mamma did it! She put pistachio powder in Silvana's coffee! Silvana's allergic! She's trying to kill her!"

Julian's brow furrowed as he shook his head. "Chiara, that's ridiculous. Alessia would never do something like that."

But the next second, the older twin, Dario, rushed over and covered his sister's mouth, his voice trembling with manufactured fear. "Chiara, stop, or Mamma will kill us too!"

As he spoke, he deliberately pulled up his sleeve. His small arm was covered in a horrifying collection of deep, overlapping bruises, as if he had been repeatedly beaten with a rod.

Julian's eyes widened. He slowly looked up, his gaze locking on me with disbelief.

"You did this to them?"

My expression remained placid. "If I said no, would you believe me?"

When we married, he had promised to believe me unconditionally. But now, faced with a blood-spewing Silvana and two bruised children, rage twisted Julian's features.

"They're five years old! Do you think they would make something like this up? Besides, who in this house would dare to lay a hand on them but you? Alessia, they're just children. How could you be so cruel?"

Silvana was still convulsing. Julian, abandoning the argument, scooped her up, ready to call the family doctor.

Just then, I found it hard to breathe. My throat began to swell, constricting as if something were lodged deep inside. A red rash bloomed across my skin—the unmistakable signs of a severe allergic reaction.

"Pistachios…" I choked out, clutching my neck. "I'm allergic… to pistachios…"

I had only had a cup of coffee that morning. Everyone in this house knew about my allergy; the staff would never make such a mistake.

Chiara shot me a triumphant glance—she was the one who had done it.

"J-Julian…" My breathing grew ragged.

I tried to call his name, hoping he would take me to the clinic with her. But Julian just gave me a glacial look.

"Stop the act, Alessia," he said, his voice laced with ice. "Everyone here knows you're allergic to pistachios. Why would anyone put them in your food? Is it so hard to admit you were wrong that you have to fake a reaction for sympathy? I'm so disappointed in you."

With that, he turned and strode out, carrying Silvana, leaving me to suffocate on the cold marble floor.