On the day I went into labor, I called my husband ninety-nine times while I was bleeding in a broken-down car, but on the hundredth, his assistant answered calmly.

"Mr. Falcone has taken the private jet to fly his pregnant wife to the hospital."

Pregnant wife? I was his wife.

But that wasn't the worst part.

When I woke up, my baby was gone and then I heard the truth.

"Bianca's baby was a perfect match," Dante Falcone said. "We used his heart. Our son is fine now."

My knees gave out.

"We didn't have a choice," my mother added.

"She should be grateful," my father said coldly. "After everything we've done for her."

My child had been killed to save theirs.

I stumbled away, choking on the truth, only for Celia to smile at me.

"I don't have cancer," she whispered. "I just wanted everything you have."

I picked up my phone, my voice steady for the first time.

"Grandpa," I said softly. "I will return to take over my inheritance and get married to Luca DeLuca."

The woman who begged for love died with her child.

The woman who walked away is coming back to ruin them.

——

Bianca's POV

"I'm sorry, but your baby didn't make it," the nurse said the moment I opened my eyes. "You lost a lot of blood and were unconscious for three days. We tried everything, but we couldn't save the baby."

My ears rang at her words and I swallowed hard. My throat felt scraped raw.

"My husband," I whispered. "Dante… Did he come?"

The nurse's expression softened. "I'm sorry, ma'am. No one has visited you since you were admitted."

Bitter tears slid down my cheeks as the room blurred.

Three days ago, I had called Dante until my fingers went numb. Ninety-nine missed calls. More than twenty messages.

Please send the jet. I'm in labor.

The bridge collapsed. I can't get through.

I'm bleeding.

The pain had been tearing me apart when I finally called his social club headquarters.

"I'm in labor," I cried. "Where is Dante?"

There was a pause before the assistant answered, his voice careful.

"The Don isn't here right now, ma'am. He's taken the jet to fly his pregnant wife to the hospital because of the collapsed bridge. May I take a message?"

The world went silent.

"Pregnant… wife?" I whispered.

"No," I said hoarsely, shaking my head. "You must be mistaken. I'm his wife. I'm the one in labor."

Another contraction ripped through me. I cried out, clutching my stomach as pain split me open.

"Tell him it's Bianca," I gasped. "Tell him to come now."

"I'm sorry, ma'am, it seems you've got a wrong number," the assistant said.

"No, I'm not wrong. Call my husband... It hurts so much, call Dante!" I cried but there was no response, only the dial tone showing the call had ended.

My grip loosened and the phone slipped from my hand, hitting the floor.

The pain surged violently through my body, my vision darkening as voices shouted around me.

"Dante," I called, my voice breaking.

But he never came and then everything went black.

"Here's your phone," the nurse said softly, pulling me back. "We picked it up when the ambulance arrived."

I took it with shaking hands.

"If you need anything, press the call button," she added before leaving.

The room fell silent. Somewhere down the corridor a door closed, and the sound of men's voices, low and unhurried, faded behind it. The hospital smelled of antiseptic and cold tile, but underneath it I caught something faintly institutional, the kind of place where favors decided which wing you slept in and whose name appeared on the chart.

I unlocked my phone, my heart pounding, half-expecting to see missed calls flooding the screen.

There were none. No messages, no calls.

It didn't make sense.

When Dante and I were newly married, he couldn't go an hour without checking on me. Once, my car battery died and I was unreachable for three hours. He sent soldiers across the entire city looking for me.

Now he ignored me for three days.

I checked my messages again. Still nothing. Not from Dante. Not from my Marchetti. Not even from Celia.

Then a notification appeared.

Celia posted a new update.

I tapped it and a photo of Dante, my Marchetti, and Celia cradling a newborn filled the screen.

She was lying in a hospital bed and I recognized the room as one of the private wards in this hospital, the kind reserved for families who owned the wing.

The caption read: Family.

My fingers went numb as I scrolled.

I saw another post from three days ago, the exact time I was in labor and calling Dante.

Celia was sitting inside a private jet, her head tilted toward Dante as she kissed his cheek.

The bridge collapsed, so he didn't want me stuck in traffic, she'd written.

He flew me here himself. He takes such good care of me.

Comments poured in.

Such a caring husband.

You're so lucky.

So while I was bleeding out in the car, Celia was the "pregnant wife" he had flown to the hospital.

The screen blurred as my grip tightened.

Two years ago, I had pulled Celia out of a mangled car on the shoulder of the coastal highway.

That was how my Marchetti found their daughter who'd been missing for twenty years.

I took her in.

Held her hand when she woke screaming from nightmares. Sat beside her hospital bed when she gave her kidney to save Dante after he was shot during a territory dispute.

When he woke and learned it was Celia who saved him, he was grateful.

But when the doctors said she had cancer, his gratitude turned into devotion with him doing whatever she wanted.

I complained about his devotion and affection toward Celia but Dante always said the same thing.

"I love you, Bianca. Not her."

"I'm just returning the favor."

"She saved my life."

I believed him and stopped overthinking things.

When Celia disappeared for weeks and returned pregnant, she refused to say who the father was.

My Marchetti scolded her and called her careless. They told her to be more like me but I cautioned them and stood up for her.

I took care of her pregnancy and mine. Now she dared to post my husband as hers?

Even though Dante had married me in a quiet ceremony witnessed only by his consigliere and a priest on the Family's payroll, he promised he'd announce our marriage to the world at the next front-facing Family function, which was only days away. So how dare Celia try to pull this?

My hands trembled as I locked my phone and pushed myself out of bed. Pain shot through my legs, but I barely felt it as I made my way to the hallway.

That was when I heard the familiar voices of my Marchetti and Dante in a room at the end of the corridor.

I charged toward the room, anger coursing through me, ready to confront them, but Celia's teary voice stopped me in front of the door.

"I feel so guilty," she whispered. "Bianca's baby… I never wanted it to be like this."

Dante's reply came immediately. "Stop blaming yourself. We didn't have a choice."

My breath caught. What were they talking about?

"Bianca's son was the only heart-compatible donor," he continued. "The doctors confirmed it. If we didn't use his heart, our son wouldn't survive."

My knees nearly buckled as the world went silent around me.

"You… you really took her baby's heart?" Celia asked, her voice trembling.

"Yes," Dante said without hesitation. "He was born healthy. That's why the transplant worked."

I stopped breathing.

"But what about Bianca?" Celia whispered. "When she wakes up…"

My mother answered instead.

"She should be grateful she was given an opportunity to be useful to this family. She owes us a lot after we adopted and raised her for twenty-two years. Saving your child is the least she can do."

My father nodded and added, "Besides, you don't have long. When you're gone, the baby will need someone. Bianca can raise him as her own."

My stomach twisted violently as the room spun.

"You saved my life, Celia. There was no way I'd let our son die. Especially now that you're dying and I can't save you," Dante said firmly.

Celia's fingers tightened around the blanket. She reached out and touched Dante's hand.

"Thank you," she whispered. "For saving our son. For giving me my wish… to have a child with you before I die."

Dante leaned down and kissed her forehead.

"It's worth everything," he said softly. "I'd do anything for you."

The hallway tilted and I stepped backward, my chest burning as the truth finally settled.

It wasn't just Celia. My Marchetti had known all along. They had known who the father of her baby was.

They had watched me stand by her, defend her, take care of her and said nothing.

Dante hadn't just abandoned me in traffic. He had lied to my face every single day.

They hadn't just chosen Celia. They had agreed together as a family to sacrifice my son to save hers.

I stumbled into the bathroom and gripped the sink as my body convulsed, bile burning my throat, tears blinding my eyes. My fingers drifted to the pale mark where my wedding ring used to sit. The hospital must have removed it during surgery. The bare skin felt like a wound that had always been there, just hidden.

The door opened and I heard a familiar voice.

"Dearest sister, I saw you lurking outside my room door. Why didn't you come inside?"

I turned around to see Celia staring at me. Her smile appeared half a heartbeat too early, sharp and gleaming in her eyes.

"You!" I choked out, angry tears rolling down my cheeks.

Celia giggled. "I've waited for this day for so long. Carefully playing my part of a sweet daughter and sister but I longed for the day I would see you in this state looking broken and weak."

"Why, Celia? What did I ever do to you?" I asked, confused.

"You were adopted and enjoyed every bit of luxury I should have enjoyed while I went missing and suffered for twenty years!" Celia snapped.

"How is it my fault that you went missing? Since you returned you've gotten everything back. Why are you now doing this?!" I shot at her, fury burning in my chest.

"Because, dearest sister, you should have never been in this family! If they didn't adopt you then they would have looked for me. But now I'm back I'm going to take everything from you including your precious husband because they should have been mine!"

"You could have taken everything," I sobbed, my knees threatening to give way. "Why didn't you just leave my son for me? Why did you have to touch him?"

Celia laughed like a maniac. "Because I don't want you or your blood to breathe the same air as me. And what better way to get everyone to do my bidding than to play the dying cancer card? But guess what, I don't have cancer and I'm not dying."

Blood drained from my face as I stared at her. "You monster! How could you lie to everyone for years?"

My voice trembled. "I'll tell them. I'll tell everyone."

Celia giggled wickedly. "No one is going to believe you, dear sister. Not after I'm done with you."

And before I could move an inch, she deliberately banged her head on the wall before letting out a scream.

"Dante, help me! She's going to kill me!"

Just as Celia fell dramatically to the ground, the door burst open, and my husband stood in the doorway. Behind him the corridor had gone still, a soldier's hand frozen on his belt, the fluorescent light catching the gold saint medal motionless in Dante's fist.

"What have you done?!" he yelled at me in fury.

Bianca's Pov

I stared at Dante as he stormed toward me and grabbed my wrist, his face twisted in anger.

"How dare you hurt her when you know she's sick! Do you want to kill her?!" he snarled at me.

"If I could, I wouldn't hesitate," I shot back, my voice shaking but firm.

Dante looked taken aback by my response. He wasn't used to me ever talking back at him. All the years we spent together we'd quarrel and I would cower and apologize, but not anymore.

His grip tightened. "When did you become this vicious, Bianca? Your jealousy has turned you into something ugly."

"It's not her fault, Dante. Please don't fight because of me. Bianca didn't do anything, I just lost my balance," Celia's innocent voice sounded.

Dante rushed toward her, carrying her up like a fragile doll. "You're too kind, Celia. I'm sorry she keeps hurting you."

I let out a hollow laugh. "Kind? You call this kind? I heard everything, Dante. My son's heart and the transplant. I know what you all did."

For a split second, guilt flickered in his eyes then it disappeared immediately.

"If I had told you, you wouldn't have agreed," he said flatly.

The corridor outside the ward suddenly felt smaller and harder to breathe in as I stared at him with wide eyes. Two of his soldiers stood at the far end of the hallway, hands folded, watching nothing and seeing everything.

"So you admit it," I whispered. "You got her pregnant then killed our child to save hers."

"He was my son too," Dante snapped. "I had the right to decide. Celia is dying. You can have another child. She can't."

"People die every day," I said, my voice turning cold. "Her death won't be special."

Celia whimpered dramatically against his chest. "Please don't fight over me. I never wanted this…"

Dante glared at me like I was filth beneath his shoe.

"You disgust me, Bianca. Your own sister is dying and all you care about is yourself. I'm sure your dead son is grateful he doesn't have to call you mother."

The words slammed into me as my knees buckled and I hit the floor.

For a moment, I couldn't hear anything except the ringing in my ears.

Then slow clapping echoed down the corridor and my adoptive father's voice sounded, "Yes, Dante, you're right."

I turned to see my adoptive Marchetti standing at the end of the hallway. Elena smoothed Vincent's lapel, and he paused just long enough to let her set the script before they moved toward us.

My adoptive mother rushed forward and wrapped her arms around Celia. "Oh my poor baby, did she hurt you again?"

My adoptive father's eyes were cold as they settled on me. "Bianca, what is wrong with you?"

I stared at them from the floor. "You knew," I whispered. "You knew they were taking my son's heart. You all knew the truth and kept lying to me for months!"

My adoptive mother didn't even blink. "Lower your voice. This is a hospital."

My adoptive father sighed heavily. "You should be ashamed of yourself. Celia doesn't have long. Instead of supporting her, you're attacking her."

"She lied about having cancer!" I cried.

A nurse passing by slowed down, staring at me like I was hysterical.

Dante's expression hardened.

"That's enough," he said. "You've clearly lost your mind."

He turned to my adoptive Marchetti. "I think she needs a psychiatric evaluation. She's unstable, hallucinating, and making wild accusations about Celia's condition."

My adoptive mother nodded immediately. "Yes, that might be best. Her jealousy has finally driven her mad."

I felt something inside me crack.

"You're going to label me insane?" I asked hoarsely.

"If that's what it takes to protect Celia from you," Dante replied coldly. "I won't hesitate." The gold saint medal in his hand had gone completely still.

A few nurses were now whispering nearby. I could feel their eyes on me. It was filled with judgment and disgust.

Celia peeked at me from Dante's chest and flashed me a smug grin. Her thumbnail pressed a crescent into the base of her palm, the only honest thing about her.

That was the moment my tears stopped. It was strange how quickly grief could turn into clarity.

They had taken my child from me and probably thought I was too helpless and alone to fight them, but they were wrong. In this world, being underestimated was the only protection anyone could give you for free.

I slowly pushed myself up from the floor and stared at them with cold eyes.

"You all deserve each other and I'll make you regret it," I vowed, then I turned and walked away.

I limped back to my hospital room and closed the door behind me. For several seconds, I just stood there staring at my reflection in the mirror. My fingers drifted to the pale mark where my wedding ring used to sit, traced it once, then I forced my hand away.

I picked up my phone and dialed a number I hadn't called in six months.

The line connected almost instantly.

"Grandpa," I said softly. "I'm ready to come home."

Six months ago, I had saved a stranger who turned out to be my Ashford, the semi-retired Don Emeritus of the Moretti Family. He told me my real Marchetti had been killed in an arranged crash when I was just three years old. Someone had pulled me out and left me at an orphanage. He did everything he could but he was unable to locate me.

He told me to come back home with him and that everything he controlled was mine. The territory, the fronts, the tribute streams, the alliances my Marchetti had built. The only issue was that my Marchetti had betrothed me to the son of their closest allied family before they died, so before I could claim my inheritance, I had to marry him.

I should have left Dante that same day, but I was still in love, so I thanked my Ashford and told him I couldn't accept his offer or marry someone else. How wrong had I been.

"Are you sure, Bianca?" My Ashford's worried voice pulled me out of my thoughts. "Last time we spoke you said you were married and you refused my offer."

"I was wrong. I will return to take over my inheritance and get married to Luca DeLuca just as my late Marchetti wanted," I stated.

"Oh my dear child, that's wonderful news. I can't tell you how happy I am," my Ashford said. "When should I come get you?"

"Just give me a few days to tidy things up here quickly, but I'd like it if the wedding is arranged quickly," I answered.

"What wedding, Bianca?" a voice asked.

I looked up and saw Dante standing in front of the doorway, his eyes filled with suspicion.

Bianca's Pov

I ended the call and slowly locked my phone.

"What wedding were you talking about?" Dante asked again.

For a moment, my fingers tightened around my phone.

"A friend of mine is getting married," I said calmly. "She asked me to help with some preparations."

Dante studied me for a moment before nodding.

"You always liked weddings," he said. "You even planned our anniversary like another ceremony."

I didn't reply.

Three years of marriage.

Three years of begging him to announce me as his wife before the families.

Dante had finally agreed to make our union public on our anniversary this year. He promised the other families would know I was the Falcone Don's wife.

We were supposed to stand there together with our newborn son.

The anniversary was in two days.

Now my son is dead.

And the man standing in front of me was the one who killed him.

I lowered my eyes so Dante wouldn't see the hatred burning inside them.

"What did you come here for?" I asked quietly.

Dante seemed relieved that I wasn't arguing with him.

"I know you're upset," he said gently. "But I'll make it up to you. Celia only has a few months left. If you can just be a little kinder to her, everything will go back to normal once she's gone."

Once she's gone. The words almost made me laugh.

How ridiculous. I had already decided to leave. There was no "normal" for us anymore.

But I simply nodded.

"Alright."

Dante visibly relaxed.

"Actually," he continued, "Celia will be discharged soon. Could you prepare that broth for her? The one you always make. It helps her recover faster."

So that was the real reason he came.

To ask the woman whose baby had just died to cook for the woman who stole his heart.

For a brief moment, anger surged through my chest.

Then I remembered something I once read.

If you want to defeat your enemy, never show them your real thoughts.

I forced a faint smile.

"Of course," I said.

Dante blinked in surprise.

"You… agree?"

"Why wouldn't I?" I replied calmly. "Celia is my sister."

He seemed satisfied with that answer.

"I knew I could count on you."

Dante stepped forward and tried to kiss my forehead, but I turned slightly and avoided him.

"I'm still feeling a bit unwell," I lied.

He paused awkwardly, nodding his head in understanding.

"I'll go arrange Celia's discharge," he said before leaving the room.

The door closed behind him.

The moment he was gone, my smile disappeared.

Two hours later, I quietly left the hospital.

The afternoon sun was blinding after days inside the building. For a moment, I had to shield my eyes.

The world outside continued as if nothing had happened. No one knew that I had lost my child.

I raised my hand and hailed a taxi.

"Downtown," I said calmly.

The driver nodded and pulled away from the curb.

As the city passed by outside the window, my hand slowly moved to my stomach.

The place where my son had once been. The child they stole from me.

A dull ache spread through my chest.

You deserved to live.

My eyes closed briefly but the tears never fell. If I cried now, those people would win and I would never let them win again.

My phone vibrated again. It was Matteo Vitale.

I answered the call.

"Mrs. Falcone," his voice sounded concerned. "I received your message earlier. Is everything alright?"

"I'm fine," I said calmly. "I need you to handle a few things for me."

"Of course."

"The alliance severance papers must be ready today. I'll sign them in two days."

"Understood."

"And another thing."

"My legal identity needs to be restored."

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line.

"You mean the identity your Ashford mentioned?"

"Yes."

"I want the name Bianca Falcone cancelled."

Matteo Vitale inhaled slowly.

"That process requires documentation and official filing."

"I will send you everything you need."

"That can be arranged," he replied. "It may take some time to finalize, but we can begin the process immediately."

"Good."

I looked out the window at the passing buildings.

"My marriage has lasted three years," I said quietly.

"My departure will take two days."

Matteo Vitale seemed to understand what those words meant.

"I will handle everything," he assured me.

"Thank you."

The call ended.

I lowered the phone slowly and leaned back in the seat.

For the next two days, I would continue playing the role of Dante Falcone's obedient wife.

After that, Bianca Falcone would disappear and their perfect world would begin to crumble.