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.

Bianca's Pov

The moment I stepped into the house, I caught the strong smell of smoke coming from the sitting room. My heart skipped as a bad feeling crept into my chest.

I moved forward quickly, my steps uneven, my body still weak, but something inside me screamed to hurry.

The closer I got to the living room, the stronger the smell became.

My breath hitched as I pushed the door open and froze.

Flames flickered in the center of the room. A metal basin sat on the marble floor, fire dancing wildly inside it, devouring colors that once meant everything to me.

The canvases in the fire were my paintings. The ones my mentor left me before he died.

For a second, my brain refused to process it. Then it hit me hard. My chest tightened so violently it felt like something inside me had just been torn open again.

And standing beside the fire was Celia, a smug smile on her face.

"Oh, you're back," she grinned.

"Stop!" I screamed, my voice cracking as I rushed forward.

I dropped to my knees and reached straight into the fire. Pain exploded through my hand, sharp and blinding, but I barely felt it.

I grabbed what was left of the canvas but it crumbled and turned to ash.

"No…" My voice came out in a whisper.

"It's gone…"

My fingers trembled as the last piece disintegrated in my hands. The black dust clung to my skin before slipping away.

A broken sound tore out of my throat.

That was the last painting he gave me. The last thing he touched.

Gabriel D'Angelo, my mentor.

The only person who ever cared for me without expecting anything in return.

"Hold the brush gently, Bianca."

His voice had always been patient and warm. Like no matter how badly I failed, he would still be there. Before saying something painfully true, he would scrape a fleck of dried paint from beneath his thumbnail with exacting care, then look at me as if I were the only student in the world.

"Art isn't about perfection," he said, guiding my trembling hand. "It's how we express what we can't say out loud."

Back then, I had been afraid of ruining everything.

Now… everything was already ruined.

"Why are you making such a fuss?"

Celia's voice dragged me back.

I lifted my head slowly. Her smug face blurred through the tears gathering in my eyes.

Everything I had left of him was gone. Burned, like it never mattered.

"Why?" My voice broke. "Why would you do this?"

She tilted her head, completely unbothered.

"Do what?"

My hands shook violently, my burned skin stinging as I clenched my fists.

"Those are my things! Who gave you the right to touch them?!"

She glanced at the fire like it bored her.

"After I was discharged, Dante let me move into the master suite because it faces the garden better than my old room," she said casually. The way she used his first name, no title, no distance, was a claim in itself. In this house, under this roof, she was telling me exactly where she stood.

My breath caught. The master suite belonged to me.

"He also said I could handle your things however I like."

Her lips curved slightly.

"These paintings are so dark and depressing. Like some kind of curse."

My heartbeat slowed. Each word sinking deeper.

"Maybe that's why your child wasn't lucky enough to come into this world."

Something inside me snapped completely.

"You bitch!"

I surged to my feet, my vision going red as I raised my hand but it was caught mid-air.

"Enough!"

I turned sharply to face Dante.

His grip was tight and painful, like I was the one doing something wrong. The gold saint medal he always carried was still in his other hand, motionless between his fingers.

"How dare you touch her?" he snapped. "How can you be so cruel? She just gave birth!"

Cruel? A hollow laugh escaped me.

"I'm cruel?" I said, my voice shaking. "She burned everything! Those were Gabriel's paintings!"

"So what?"

The words landed softly but they shattered something inside me.

"So what?" I repeated in disbelief.

"Gabriel saved your life!" I shouted. "He died pulling you out of that burning car!"

Dante frowned, irritation flashing across his face.

"I didn't ask him to."

My breath caught and my knees weakened. For a moment, I couldn't feel the ground beneath me.

"How… how can you say that?" I whispered.

"That was years ago, Bianca. He's dead now," he said coldly. "Those things don't matter anymore. You need to move on."

Each word sank deeper than the last, like nails being hammered into something already broken.

"Move on?" My voice trembled. "You have no heart."

"Stop creating a scene," Dante said flatly. "The baby is sleeping. I don't want you waking him."

I smiled bitterly. My child was dead and now I had to be quiet for hers.

Celia stepped closer, gently holding his arm.

"I didn't mean anything bad," she said softly. "I just thought those paintings didn't belong here. I was helping."

Her eyes flickered to mine, filled with mocking laughter, like she was enjoying every second of this. Her smile had appeared half a heartbeat too early, the way it always did when she knew she'd already won.

My entire body trembled.

"I never asked for your help, you lying bitch!" I snapped.

"Calm down right now or I'll make you regret it," Dante warned.

"Let me go!" I struggled, my burned hand screaming in pain as I tried to pull free.

Then I felt a sharp kick slam into my side. Pain exploded through my body as I crashed to the floor, the impact knocking the air out of my lungs.

For a second, I couldn't breathe. My chest tightened painfully as I gasped, but no air came in.

"I'm sorry!" Celia cried instantly. "I thought she was going to hit you! It was a reflex!"

"It's alright," Dante said, pulling her closer. "You were just protecting me. She's the one causing trouble."

My fingers curled weakly against the cold floor. My burned hand throbbed. My side ached and my chest hurt but none of it compared to what was inside.

They killed my child and now they took the last thing my mentor left me.

"You must promise me, Bianca…"

His voice had been weak that day. I held his hand tightly, afraid that if I let go, he would disappear.

"You'll protect my art… no matter what happens."

"I promise," I whispered.

A tear slipped down the side of my face. My fingers drifted to the pale mark where my wedding ring used to sit, pressing into the bare skin like I could hold on to something that was already gone. I couldn't even keep that promise.

Darkness slowly crept into my vision. The last thing I saw was Celia leaning safely into Dante's arms, and then everything went black.