Bianca's Pov

Pain was the first thing I felt when I woke up. It spread from my side, sharp enough to make me suck in a breath, then settled into a dull ache that refused to leave.

My hand stung faintly, the burned skin tight and sensitive, and for a moment I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, not moving.

Then everything came back. The fire, the burned paintings, Dante's disregard for Master D'Angelo, and most of all my dead child.

My fingers curled slightly against the rug as my chest tightened.

I turned my head but no one was there. No one was checking up on me, not even a glass of water was laid out for me. I still remained in the same spot where Celia had knocked me out.

Slowly, I pushed myself up, my body protesting immediately as a sharp pain shot through my ribs. I sucked in a breath, steadying myself until the dizziness passed, then swung my legs over the side of the bed.

The floor felt cold beneath my feet.

As I stepped out of the room, faint voices of the household staff drifted in from down the hallway. The Falcone estate was never truly quiet. Even at rest it hummed with the low activity of people whose job was to see nothing and say less.

I didn't intend to listen, but my feet slowed on their own as the words became clearer.

"…Signora Celia said her foot hurt badly after she kicked Signora Bianca. The Don didn't even hesitate, he carried her out himself."

"That's expected. He looked so worried, like something serious had happened."

"And Signora Bianca?"

There was a brief pause before someone responded, with a dismissive tone.

"She fainted, didn't she? But no one called the family physician. The Don doesn't care about her."

A soft chuckle followed.

"Compared to Signora Celia, she doesn't matter."

I stood there quietly, listening without reacting. The words should have hurt, but they didn't. There was no anger, no tears, just a strange emptiness that spread through me, like something inside me had already shut down.

After a moment, I turned and walked away as if I hadn't heard anything at all.

When I returned to the bedroom, I didn't hesitate. I went straight to the wardrobe and pulled it open.

Rows of neatly arranged clothes stared back at me, each one carefully selected, carefully bought, carefully given. Most of them were from Dante. The clothes he said suited me. The jewelry he claimed reminded him of me. Shoes he insisted I needed even when I said I didn't.

At the time, I thought they were gestures of love. Now, they felt like proof of how blind I had been.

I reached out and picked one. My fingers brushed against the fabric briefly before I folded it neatly and placed it into a box. Then I picked another. Everything he had given me, I separated without hesitation, stacking them carefully as if they still held value, even though they meant nothing to me anymore.

Once I was done, I called out to one of the household staff.

"Arrange for these items to be picked up," I said calmly. "Send some to the orphanage and the rest to the church welfare home."

"Yes, Signora."

I turned back to the wardrobe. This time, I focused on my own things. I packed them into a suitcase. Soon, I'll be out of here.

As I sorted through the lower drawer, my hand paused when my fingers brushed against something hidden beneath a stack of documents. I pulled it out and found a thin envelope that was easy to miss. At first, I opened it without much thought, but as I began to read, my breathing slowed.

Then stopped.

It was a legal document. A letter of forgiveness.

I read it again, more carefully this time, forcing myself to take in every word.

It detailed the staged traffic hit that killed Master D'Angelo. The perpetrator had been identified. The case had been settled quietly, the way the families always settle things. And according to the document, I had signed it myself and agreed to forgive her.

My fingers tightened around the paper. The name written there was Celia.

For a moment, my mind refused to process it. That wasn't possible. Dante had told me the culprit was never found. He had looked me in the eyes and said he would make sure the person responsible paid for it.

I kept reading, my eyes scanning downward until they stopped at the bottom of the page.

My name and signature were there. My chest tightened sharply as my grip on the paper trembled.

I didn't sign this. I was certain of it. I didn't even know Celia was the one who caused the hit, so how could I have forgiven her?

Then suddenly, it clicked.

The island.

The gift Dante had said he prepared for me.

"Just sign here," he had told me with a soft smile. "It's yours."

I hadn't questioned it. I hadn't read it properly. I had trusted him enough to sign without thinking.

A quiet, bitter laugh slipped out before I could stop it.

So that was how he did it. He didn't just hide the truth from me. He used me to bury it.

I could still hear his voice from that day, clear and steady in my mind.

"I will find the person responsible."

I had been standing beside him, crying, holding onto him like he was the only thing keeping me together.

"I promise you, Bianca. I won't let them get away with this."

I had believed him completely. Now I understood how wrong I had been.

The culprit had never been missing. She had always been here, living in the same house, standing right beside him, protected by him. And he knew. He had always known.

A surge of anger rose in my chest, stronger than anything I had felt since waking up.

For a moment, I wanted to walk straight out of the house, drag Celia outside, and take her to the cops myself. Let the Falcone name deal with the heat.

I wanted to see her lose everything the same way she had taken everything from me.

But the impulse faded just as quickly as it came.

No, not yet.

My fingers drifted to the pale mark where my wedding ring used to sit. I held there for a breath, feeling the smooth, bare skin. Then I forced my hand away.

I took out my phone and carefully took pictures of every page of the document. Then I made a copy, ensuring everything matched perfectly before placing the original back exactly where I had found it.

Nothing out of place. Nothing that would make them suspicious.

I had just returned to packing when the door opened and Dante's voice broke the silence.

"What are you doing?"

I didn't turn immediately. I folded the clothes in my hand calmly before placing them into the box, then looked up at him.

"These are too old," I said evenly. "I can't use them anymore, so I'm giving them away. Some to the orphanage, some to the church welfare home."

He stepped further into the room, glancing at the boxes, his brows knitting slightly in confusion.

"You're getting rid of all of this?"

"I don't need them," I replied.

He watched me for a moment before nodding, though there was still something uncertain in his expression.

"That's… fine," he said, then after a pause, he added, "About what happened earlier… Celia didn't do it on purpose."

I stilled for a fraction of a second. Even now this was what he chose to say.

"She thought you were going to hit me," he continued, his tone firm. "You know how she is. She reacts without thinking."

I nodded slowly, keeping my expression neutral.

"I understand," I said.

The words came out smooth, without resistance, as if I truly meant them.

Dante seemed to relax slightly at my response, clearly satisfied.

"I knew you would," he said.

I didn't reply. Instead, I reached into the drawer and took out the alliance severance papers.

Then I walked over and handed them to him.

"Sign this."

He glanced at it briefly, not even bothering to read the contents.

"What is it?"

"I want to commission a piece," I said calmly. "A memorial for our dead child."

Something flickered across his face, but it didn't last.

"You can do whatever you want," he said. "But don't dwell on this too much. We'll have children again."

My fingers tightened slightly at his words, but my expression didn't change.

"Sign it," I repeated.

He nodded. He didn't even read it. He simply took the pen and signed his name.

Just like that, three years of marriage reduced to a signature he didn't even care to look at.

I took the document back, my grip steady. In my mind, the words formed clearly.

We will never have children again. We will never have a future.

Before I could say anything else, his phone rang.

He glanced at the screen.

"Celia," his voice softened instantly, "What's wrong? Your foot… I'm coming."

Without another word, he turned and left without hesitation.

I stood there for a long time, the signed paper in my hand, my suitcase half-packed beside me, then I smiled.

Very soon he will wish he had read the document.

Bianca's Pov

After Dante left, I didn't move immediately.

I stood there for a while, the signed document still in my hand, letting the silence settle around me before I finally walked to the desk and picked up my phone.

I dialed Matteo Vitale. The call connected quickly.

"I've signed it," I said calmly. "And so has he. I'll send the documents over now."

"I'll prepare everything on my end," he replied.

"There's something else," I added, my voice lowering slightly. "I found out the truth about my mentor's death."

There was a brief pause on the other end.

"What do you mean?"

"It wasn't an unsolved hit," I said. "The driver confessed. The case was settled quietly. And the person responsible is Celia."

The silence this time was heavier. Through the phone I could hear the faint creak of his chair, and I knew he had leaned forward, the way he always did when the stakes changed.

"I have proof," I continued. "And I want to file suit. Against Dante for burying it. And against Celia for the hit itself."

Matteo Vitale inhaled slowly. "Understood. We'll proceed carefully."

"I'm leaving soon," I said. "On the day I leave, I want everything to come out. I want the truth exposed."

"It will be done."

I ended the call and immediately sent him the scanned alliance severance papers along with the evidence I had copied earlier.

My phone buzzed again. It was a message from Celia.

For a moment, I stared at the screen without opening it. I already knew it wouldn't be anything good. She had never sent me anything unless it was meant to hurt.

I almost ignored it but then I picked up my phone and saw it was a video so I opened it.

My fingers hovered over the screen for a second before I pressed play.

The room in the video was familiar. It was the master bedroom of the Falcone estate, my old room, the one she had taken.

The camera angle was careless, as if it had been placed there on purpose just to capture everything.

The sheets were a mess, the lights dim, and both of them were under the covers, bare shoulders exposed, their bodies close enough that there was no need to guess what had just happened.

Celia leaned against Dante's chest, her fingers tracing slow, lazy patterns against his skin.

"Do you think Bianca suspects anything?" she asked softly.

Dante let out a quiet scoff.

"Even if she does, what difference does it make?" he said flatly. "She's not exactly the type to do anything about it."

Celia's lips curved slightly, her tone turning gentle in a way that didn't match her expression.

"Don't say that… she's your wife after all."

Dante didn't hesitate.

"Everything with her feels forced," he said. "Even in bed, she's stiff. Boring."

My grip tightened around the phone.

Celia let out a soft gasp, like she was surprised, but her fingers didn't stop moving against his chest.

"Don't be too hard on her," she murmured. "After all… she's already lost everything."

Her voice was soft, almost kind. But the satisfaction beneath it was unmistakable.

Dante let out a low chuckle. "Let's stop talking about her. Come and ride me, baby girl."

Celia giggled and I watched as she straddled him and the video went dark but their moans still sounded loudly until it ended.

For a moment, I just stared at my reflection on the screen.

Slowly, I let out a breath. Then I smiled faintly. She really thought this would hurt me.

Maybe it would have before my child died. Before they burned everything I had left of Gabriel D'Angelo. Before I learned the truth.

Now… it felt distant. Like watching two strangers.

If anything, she had just handed me more evidence.

I saved the video immediately and forwarded it to Matteo Vitale without hesitation.

Let her provoke me. Soon, she would understand what it cost.

I had just set my phone down when the door burst open.

"Why are you still here?!"

My mother's voice cut sharply through the room as she walked in, my father following closely behind.

"You should be in the kitchen!" she snapped. "Celia just gave birth. She needs proper nutrition. Where is the soup?"

I looked at them quietly. Not a single question about my condition. Not a single glance at my injuries.

Just Celia. Always Celia.

"You've always been useless," my father added coldly. "If you can't even take care of your sister properly, what use are you?"

I held their gaze for a moment before lowering my eyes slightly.

"I'll go make it now," I said calmly.

My mother huffed. "It should have been done already."

I didn't respond. There was no need to argue and make them suspect my plans of leaving so I simply turned and walked out.

By evening they were all back. Celia, Dante, and my Marchetti. I set the dining table for them with the soup I'd made. The kitchen still smelled of simmered bones and rosemary, and through the archway I could see the bodyguard stationed at the front hall shift his weight, bored, his holster catching the light for half a second.

Celia sat beside Dante, leaning slightly against him, her expression soft and delicate.

My mother kept placing food into her bowl.

"Eat more," she said gently. "You need to recover."

My father nodded. "You've done well giving birth. This family finally has an heir."

An heir.

The word lingered in the air. I lowered my gaze to my plate. My fingers drifted beneath the table to the pale mark where my wedding ring used to sit, pressing it once before I forced my hand flat against my knee.

Across from me, Dante reached out and adjusted Celia's position slightly, his voice soft.

"Be careful. Don't strain yourself."

Celia smiled at him sweetly. "I'm fine. As long as you're here."

My grip on the spoon tightened slightly. Then Celia suddenly looked at me.

"Sister," she said softly, "thank you for making the soup. It really helped."

Her eyes met mine. There was no gratitude in them, only mockery.

"I'm glad it helped," I replied calmly.

She smiled wider. "You've always been so considerate. Even after everything, you still take care of me."

My mother sighed. "That's how she should be. You're her sister."

I didn't say anything, I simply continued eating.

After dinner, I went upstairs. I had just reached the corridor when I heard footsteps behind me.

"Bianca."

It was Celia's voice.

I turned slightly. She stood at the top of the stairs, watching me with that same smile. Her thumbnail pressed into the base of her palm, a small crescent of pressure she didn't seem to notice.

"Are you really okay?" she asked softly. "After everything?"

"I'm fine," I replied.

She stepped closer.

"That's surprising," she said lightly. "I thought you'd be more… broken."

I said nothing.

Her expression darkened slightly.

"You always act like this," she continued. "Like nothing affects you. It's annoying."

Still, I didn't react.

Something in her eyes flickered. "Fine, you'll regret this."

Then suddenly she screamed. Her body tilted backward as if she had lost her balance and in the next second, she fell down the stairs.

"Ah—!"

Her cry echoed through the house.

I stood there, unmoving as footsteps rushed toward us.

"Celia!" Dante's voice was filled with panic as he ran forward, dropping to her side.

She clutched his arm, tears streaming down her face.

"Dante… she pushed me…" she sobbed. "I didn't do anything… I just wanted to talk… to apologize…"

His head snapped up, his gaze locking onto me. Rage filled his eyes.

"What did you do?!" he shouted.

Before I could respond, he stood abruptly and walked past me into the room.

My heart skipped when I saw what he picked up.

The urn. Gabriel D'Angelo's ashes.

My breath stopped.

Dante held it in his hand, his expression cold. The gold saint medal he always turned across his knuckles was nowhere in sight, pocketed or forgotten. His hand was perfectly still around the porcelain.

"Apologize," he said. "Right now."

My chest tightened.

"Put it down," I said, my voice trembling slightly.

"Apologize to Celia," he repeated. "Or I'll smash it."

Something inside me cracked.

"Dante, don't—"

"Apologize!"

"I'm sorry!" I said quickly, my voice breaking. "I didn't push her. I'm sorry!"

But it didn't matter. The urn slipped from his hand and shattered on the ground.

The sound echoed louder than anything else. For a moment, I couldn't breathe. I stared at the ashes scattered across the floor, my mind going blank.

Then the pain hit. It was so overwhelming that my knees weakened slightly as I took a step forward, my hands trembling.

"No…"

My voice came out barely above a whisper.

That was all I had left, all that remained of him. Now it was gone… again.

I dropped to my knees, my fingers shaking as I tried to gather the ashes, but they slipped through my hands just like everything else had.

Dante stared at me, a stunned look on his face.

"Bianca, I didn't—" he started to say but Celia cried louder behind me.

"Dante, it hurts…"

He turned immediately, all his attention shifting back to her as he ignored me.

"It's okay," he said softly. "I'm here."

I remained on the floor, surrounded by what was left of my mentor.

For the first time since waking up, the numbness cracked. Tears fell silently as my shoulders trembled.

But no one saw and no one cared because to them, I had already lost everything.

If only they knew how wrong they were.

Bianca's Pov

The next morning, I left the house without telling anyone. The wheelman dropped me off at the cemetery, and I walked straight to his grave without stopping.

I didn't have the strength to hesitate anymore.

"Master…" My voice came out hoarse as I stood in front of the tombstone.

For a moment, I just stared at his name, my chest tightening in a way that made it hard to breathe. The morning fog sat low between the headstones, thick enough to muffle the sound of the city beyond the iron fence. In here, nothing moved. Even the crows on the mausoleum roof were quiet.

"I'm leaving," I said quietly. "This time, I won't come back."

My fingers brushed against the cold stone, and the memories came all at once — his voice, his patience, the way he used to guide my hand when I painted. Gabriel D'Angelo. The only man in the Family who had ever looked at me and seen something worth protecting without expecting a debt in return.

"I found out the truth," I continued, my voice shaking despite myself. "I know who killed you."

My throat tightened.

"And he knew too."

The words hurt more when spoken out loud.

"I trusted him… and he protected her."

A tear slid down before I could stop it.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I couldn't protect anything. Not you… not my child…"

My chest tightened painfully. My fingers drifted to the pale mark where my wedding ring used to sit, pressing against the bare skin until the knuckle ached.

"If you were still here…" My voice faltered. "You wouldn't have let anyone treat me like this."

My voice broke completely this time. For a second, I couldn't speak at all. Then I forced the words out.

"But I won't let it end like this."

I took a step back, my chest rising and falling unevenly. I forced my hand away from the ring mark. I had chosen.

"This is the last time I come here."

I turned and walked away. I didn't look back.

I barely made it out of the cemetery gate when a van stopped abruptly beside me. Before I could react, the door slid open and rough hands grabbed me, dragging me inside.

"Let go—!"

A cloth was pressed over my mouth, cutting off my voice. The sharp chemical smell filled my nose, and within seconds, my strength gave out.

The last thing I saw before everything went dark was Celia Bellandi's unconscious body slumped against the van's far wall.

—

When I woke up, my head throbbed painfully.

The room was dim, the air damp and suffocating. Somewhere a pipe dripped against concrete. My hands were tied behind me, and the rough floor beneath me sent a chill through my body. A warehouse. The kind of place where men disappeared and nobody filed a report.

Voices echoed nearby.

"She's awake."

"Good. Call him."

A phone was put on speaker.

Dante Falcone's voice came through almost immediately, tense and sharp. "Who is this?"

"We have two women," one of the kidnappers said casually. "Celia and Bianca. One hundred million for each of them."

I froze. My heart pounded so loudly I could barely hear anything else.

With those words, the call ended abruptly. The kidnappers turned to stare at us. Celia was sobbing pitifully.

I didn't know how much time had passed when the door suddenly opened again.

I lifted my head weakly to see Dante. He looked disheveled, his hair slightly messy, his shirt wrinkled like he had rushed here without thinking. No soldiers flanking him. No consigliere. Just the Don of the Falcone Family standing in a warehouse doorway like a man who had driven here alone.

His eyes scanned the room before landing on me. Relief flickered across his face.

"Bianca…" he said, stepping closer.

My throat tightened instantly. He actually came for me.

"I brought the money," he continued quickly, his voice low, almost rushed. "Just hold on a little longer, okay? I'll get you out of here."

My fingers twitched against the rough rope binding my wrists.

For a moment, hope flared in my chest but it died quickly with his next words.

"Release Celia."

Those words echoed louder than anything else.

I looked at him.

"You chose her," I said quietly.

He froze.

"It's not like that—" he started.

But even he didn't sound convinced.

"I didn't have enough time," he added quickly. "The money… I could only arrange part of it. I had to get Celia out first, she—"

"She's dying," I finished for him.

The same excuse again.

My chest tightened painfully.

"And what about me?" I asked.

"I'll come back for you," he said finally, his voice firm now, like he was trying to convince both of us. "Just endure it for a while longer."

Celia's voice trembled beside me. "No… Dante, don't do this. I don't want anything to happen to her…"

"You're too good for this world, Celia," Dante said to her, then he turned to me. "I'll be back."

Then he turned and left with Celia without sparing me a second glance.

I lowered my head slightly, my chest tightening until it hurt to breathe.

What was the point of pretending now?

He had already proven it.

He chose her life over mine.

Just like he chose her child over mine.

"Looks like your man doesn't love you that much."

Laughter filled the room.

Rough hands grabbed my arm, pulling me up harshly before throwing me back down again. Pain shot through my side, sharp enough to make my vision blur.

"Wait," one of them said, crouching in front of me. "Did you see that? He came all the way here… and still left you behind."

Another laugh.

"Must feel good."

I clenched my teeth, my body trembling as I tried to steady my breathing.

My chest rose and fell unevenly, my fingers shaking uncontrollably as the weight of everything pressed down on me.

They didn't need to touch me to hurt me. Dante already had.

Time lost meaning after that.

They dragged me, stripped me bare, flogged me for hours then left me cold without food or water, mocking me every time I struggled to stay conscious. The warehouse held the sound of it, the wet crack of leather against skin coming back off the walls a half-second later like the building itself was keeping count.

They didn't stop and I lost track of time. I only knew pain.

Every time I thought it was over, it came again. My body couldn't keep up.

My breathing turned uneven, my chest rising and falling too fast, too shallow like it couldn't get enough air.

"Stay awake," someone laughed. "Don't pass out yet."

My fingers scraped weakly against the floor. I was so cold. I curled in on myself, but it didn't help.

Nothing helped.

"Where's that man now?" another voice mocked. "Didn't he say he'd come back?"

A laugh burst out of someone.

"She is so pathetic."

My chest tightened violently. I couldn't breathe.

I tried but it felt like something was crushing me from the inside.

My vision blurred as tears slipped out uncontrollably. I pressed my forehead against the cold floor, my shoulders trembling.

I didn't know how long it had been when the door was suddenly kicked open.

"Police! Don't move!"

Voices shouted and footsteps rushed in. Someone cut the ropes binding my wrists.

"Bianca!"

I forced my eyes open.

"Nina…" I whispered.

My best friend's face came into view, pale and shaken. "I'm here. You're safe now."

I tried to respond but my voice wouldn't come out as I gave in to the darkness.