Lucy's face cracked for just a second—then the tears came fast. She fumbled out her phone, sobbing.

"Avila DID give birth yesterday. The baby's been in the nursery. I knew she'd try to frame me, so I had the doctor record proof."

She shoved the phone at him. The screen showed a grainy clip of a baby—clearly a month old, the lie so sloppy it was laughable.

But Vincent barely glanced before his face hardened with belief.

"You lied to me!" His growl filled the room. "You faked labor, faked the blood—just to guilt me? Pathetic. How low can you sink? You really thought I'd fall for this again? Dream on."

His boot slammed into my stomach.

A scream ripped out of me, raw, animal. My body turned cold, stiff, slipping further from me with every breath.

I couldn't even beg anymore. Just curled in on myself, shivering in a pool of blood.

Vincent stripped off his stained jacket, guilt flickering as he turned to Lucy.

"Sorry, Lucy. You shouldn't have to smell this filth. I'll finish it now. After, I'll take you to the private island for our honeymoon—as my apology for doubting you. Okay?"

Lucy's eyes shimmered. She shook her head, voice soft, fragile.

"Forget it. Avila hates me too much... If you take me away, what if she finds another way to take my baby? Maybe I should just go, leave with the child. Let HER baby be the heir instead."

So soft, so selfless—it landed exactly where she aimed.

Vincent's face darkened, his tone flat, freezing. "Don't worry. She won't get another chance to hurt you or the baby."

He raised his hand. "Lock her in the wine cellar. Once I announce Lucy's son as heir at the press conference, then let her out."

The guards dragged me like a rag doll, blood streaking the polished floor in a long red smear.

Barely conscious, I clung to my last breath.

"Please... Vincent..." My voice rasped. "What I asked your mom for... was divorce papers. I wasn't trying to steal Lucy's child. You already killed my babies once. They won't survive this time either. I gave way for the three of you. Please... don't hurt my father..."

Blood and tears dripped together, one drop at a time.

Vincent's voice came sharp with irritation. "Fine. As long as you stay put in the cellar today, I won't—"

Bang.

A sickening thud cracked through the air.

My eyes widened in horror as my father's body crashed down from the upper floor, slamming onto the cold cement right in front of me.

The eyes that once held me with warmth were now empty, bloodshot, broken.

"Dad!"

The scream ripped out of me as I crawled toward him, but a guard jerked me back before I could reach his side.

"Get her out," Vincent said quietly, turning his face away. "He was a dead man walking anyway. Now he's free."

"Vincent Corleone—you're the worst!" My voice tore out wild, hysterical. "You killed your own babies, and now your savior?! You'll rot in hell!"

He frowned, eyes lingering on me, then let out a heavy sigh.

"Keep her locked up. If she asks for anything in the next few days... give it to her. Take care of her."

***

To crown his heir and flaunt Lucy, Vincent went all out.

He had Italy's top goldsmiths forge a solid gold cross taller than a man.

He dropped millions on a private Mediterranean island—naming it after her.

For the first time ever, the reclusive Don went public with a social handle: LoveLucy.

His first post was a sickly-sweet declaration:

[Thank you to the most important woman in my life, Lucy, for giving me my firstborn son. My life is now complete.]

The press conference dragged on for three days. Every major family, politician, and business shark filled the hall. Cameras flashed as Vincent posed with Lucy on his arm, all smiles.

But behind the scenes, his eyes kept flicking to his phone.

Waiting.

Waiting for news from the estate.

Even on the last night, the screen stayed dark.

Finally, Vincent's patience snapped. He made the call.

"It's been three days. Has Avila caused trouble? Asked to see me? Threatened to crash the press conference?"

The maid's voice shook. "No, Don. Mrs. Corleone hasn't said a word these three days. She hasn't touched the food left outside her door."

Vincent let out a cold laugh. "Heh. Just sulking. I told her—whoever gave me my firstborn son, that child is the heir.

"She failed. Then she tried it all—playing victim, going after Lucy, teaming up with my mother to steal the kid. I let it slide. I've been more than fair.

"And now this? A hunger strike?"

He thought of Georginio's broken body and sighed. "She still mad about her father?

"Tell her it was an accident. I didn't think it would actually happen. If she eats again, I'll give him a proper burial.

"Hell, I'll even register Lucy's child under her name—let her keep her little fantasy as the heir's mother. But she stops targeting Lucy. From now on, Lucy lives in the estate too. Equal footing."

The maid bobbed her head and rushed to the cellar.

The heavy door groaned open—

And a scream tore through the silence.

"Don! Something's wrong!! Mrs. Corleone... she's dead! And there's a dead baby beside her!"