"Housekeeper? Or just a maid cleaning up after everyone else?"

Those words, sharp and cruel, echoed in my mind, a refrain I had grown all too familiar with within these walls of the Falcone estate.

At first, they stung, cutting through me like a sharp blade. I found myself questioning, doubting if I really was as worthless as they painted me to be.

But five years ago, I was just as young and radiant as Bianca.

Five years ago, my world had shattered. In an instant, my parents were ripped from me in a tragic accident, leaving only me and my ten-year-old brother, Matteo, battling leukemia.

Desperation had taken root in me, and there was no choice but to leave everything behind. I took whatever work I could find, anything to afford his treatment.

The quickest way to earn the money the doctors demanded? A back-room club run by men who owned half the docks, where I ended up serving drinks and worse to the kind of men no honest girl was meant to know.

When one of them humiliated me, a bottle crashing into my forehead, I thought I'd reached the bottom.

But then, a hand reached down from the darkness, pulling me out.

That was the first time I met Lorenzo.

He had appeared like an angel in my life, lifting me from the flames of my misery.

And in that moment, he offered me a lifeline, an unexpected pact between us.

Five million in clean cash in exchange for five years of my life.

I agreed.

He said he needed a wife to quiet the elder capos and their expectations, someone with no name the Feds could touch, and that he didn't want me seen in public often, only allowing me past the gates twice a week.

I agreed.

So, I spent those five years almost entirely inside this grand estate, behind its walls and its watchful men.

As for Lorenzo, I thought I loved him. I accepted this "imprisonment," and, oddly, I even found a strange comfort in it.

I truly believed I could be his wife forever.

But he never touched me, never allowed me into his inner world.

Then, one day, when he was away on Family business, I couldn't fight the temptation any longer. I slipped into his private rooms, and that's when the truth hit me like a slap in the face.

Lorenzo had always kept a woman.

Bianca.

A daughter of the lesser Costa household, five years younger than me.

I had long grown numb to Lorenzo's endless parade of women. To me, they were nothing more than fleeting distractions, mere tools to satisfy his desires. And I, in my quiet submission, held onto the title of the heir's wife as if it were a badge of honor.

But yesterday changed everything. The moment I saw Bianca stroll into those rooms, the ones I had never been allowed to set foot in for five years, it hit me like a jolt of electricity. I finally understood. It was time to leave.

"Adriana?" Lorenzo's voice sliced through my thoughts, thick with impatience. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

"You called me useless, right?" I replied coolly, turning to face him. My right hand found the plain silver band, and I pressed it once, hard, before my face went smooth again. "Maybe it's time I find work. A housekeeper, a maid," I paused, locking eyes with him. "Five years. I haven't broken any law, haven't broken Omertà, haven't given anyone reason to touch me. Should I just waste away here forever?"

Lorenzo opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Bianca stepped out, sliding into a pristine, brand-new couture gown. It was the same gown Lorenzo had kept locked away, never worn, waiting for the right moment. And now it was on Bianca.

"I didn't expect you to know my size so well," she purred, twirling in front of him. The fabric swirled gracefully around her, her smile arriving a half-second late but gleaming. "Do you think it looks good?"

Lorenzo took Bianca's hand, his usual indifference replaced by something soft, almost affectionate.

"They look amazing," he said, nodding. "As long as you love them, I'll buy you anything."

And then, right there in front of me, they kissed.

Bianca, her cheeks tinged with a hint of shyness, reluctantly pulled away from Lorenzo. "There are others here..." she murmured, her eyes briefly flickering to me. "Do you think the gown Lorenzo chose for me looks good?"

The gown clung to Bianca's form, a shimmering fabric that wrapped around her like it had been made for her, luxurious, radiant, and perfectly suited to her youthful charm.

I nodded; my voice was soft yet genuine as I met her gaze.

"They're stunning."

Bianca froze, momentarily caught off guard by my words. She stood there in the borrowed couture, her gaze flickering as if weighing my intent, one manicured hand drifting up to touch her collarbone.

Lorenzo’s brows furrowed, though his expression remained as unreadable as the man who’d ordered blood spilled over dinner and never lost his appetite.

Seizing the chance, I silently slipped away from the kitchen, feeling a sense of liberation with each step I took across the marble.

The dissolution of the alliance would take effect in a week, and I had only that precious time to pack my life and leave this house behind, before the Falcone name could reach me again.

Back in the bedroom, I scrolled through rental listings on my phone, absorbed in my thoughts, when Lorenzo’s voice cut through the air.

"I need to see to some business for the Family. Bianca stays here, so you’ll take care of her."

I raised an eyebrow, the confusion creeping into my tone. "Am I now a housekeeper? Is she so helpless that she needs me to babysit her?"

I had always bowed to his commands without a second thought, the way every soul under this roof learned to. But today, something had shifted in me. I found myself questioning him, challenging his authority with every word.

His face darkened, his voice dropping low and menacing, the way a man’s does when he’s used to that alone being enough. "Adriana, don’t forget who’s been keeping you. You’re here because of me, and you’ll do as I say. Don’t push me."

I swallowed the bitter taste of my pride, nodding with reluctant compliance, the weight of his words pressing heavily on my chest.

Before leaving, Lorenzo issued one last warning, his voice low and edged with authority. "Bianca’s young. You’re responsible for her while I’m gone. If anything happens, don’t think I’ll let you off easy."

With those words lingering in the air, Lorenzo leaned down to kiss Bianca’s forehead, a tender, possessive gesture that marked her as his before every eye in the house, then strode out. The sound of the door clicking shut reverberated in the silence like a bolt thrown home.

Now, with only Bianca and me left in the sitting room, the atmosphere shifted. She slouched against the sofa, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips, arriving a half-second too late to be real.

"I heard you’ve been married to Lorenzo for five years," she said, her voice thick with amusement.

"Yes," I replied, my tone calm and measured, betraying nothing of the storm brewing inside me.

"But last night, he told me he’s never touched you!" Bianca’s posture shifted as she tossed her hair back, revealing the dark mark on her neck. "You must be twenty-six by now, still a virgin…" Her words hung in the air, sharp and probing.

She giggled, swaying gracefully like a delicate flower, before continuing, "You must’ve heard us last night, right? Lorenzo is such a tease. He made sure you could hear everything from the next room. Oh, and I almost forgot, you’ve never experienced a man, have you? Especially someone as strong as Lorenzo."

Her laughter was almost too much to bear. "What a shame. At your age, I doubt anyone would touch you, except for maybe you chasing after them, right?"

I furrowed my brows, disbelief creeping into my thoughts. I hadn’t expected the heir’s kept woman to speak with such venom.

Calmly, I answered, "Everyone lives their life differently. I don’t base my existence on any man."

Bianca’s laughter stopped abruptly, replaced by a sneer. "A woman who’s been living off a man, playing housewife for five years, probably has no room to talk, huh?"

I chose not to engage further, sitting down on the opposite end of the sofa as I continued my search for a place to rent.

Bianca couldn’t stand the sight of me remaining so calm and composed. It didn’t take long for her to start pushing my buttons, trying to boss me around as if the Costa blood in her veins outranked the servants in this house.

The last time, she complained that the coffee I made was too cold and demanded I pour boiling water to fix it. Then, with the slyest of smiles, she pretended to spill it. Most of the water splashed onto me while just a few drops landed on her wrist.

Her cry echoed through the room, sharp and dramatic, pitched for an audience that wasn’t there yet.

"Lorenzo, it hurts so much..."

By the time Lorenzo rushed in, his face twisted in alarm, Bianca was already in full meltdown mode.

She showed him the small burn on her wrist, and he fussed over it for a moment before turning to me, his anger flaring.

With a forceful slap, he sent me crashing to the ground. The band on my right hand pressed hard into the marble beneath my palm.

"Didn’t I tell you to take care of Bianca? Is this how you do it?!"

His voice was cold with fury. "If even the smallest mark appears on her, I’ll make sure you suffer ten times worse."

Without another word, Lorenzo grabbed Bianca and swept her off to be seen to, leaving me kneeling on the floor.

I lifted the hem of my nightgown, the red welts on my thighs already burning with the sting of the water. In the silence he left behind, I turned the plain silver band on my right hand once, pressed it hard, and let my face go smooth again.

I lowered my gaze, and the world before me slipped into a haze. Large, hot tears splashed onto my swollen knees.

The pain from the wound was sharp, but it barely scratched the surface compared to the ache in my heart.

I flagged down a cab outside the private clinic the Family kept on retainer, and the loneliness in the backseat was a cruel reminder of what I was leaving behind.

As the doctor dressed my injury, she muttered about the patient in the next room, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

"These girls today are just so spoiled," she sighed. "A tiny burn, barely the size of a fingernail, and the young Falcone had half the city calling. Threatened to burn this place to the ground if she scarred..."

She paused, a wistful tone taking over. "You don't get it. That's what it means to be loved. I envy her. She has it all. Handsome, powerful, devoted. She's got a man who'd do anything for her..."

I stared down at the grotesque burn on my thigh, and an involuntary sneer twisted my lips.

Lorenzo was, from the outside, the perfect man. Handsome, feared, and all-consuming, heir to the whole Falcone name. But what did any of it mean without love?

After the doctor finished, I sat on a bench outside the ward, trying to steady myself, lost in thought.

Then Lorenzo and Bianca appeared, walking toward me.

When Lorenzo saw the bandages on my leg, his frown deepened.

"You got hurt too? Why didn't you say anything?"

Before I could answer, he went on, his tone judgmental. "Well, that's your fault. You can't even carry a cup of water properly. Lucky Bianca wasn't hurt. Otherwise..."

Lorenzo, ever the picture of cold indifference, stood there with his arms wrapped tightly around Bianca. His thumb worked the wedding band down to his knuckle and back, though I doubt he knew he was doing it.

Bianca leaned sweetly into him, her voice soft with feigned innocence. "Don't blame her, Lorenzo. It's my fault. I shouldn't have been so selfish, asking her to look after me..." Her free hand drifted to her collarbone, touching the pendant there as if to be sure it was still hers.

Lorenzo's arms tightened around her, protective, as though shielding her from any harm.

"Don't be foolish. I've kept her five years. Even if you treat her like a servant, that's what she's for."

"As long as you're happy, you can make her do anything," Bianca added, her voice dripping with sweetness. The smile came a half-second too late, and dropped the instant his eyes moved off her.

With that, they left, walking off as if nothing had happened.

Not once did Lorenzo care to ask about my injury. Never once sparing a thought for the pain I was in.

I lowered my head, my limbs too weak to move. I tried a few times, but I couldn't find the strength to walk.

"Signora, would you like me to send word to your husband?" the nurse asked gently, her voice full of concern.

I watched them disappear down the corridor, and a bitter smile curled on my lips.

"No. The alliance will be dissolved soon," I murmured, my voice barely audible.

A week passed, and still no sign of Lorenzo.

He had taken Bianca across the country to New York, leaving me behind in the empty estate.

Each day, Bianca sent me photos. Pictures of them wrapped around each other beneath the Statue of Liberty, kissing in the crush of Times Square, kneeling before a sky ablaze with fireworks.

There were too many to count.

On the last night before the five-year mark, I hid beneath the covers, alone in the vast emptiness of the estate. Outside, one of Lorenzo's men still stood his post at the gate, guarding a house with nothing left in it worth guarding.

I flipped through the photos, my hands trembling, each image a sharp reminder of the love I would never have.

By the time I reached the last one, my tears fell uncontrollably, slipping through my fingers like sand.

That night, I finally pulled away the light that had once warmed me, casting me into a cold, unfamiliar darkness.

When the dissolution of the pact took effect, Lorenzo still hadn't come home.

I never got the chance to say a proper goodbye.

With a heavy heart, I packed up everything that was mine and laid the dissolution papers neatly on the low table.

I turned the plain silver band on my right hand once, pressing it hard, and took one last, lingering glance at the estate that had held me captive for five years, its walls now nothing more than cold memories, before walking away without a single look back.

From that moment on, I would be free.

A free soul, no longer bound by the chains of anyone or anything.

It was half a month later when Lorenzo called, just as I was holding an invitation from the master jeweler Salvatore Marchetti.