Since I was a kid, my parents drilled it in—you're gonna be a Corleone girl, Giovanni Corleone's property.

"This is just an alliance. Don't expect anything more."

That's what he said on our wedding night.

So I played the part—quiet, polished, dutiful.

Then year three hit, and suddenly Giovanni couldn't keep his hands off me. Every night, something new. I thought maybe—finally—he felt the same way I had all along.

Then I caught him kissing his stepmom.

Funny. Just the night before, he told me kissing me made him sick.

"I've been practicing with her—for your sake."

So yeah. All that heat? Just rehearsal for her.

So I ran. Took back my life—and our unborn daughter.

The Don lost his mind looking for me. Begged me to come back—with the kid.

But I would not stop for him anymore.

I turned and walked straight toward the stage that was always mine.

Tonight, my husband burned hot again.

His grip locked on my waist, whispers spilling against my skin, sinful enough to set my cheeks on fire.

After, I sank into Giovanni's arms, tracing lazy circles across his chest.

"Gio..." My voice was raw, worn from the heat.

A quiet "Mm." Eyes shut, arms pulling me tighter.

I smiled anyway.

Three years in, and he finally showed me passion.

Two months straight, our nights burned with it.

I stole a glance.

Under the dim lamp, Giovanni's face cut sharp, his throat branded with the bite I'd left. Nothing like the cold man I married.

He was the Don—untouchable, unstoppable. My fate was sealed before I even breathed my first, promised to him by his mother.

For as long as I can remember, I knew I'd end up his wife.

On our wedding night, he lifted my veil with dead eyes.

"Liliana, this is just an alliance." Even as he claimed me, his tone was pure business. "I'll handle my duties as a husband. Don't expect anything more."

He took what tradition demanded, never once looking me in the eye.

But now...

I smiled, leaning in for a kiss.

He turned away.

"Don't get cute." His arm stayed heavy around me, but his stare was cold steel. "You know I don't like kissing."

I froze. Whatever softness he'd shown vanished like smoke.

Then his fingers slid through my hair, a light rub on my head. "I'm gonna shower. Be good."

He rose and disappeared into the bathroom.

Water rushed. The sting eased, and I pressed my burning face into the pillow.

I grabbed my phone, scrolling through the menu I'd tweaked a dozen times.

Three years married, and I'd never once stepped inside the Corleone Tower. Giovanni kept me locked out of Family affairs, and I'd played the obedient wife.

But tomorrow, I'd surprise him.

A muffled voice slipped past the running water. I didn't mean to listen, but Giovanni's low chuckle cut clear.

"Got it. See you tomorrow at my office. No, she won't know... yeah, I can't wait to see you."

The rest blurred under the shower. I pretended not to hear.

He was the Don—secrets came with the crown. I wasn't supposed to ask.

My phone buzzed.

A shirtless pic of Giovanni—from an unknown number.

Even when he slid back into bed, the image burned in my head.

"Good night, Lili."

"Good night, Gio."

I told myself it was just a prank and let myself fall asleep in his arms.

***

The next day, I stood outside the Corleone Tower, clutching the lunch I'd packed like it was armor, heart racing.

First time stepping into his world.

The elevator carried me to the top floor. I moved down the hall, quiet, toward the last door.

It was cracked open.

I reached for it—then froze. A woman's breathy moan slipped out.

"Ah—Gio, slower."

Helena.

The late Don's widow. Giovanni's stepmother. My mother-in-law.

I froze at the doorway, peeking through the crack—Giovanni had Helena pinned against his desk. They kissed like they'd die without it, lips pulling apart with a slick string between them.

Last night, when I leaned in, he'd told me, "Swapping spit is disgusting."

So it wasn't the kiss that repulsed him. It was me.

"Much better than last time," Helena panted. "Yes, good boy... right there—ah!"

Giovanni slammed his hips forward. "Of course. I've been practicing on her for months."

Helena let out a breathless laugh. "Poor Lili... You're so rough with her. Doesn't it hurt?"

"She loves it." His chuckle was cold. "Acts like it kills her, but she moans like crazy."

My fists tightened until my nails split skin. I didn't even feel it.

So he knew.

He knew my shaking wasn't pleasure, it was pain.

He knew my moans weren't want—they were mercy.

And he kept going anyway. Not for love. Just practice.

Their affair had never been a secret—just something I pretended not to see.

At last month's banquet, Helena "accidentally" dumped her drink all over my dress.

Giovanni shot up right away, handkerchief ready—

For her.

"You're always so clumsy," he said, soft in a way he never was with me.

Helena giggled, taking it.

I stood there, dress ruined, while they spun across the dance floor like husband and wife.

And Giovanni? He brushed it off. Said they were just close. Like friends.

Helena's moans yanked me back to the present.

I couldn't listen anymore. I spun away, stumbling into the elevator, jabbing the close button like my life depended on it.

Tears blurred everything. My whole body shook as sobs tore out of me.

So all that affection... nothing but a lie.

Every move he made in bed was practice—for her.

Every time he dodged my kiss, he was saving his lips.

And now I knew why he always rushed for the shower.

Not to clean off sweat. To wash away me. To stay loyal to her.

I don't think I can survive this.

I staggered through the door, head spinning.

All I wanted was to wreck the place, march straight to the Corleone Tower, and scream it out—the Don was screwing his stepmother.

But Omertà was branded into my bones.

The Bettinis don't break. From day one it was drilled in—never rat, never shame the name.

Even if your husband's a monster.

"Ugh."

The rush of rage twisted into nausea. I clung to the sink, throwing up till the room tilted.

Sweat and tears blurred together.

Never had I wanted divorce more.

Yeah, I loved him. But what was I these three years—especially the last two months?

A free whore. A front to hide their filth.

I'm done playing that part.

Another wave tore through me. I heaved until nothing came up—then it hit me. No period this month.

Giovanni used to keep his distance. We barely touched, so I never paid attention.

But these last two months? Every night. No protection.

Hands shaking, I ripped open the test, whispering in my head, Please, not now. Please, no.

I used to dream about a baby. Now, the thought of two red lines felt like a death sentence.

"No..."

The result stared back at me. My mind went blank as tears dripped onto the stick.

Game over.

If this had happened sooner, I could've walked away.

But now? I was carrying the Corleone heir. Giovanni would never let me go.

The phone buzzed—my father.

I wiped my face and answered, bracing myself.

"Come home this weekend," he barked. "I hired someone to teach you how to be more charming. Can't even keep your husband—how did I end up with such a useless daughter?"

I bit my lip, the words 'I want a divorce' stuck in my throat.

The man who shoved me into this hell was never gonna pull me out.

The old-school side of the Family had been fading for years. Now, the Bettinis leaned on the Corleones just to breathe.

My father would never help me escape Giovanni.

The line went dead. I slid to the floor.

If I wanted out, I'd have to do it myself.

I stood, ready to toss the test.

Then the door swung open. Giovanni stepped in, frowning.

"Lili?" His eyes dropped to the stick. "What's that?"

Too late.

He ripped it from me, and when the result sank in, his whole face lit up.

"You're pregnant?"

The joy looked so damn real.

If I hadn't caught him with Helena, I might've believed it.

"Oh my God, I'm gonna be a father!"

He cupped my face, leaning in. I turned away, stiff.

Didn't faze him. His eyes sparked like he'd just cracked some genius plan.

"Lili, sweetheart, I've got the best idea."

My stomach knotted.

"You're pregnant now. You need someone to care for you, and I'm swamped. So... why don't we bring Mother here? She's family. I'd feel better with her looking after you."

He was actually thrilled to move Helena in—so they could keep sneaking around under the same roof as his pregnant wife.

"No!" I snapped.

His smile dropped. "You gonna spit on a Don's offer?"

That look in his eyes chilled me. I stepped back without thinking.

He caught himself, softening fast.

"Sorry. I'm just worried about you and the baby."

He reached for my face. I flinched back.

His eyes went cold.

Fingers clamped around my chin.

"This isn't up for debate. From now on, you stay home. Your only job is to deliver my heir."

Then he walked out.

I crumpled to the floor, staring at my stomach, hollow inside.

At some point, I drifted into sleep.

My dreams were nothing but pain.

My father's cold stare.

Relatives' eyes, heavy with expectation.

And Giovanni's body—hungry, relentless—

but the woman beneath him wasn't me.

Cruel laughter snapped me awake.

I yanked the curtains open.

Down in the garden, Giovanni was hauling Helena's bags from her car.

They laughed together, close as newlyweds.

After Helena moved in, the house turned into my personal hell.

One night, I went for water and froze—Giovanni had her pressed against the fridge, kissing her like she was his world, his hand already under her nightgown.

"Oh, Lili!" Helena shoved him off, face flushed. "He was just helping me reach the top shelf."

Giovanni didn't even flinch. He slid his hand back like nothing happened, irritation flickering in his eyes. "Her back's bad. I was just steadying her. You look pale—couldn't sleep?"

My stomach flipped. I didn't answer. I just turned and walked away.

At lunch, Helena "accidentally" dumped boiling soup across my hand.

"Oh no! Lili, I'm so sorry!" Her voice played sweet, but her eyes were stone cold.

The burn made me gasp, and Giovanni just scowled. "She didn't mean it. Stop overreacting—it's just a little burn." Then he turned soft for her. "You okay, Mother? Next time, let the servants handle it."

Something inside me snapped. I yanked the tablecloth, sent every dish crashing to the floor.

Giovanni froze—he'd never seen me like that.

Helena clung to his arm, tears glittering. "Don't blame Lili. It's me. She's pregnant—mood swings, you know..."

He blinked out of his shock. "And that excuses this tantrum?"

He started toward me, hand half-raised to grab my shoulders. But his eyes caught on my stomach, and he stopped.

Helena stayed close, waiting to stir the pot.

I was done. But Giovanni never let me leave the house.

Then something shifted.

The moment I stopped playing the obedient wife, Giovanni started acting soft.

He brought me water when I puked, rubbed my back like he cared.

When cramps jolted me awake, he'd leap up, massaging my calves until the pain eased.

He picked the sunniest room and began setting up a nursery.

I knew it wasn't for me—it was for the heir in my belly.

Still, when he looked at me with those gentle eyes, my heart tripped.

I'd waited three years for a look like that.

But I wasn't the only one who noticed.

***

At four months pregnant, I sipped the tea a maid handed me. Thirty minutes later, pain ripped through my stomach.

Helena barged in, clutching me like some savior. "Oh my God, how could you do this to yourself? Lili, even if you don't want this baby, you can't hurt yourself like this!"

I stared at her, wide-eyed, pain stealing my voice.

Giovanni stormed in. Her words hit, and his face twisted from shock to rage. He grabbed my throat.

"You took abortion pills?"

"I didn't..." I gasped, shaking with fear and fury.

"There's a bottle on your nightstand!" Giovanni roared. "The doctor confirmed it—residue in your system! Liliana Bettini, how could you be so cruel?"

He yanked my chin up, forcing me to meet his eyes. "I wondered why you've been so cold. Turns out you never wanted my child at all!"

"It wasn't me—it was her—" I tried to point at Helena, tears blurring my sight.

"Shut up!" he bellowed, shoving me back onto the bed. "You dare accuse my mother? She's done everything for you. I've been too soft—you've forgotten your place, forgotten the rules."

He didn't look at me again.

His voice snapped like a whip at the guards by the door.

"Lock her in the Confession Cell. No one opens it without my word."