On their third wedding anniversary, the gift Adriana Falcone received was a recording of her husband and his courier going at it in the back of a car, running number one across every channel the Family could not silence in time.

Every guest in that banquet hall had their eyes locked on her, waiting for the notoriously fierce wife of the Moretti heir to shatter, to scream, to make a scene worthy of the gossip that traveled between families.

Instead, she calmly arranged for the guests to leave. Then she drove straight to the Moretti estate and said the words she'd been holding inside.

"I want to sever the bond with Lorenzo. I'm pregnant, and I need you to keep it from him."

Carmela Moretti was struck by equal measures of heartbreak and shock. The woman who had loved her son so fiercely was now carrying his child, asking to break the union, and refusing to let him know.

Adriana let out a bitter laugh. She had loved Lorenzo. When the old hit left him broken, when the doctors said he might never be whole again, she'd abandoned her own future and her craft to walk that long road beside him.

But after the wedding, Lorenzo's "memory spells" became routine. He'd forget her, forget the alliance that bound their bloodlines, and lose himself in one woman after another.

She'd thrown away her dignity and her pride. She'd fought, she'd wept, she'd threatened. He'd come back to his senses and apologize, and the very next day he'd be kissing someone else on the open street where any rival's man could see.

She kept telling herself he was sick, that the bullet had taken something from him. Then, the day before, she'd heard the truth.

The voice on the other end of the phone had been teasing, amused. "You really found yourself a brilliant excuse. But seriously, you don't love her anymore?"

Lorenzo had scoffed.

"I used to. But I got bored. She's not young anymore, and she's suspicious of every little thing. Besides, what man can love just one woman his whole life?"

In that single moment, her mind went blank, and something inside her died.

Fine, then. She would leave. And she would take the child growing inside her with her.

But after the bond was severed, when Lorenzo learned the truth, he would lose his mind and drop to his knees, begging for her forgiveness.

——

Their third wedding anniversary. Adriana Falcone received a very special gift.

A recording of Lorenzo Moretti and his courier tangled together in the back of his car, rocketing to the top of every channel the Family's people could not pull down fast enough.

Half an hour earlier, he had been holding her hand as they cut the anniversary cake before the gathered captains and their wives. His voice had been tender. "Every year from now on," he'd murmured. "Just like this."

Now every pair of eyes in the banquet hall was fixed on Adriana. Curiosity, mockery, pity, all braided together. They were waiting for the famously fierce wife of the Moretti heir to crack, to crumble, to give them a show worth carrying back to every other table in the city.

"Ma'am, should I find out where he is?"

Carlo's expression was strained, his voice dropping lower with every word. "I'm sure it's just Mr. Moretti's spells flaring up again."

Old Carmela Moretti had given strict orders: nothing was to upset the young madam on a feast day, not in front of the whole Family. All Carlo could do was invoke Lorenzo's condition and hope she'd stay calm.

Adriana's face showed nothing at all. Beneath the table, her thumb moved once around the slim band on her finger, the one she had cut and set with her own hands. A slow quarter-turn, and still.

"Don't bother. The footage is grainy. Just get it taken down."

Carlo stood frozen, unable to believe what he'd heard.

The murmurs among the guests erupted like a kicked hornet's nest, voices low under the music the way men learn to speak when nothing is ever truly private.

"She's not going after him? Did I hear that right?"

"Last time Lorenzo was spotted with some chorus girl on his arm, she'd just come out of surgery. She literally dragged herself out of bed and swore she'd open her own veins if he didn't come home."

"And on her feast day, when he brought that little starlet? She had the girl shut out of every door in this town and the wedding portraits playing on a loop at the door to mark her territory."

"But it's just the wound in his head acting up. He forgets the alliance, forgets her. And every woman he chases looks at least seventy percent like Adriana."

"Exactly. That proves she's the one he really loves. But does she care? No. She makes a vendetta out of every little slip. Zero compassion for what the man carries."

Every cruel word, every mocking laugh, landed in Adriana's ears without missing a syllable.

They all assumed the same thing: she'd finally learned that scenes risked her place as a Moretti wife, so she was swallowing her pride at last.

Adriana didn't argue. Her gaze had drifted to the wedding portrait hanging nearby, and for a moment, she lost herself in it.

Back then, his eyes had been full of love. But now she finally understood that love and vows were the most fragile things in the world. The most easily broken. More easily, even, than the oaths men swore over blood and rings.

One day ago, she had overheard Lorenzo on the phone with his closest friend.

There was no intermittent memory loss. There never had been. He was simply tired of loving one woman. He wanted novelty, excitement. He remembered everything.

He remembered they'd grown up between the same two families. He remembered she was his wife.

He remembered her hysteria, her red-rimmed eyes, her begging him to come home. He'd watched her forgive him like a fool, over and over again.

Countless nights she had cried herself into exhaustion, unable to sleep.

Now she was done crying. And she was finally ready to let go.

When the dinner ended, Adriana drove straight to the Moretti estate.

Carmela had already seen the recording making its rounds. She looked at Adriana with aching eyes, her hands trembling with fury.

She'd sent men to bring Lorenzo home.

Within minutes, the phone rang. The household soldier's voice came through shaking.

"Ma'am, the young master's spell has passed, but he says he's occupied. He put our men out on the street. He asked us to pass along a word to the young madam. He says he feels terrible that his spell put the girl in front of everyone's eyes, and he needs to stay and make it right with her."

"He also said the young madam handled it well, very sensible, getting the recording pulled so the girl wouldn't be shamed. He said she's finally starting to show some—"

Carmela hurled the phone to the floor. Her hands wouldn't stop shaking.

"That ungrateful boy! When is this so-called sickness of his ever going to end? What you've endured, Adriana, it's beyond what anyone should bear."

Adriana stepped forward and steadied Carmela by the arm. When she spoke, her voice was calm, but threaded through with a bone-deep weariness.

"Mamma, I came tonight because I need you to agree to something. I want to sever the bond with Lorenzo."

"Five years ago, the Falcone name was bled dry. My father was at death's door. The Morettis stepped in and saved us. Your Family will always be our benefactors."

"Then Lorenzo took that bullet, and he changed completely. He was reckless, self-destructive, impossible to control. You asked me to stay, to be at his side, to pull him out of that pit and help him settle."

"I agreed. I turned away from a name I could have earned anywhere in the world for my craft. I gave up the work, the future that was mine alone. I gave him everything I had. And just when I thought things were getting better, the spells started. He kept forgetting me."

"I fought. I screamed. I tore myself apart trying to hold on. But I can't keep him anymore, and I'll never make him remember me for good."

Carmela's eyes went red. She pulled Adriana into a tight embrace, her voice breaking.

"Our Family has wronged you. When your mother and father placed your hand in ours, I gave them my word I'd keep you happy for the rest of your life. I never imagined..."

"After the bullet, he didn't recognize a soul in this world except you. He searched for you like a man possessed. He refused to take any other bride. And now this thing in his head flares up and the only person he forgets is you."

Adriana opened her mouth. He never lost his memory. The words rose to the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed them back down.

She just smiled, a small, self-mocking curve of her lips.

"Mamma, I'm just... so tired."

Carmela let out a long, heavy sigh. She drew the rosary from her purse, and her fingers found the beads, working them through one by one.

"All right. I respect your decision."

Adriana lifted her hand and rested it against her lower belly.

"There's one more thing. Please help me keep this from him. I'm pregnant."

Carmela froze. Her eyes went wide, dropping to Adriana's stomach, and then the tears came in a flood, though her fingers never stopped moving over the beads.

"You foolish girl. You're carrying his blood, and you still have the heart to talk about severing the bond?"

A mist rose in Adriana's eyes, but she held the tears back by sheer force of will.

"Mamma, this baby isn't a chip to bargain with. I don't want my child born into a Family with no love in it. I don't want him growing up looking at his father and learning to regret. I can protect him. I can give him a future. Don't tell Lorenzo about the baby. After all, he can't even remember me."

Carmela looked at the resolve carved into every line of Adriana's face. Her tears fell harder. The beads passed through her fingers one final time, and she closed her hand around them. She nodded, firmly.

"I'll handle the severing. Don't worry. I will keep the child hidden. This is what our Family owes you. What Lorenzo owes you."

Adriana dipped her head in a small nod and turned to leave.

Behind her, she heard Carmela's choked sigh drift through the long hallway:

"How did everything go so wrong..."

Adriana's steps faltered for just a fraction of a second.

How did it go so wrong?

She would never forget the Lorenzo from before that night, the night the gun changed everything. Eyes full of nothing but her, treating her like she was the center of his world.

After the shooting, he'd become someone twisted. Cold and obsessive. During his spells, he would hurt her. When he came back to himself, he'd strike his own face over and over, drop to his knees, beg her to forgive him, swear on the Family's name he hadn't meant it.

She had never blamed him. She had loved him with unwavering certainty.

Now she knew the truth. And her heart would never beat for him again.

She had barely made it down the front steps of the estate when her phone lit up with a massive transfer of laundered cash from Lorenzo and a string of voice messages.

In the background, she could hear faint, breathless panting.

"Babe, you actually didn't make a scene tonight. Good girl. Keep that up."

"My head hit me again just now, and I mistook the girl for you."

"Send over that 'Only You' set, will you? The girl says I was too rough, and nothing I do is calming her down. She's obsessed with that collection you crafted."

Adriana listened to the voice message without a flicker of expression, then lowered her gaze to the diamond ring on her finger, the matching piece to the "Only You" scent.

Lorenzo had designed it himself. His proposal gift to her, back when an alliance between the Moretti and Falcone bloodlines was meant to be more than ink and obligation.

He'd been hiding behind his so-called wound from that old hit, giving away things that belonged to her, things meant only for her, to someone else. Again and again. Then he'd watch with cold detachment as she broke down, as she screamed and raged, before tossing her just enough sweetness to pull her back in line.

The cycle had repeated so many times she'd lost count.

But not this time. She didn't want the ring anymore. She didn't want Lorenzo, either.

Adriana didn't reply. She slipped the ring off her finger and dropped it into the trash.

Then she had one of the house soldiers take the rest of the jewelry away.

The next morning, Lorenzo came home before dawn.

He changed into fresh clothes, scrubbed away the scent that didn't belong to him, and climbed into bed. His arm curled around Adriana from behind, his chin nestling into the curve of her neck, fingers tracing lazy circles along her waist. His voice was low and tender.

"Adriana, I'm sorry. The wound flared up yesterday, and the whole thing got out. A recording, everywhere. I know it must've hurt you."

A pause, then: "But she's young. Spending a little time with her is the decent thing to do. Don't take it to heart."

Adriana gave a calm nod. "Okay."

Lorenzo froze. The carefully rehearsed words he'd prepared to coax her died on his tongue.

"Tesoro, you're really being good about this?"

Adriana offered a faint smile. "Isn't this what you wanted? Obedient and proper."

Lorenzo smiled, looking pleased. He produced a bottle of perfume and held it out to her, as though it were a reward for good behavior. The heavy gold signet turned slowly around his finger, an idle, satisfied motion.

But the cloying sweetness hit her nostrils, and her brow creased instantly.

Less than an hour ago, Vanessa Carbone had posted this exact bottle for the world to see.

"My darling Don bought me perfume. Hate it. Making him take it back to his frumpy little wife as punishment."

There was a time Lorenzo would have scoured every territory across the ocean for the finest things just to see her smile. Now he was handing her another woman's castoffs.

Adriana bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted copper.

"I don't want something that's been dirtied."

Lorenzo's brow twitched, barely perceptible. He tossed the perfume into the trash without hesitation and pulled her into his arms, his voice soothing.

"If my good girl doesn't like it, we throw it away. I've got a full physical booked at the hospital later. Adriana. It's time we had a child of our own. An heir for the family."

A child?

A sharp ache bloomed behind her ribs. She dropped her gaze, hiding the storm in her eyes. Beneath the sheet, her thumb found the slim band she'd designed herself and turned it a slow quarter-rotation.

Once, they had both longed for a child with everything they had. But now she would never tell him.

A long silence stretched between them. Adriana was just about to offer the excuse she'd rehearsed when Lorenzo's phone rang.

"Lorenzo, I twisted my ankle. It really hurts."

Lorenzo glanced at Adriana, then spoke into the phone, his tone clipped and cold.

"Can't you get yourself to the hospital?"

He hung up.

Then he turned back to Adriana, all smiles, and helped her gather her things.

"Today, wifey comes first!"

The car pulled away from the estate, past the gate where two of the Don's men stood with their hands folded and their eyes following them out. Minutes later, the phone shattered the quiet again.

Lorenzo answered. Adriana couldn't hear what was said on the other end, but he slammed the brakes so hard her seatbelt locked. He threw open his door, rounded the car, and yanked open the passenger side, pulling her out.

"Tesoro, just grab a cab to the hospital."

He was gone before she could blink, tires screaming against asphalt.

Adriana watched the car shrink into the distance. A bitter laugh escaped her.

She'd actually believed, for half a second, that there was a shred of sincerity left in him. In the end, the only fool here was her.

She went to the hospital alone. After the prenatal checkup, she turned a corner and walked straight into Lorenzo and Vanessa.

Vanessa was curled against his chest, eyes red-rimmed, a cartoon bandage plastered across her ankle.

The moment she spotted Adriana, Vanessa lifted her face from Lorenzo's embrace.

"Mrs. Moretti, I'm so sorry. This is all my fault." The words came a beat too fast, her smile stretching a fraction too wide. "I just twisted my ankle, and I shouldn't have bothered the Don to come all the way here. He should have been with you for your checkup. I feel terrible."

The sight sent Adriana's stomach lurching. She gagged, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth.

"Couriers are a real bargain these days. The position even comes with a side arrangement as the Don's kept woman."

Lorenzo's jaw tightened at her words, anger flashing across his face. But then he saw her. The color had drained from her skin. Her lips were bloodless. She was swaying on her feet.

Something twisted in his chest. He reached for the papers clutched in her hand, thinking she was sick.

"What's wrong? Are you ill?"

His fingers had barely grazed the report when Vanessa let out a sharp whimper.

"Lorenzo, my foot. It hurts so much…"

Her voice snapped his attention back like a leash. He released Adriana's hand immediately and turned to fuss over the woman in his arms.

"Shh, it's okay. We'll get it checked right now."

He let go so abruptly that Adriana, already unsteady, stumbled backward. Her legs buckled, and she nearly hit the floor.

Her palm caught the wall just in time. She steadied herself against it, fingers pressed white against the cold surface.

By the time she looked up, Lorenzo was already walking away with Vanessa in his arms.

Her heart clenched with a pain she couldn't contain. She dug her nails into her palm, hard enough to draw crescents into the skin, forcing herself to stay composed.

She didn't look back. She turned and left.

The moment she stepped outside the hospital, a message from Carmela lit up her phone.

"Adriana, the papers to sever the bond will be ready in a week."

After leaving the hospital, Adriana drove straight to the workshop.

Lorenzo had set it up for her after the wedding. He'd carried the guilt of it like a stone — she'd surrendered her craft to nurse him back from the wound he took in that old hit, so he'd given her this place to make amends.

She would not take a single dollar of Lorenzo Moretti's laundered fortune when she severed the bond. But this workshop she would claim. Every piece inside it had been born from her own hands, her own sleepless nights, her own talent. She needed it to build a future for herself and the child.

She hadn't been there long when her courier handed her an outgoing inventory log.

Her necklaces. Her bracelets. The pieces from her archival collection — commissions the Family had once paraded as proof of its refinement. Every last one had been signed out and delivered to Vanessa Carbone, on the Don's order.

Rage surged through her chest. She reached for her phone to call him.

Then she saw her own name spreading across the screens, passed hand to hand through every channel the Family didn't control.

The recording was already everywhere. In it, she sat alone in the hospital waiting room. And there was Lorenzo, cradling Vanessa in his arms, murmuring to her like she was something precious.

The talk had erupted beneath it.

"So even Adriana Falcone knows when to keep her mouth shut. Guess she's terrified of losing her place in the Moretti name."

"Vanessa's clearly the one Lorenzo actually wants. Did you see how panicked he looked holding her?"

"Adriana only married into the famiglia because she tended his wound after the hit. She leveraged a debt into a wedding band, and now the truth's catching up."

The words were sharp as needles, but they couldn't pierce a heart that had already gone cold.

Lorenzo saw the recording too. His answer was a seven-figure wire and a single message.

[Vanessa had nightmares and needed me there. Be good.]

Adriana stared at the number on her screen. Nothing stirred behind her eyes.

She dialed his number. When he picked up, her voice was ice stripped of every last trace of feeling.

"Lorenzo, you gave my designs to your kept woman. Did you think to ask me first?"

On the other end, Lorenzo sounded utterly unbothered, even irritated, as though she were the one being unreasonable.

"Isn't the cash I sent you enough to cover it? You were so well-behaved yesterday. What happened?"

Adriana laughed. She hung up without another word and went back to packing.

She didn't leave the workshop until the following day.

Once she finished gathering her things, she would never set foot in that place again.

But when she pushed open the front door of the estate, she found Vanessa curled on the sofa, nestled against Lorenzo, cooing up at him. They looked every bit the picture of a devoted young couple.

Vanessa heard the door and turned. The moment she spotted Adriana, her expression shifted into something small and frightened, and she shrank deeper into Lorenzo's arms.

"Hey, sis."

Adriana's body trembled before she could stop it. She turned the slim band on her finger a slow quarter-rotation, looked at the scene, and let the words fall, razor-edged.

"How thoughtful of you, Don Moretti. Bringing your kept woman under your own roof to convalesce. Was the house feeling too big and empty? Needed a little extra warmth?"

Lorenzo's expression darkened in an instant. He straightened, his gaze locking onto Adriana, disappointment heavy in every syllable.

"Adriana, I actually thought you'd learned your lesson. And here you go again with the passive-aggressive nonsense. Vanessa's ankle hasn't healed. I don't feel right leaving her out there on her own. I brought her back to rest for a few days. What's the problem?"

His words snuffed out the last faint ember of anything she'd still been holding onto.

She looked at the man in front of her, the man who had once loved her down to the marrow of his bones, and felt nothing. Not anger. Not grief. Just a vast, hollow indifference.

She didn't argue. She swept one cool glance over the two of them, turned, and walked toward the bedroom.

The door closed behind her, sealing out Vanessa's soft, theatrical sobs. Sealing out the last fragile thread that still tied her to Lorenzo Moretti.

Adriana slid down against the door until she was sitting on the floor. Her hand drifted to her stomach, and she whispered into the quiet.

"You won't blame Mommy for not giving you a whole family, will you, little one?"