There were milk stains on his trousers, just below the belt, still damp and threaded through with the lingering scent of Serafina's perfume. I didn't need to guess what the two of them had been doing.

My stomach churned.

Just then the wet nurse from Serafina's rooms came knocking, flustered, wringing her hands the way retainers did when they feared the Don's temper.

"Don Moretti, the lady's chest has swollen again. She's been holding back tears all morning. The baby hasn't fed, and she's hard as stone with the pain. Please, would you come?"

Vitale shoved me aside without a moment's thought. My ruined leg buckled and I went down onto the marble. He didn't so much as glance back.

"She's in that kind of pain and no one saw fit to tell me sooner? What do I keep this household for?" he barked, already at the door.

"From today she doesn't nurse at all. Hire as many wet nurses as it takes. I won't have Serafina suffer another minute, and my son does not go hungry."

And just like that he was gone, leaving me crumpled on the floor of his estate.

I sat there in silence, remembering.

When he first decided to take Serafina under this roof, Gia had only just been born. I was still bleeding from the birth when the word reached me, so angry and heartbroken that my milk dried up. My chest swelled until it felt packed with stones, the pain so terrible I couldn't sleep.

I'd begged him to bring in a nurse, someone to help.

But he'd only looked me over and said, "Adriana, you're a Don's daughter. You were bred to endure. What is a little pain to a woman like you?"

"I won't have strangers moving through my house. What if they're planted by a rival family? I won't gamble with Serafina's safety."

"So, no. No nurse. You'll feed the child yourself. You were always the sensible one. Hold out a while longer, will you?"

Vitale would move heaven and earth so long as Serafina was comfortable. When had that begun?

When had he gone from calling her his brother's widow, to Serafina, and now to my wife?

And me? What did that leave me?

"Mama, don't cry."

I hadn't noticed Gia wake. She slid off the bed and padded over, her small hand brushing my cheek.

Only then did I realize my face was soaked with tears.

She wrapped her arms tight around me, her little voice thick. "Mama, this is the hundredth time Papa left us to go be with her."

"I've made up my mind. We don't need him anymore. Let's go, just the two of us."

So she knew. She had known all along. She had kept giving him one more chance, and then another, until she finally ran out of them. Until she finally gave up.

I pulled her against my chest and held her there, my tears falling again, but this time I smiled through them.

"All right, baby. Mama will take you away."

The next morning Serafina appeared at my door wearing a bright, easy smile, as though nothing had happened. She invited me out to the shops, said it was her way of apologizing for "not looking after Gia better."

She threaded her arm through Vitale's and purred, "Vitale, you should come and settle the accounts. Adriana's had such a hard year. We owe her that much, don't we?"

Serafina wore the part of the lady of the Moretti Estate as if she'd been born to it, poised, entitled, entirely in command. So when I didn't answer at once, Vitale's face darkened.

"Adriana," he said, irritated, "Serafina is only trying to be kind. You and Gia upset her so badly yesterday she ached all night, couldn't even nurse Matteo. And still she holds nothing against you. The least you can do is not make this harder."

He must have forgotten how thin the walls were in that house. I'd heard everything the night before. Their moaning, their whispered oaths, the sickening sound of their bodies tangled together.

The memory turned my stomach, but I swallowed the bile and gave a small nod. I hadn't the strength to fight, not then. Under my sleeve, my thumb found the smooth stump where three fingers should have been, and pressed.

At the shops Serafina stayed fastened to Vitale's arm the whole time, parading him like a trophy. He wore his tailored suit like armor; she drifted beside him in a gown that cost more than most men earned in a year. They basked in the flattery of the clerks, drinking down the attention like royalty holding court.

And I limped behind them in a faded, cheap dress that had seen better days, if it had ever seen a good one at all. I caught the judgment in the clerks' eyes, the sneers they didn't trouble to hide. I didn't belong in their world.

Whenever someone asked who I was, Vitale would glance back at me, nervous, guilty, and say with a tight smile:

"She's our household help. My wife thought she could use some new clothes."

The boutique staff always fell over themselves, their flattery thick as honey poured over the marble floors of the Moretti front on Via Sartori.

"Don and Signora Moretti," one of them gushed, "you look like a match blessed by God Himself, and such generous hearts. Treating even your household girl like family? That is true devotion. May your union last a lifetime."

I bit my tongue and smiled politely, even as every word sliced through me.

Then, on the road home, fate decided the day was not yet finished with me.

Halfway through Moretti territory, our car was suddenly boxed in. A dozen men in masks and helmets roared up on motorcycles, cutting across the road like a storm rolling off the water. They forced the driver to stop, shattered the windows with crowbars, and swarmed us. This was no street robbery. This was a hit against the Family, aimed straight at Vitale.

Their leader leaned in through the broken glass, voice rough and unhurried. "Fifteen million. Cash. Now."

Vitale, still holding to that cold composure of his, smoothed his jacket and answered evenly. "Fifteen million? That's pocket change to a man like me. But cash takes time to move. Let us go and I'll have it wired, or fetch it myself."

The man scoffed. "Don't insult us, Don Moretti. We know how this works. Word on the street is you're getting married. So tell us." He glanced between me and Serafina, lips curling. "Which one's the lucky bride?"

His tone turned venomous. "Leave one behind. A little insurance. You try anything clever, we take a finger. Every hour, another one."

Serafina and I both turned to Vitale. These men weren't bluffing. They had the look of people with nothing left to lose and no debt to answer for.

Vitale hesitated, his face a knot of calculation and fear.

Then, without warning, he seized me by the arm and shoved me forward. "It's her," he said coldly. "She's my bride. Look her up. The photos are all over. Same face. You'll see."

I stumbled, stunned, as he offered me up like tribute owed.

"This is who you want. Let the rest of us go."

I stared at Vitale in disbelief.

So that was the real reason he'd been parading my photograph, playing the devoted groom. It was never love. It was strategy. I was a shield, and Serafina was the thing being shielded.

The gang wasn't playing. One of them caught my hand and, without a word, took one of my fingers off. Blood came at once, hot and blinding.

I went white from the pain, but I never looked away from Vitale.

"Are you sure you won't regret this?" I asked, my voice low and shaking.

Vitale flinched under my gaze. He looked away, unable to meet my eyes.

"Adriana, Serafina has no one else. I swore to my brother I'd protect her," he said, as though he were the honorable man in this. "Just hold on a while, all right? I'll make it up to you. I'll get the money. I'll come back."

Without hesitation, he took Serafina's hand and walked away with her, and he never once looked back.

I watched them go, numb. My hand throbbed, blood soaking through my sleeve, but the agony inside me ran deeper still. In that moment the whole of our alliance, the years, the vows, the child we shared, felt like a cruel joke told at my expense.

Two hours passed. Two more fingers gone.

The gang leader lost his patience. He sent one of his men to press the Moretti Estate for an answer.

"Boss, we got played." The man came back furious. "I went to the house looking for that bastard Moretti, and you know what the old steward tells me? The Don's busy putting his wife to bed. Those were the words. His wife."

He spat on the ground and jerked a thumb at me.

"Turns out this one isn't the bride at all. She's a goddamn decoy. The real one's the woman he walked off with."

The pain shot from my hand straight into my chest, and for a moment I couldn't tell which hurt worse, my body or my heart.

The gang leader snapped.

"You lying bitch!" he roared, grabbing a fistful of my hair and wrenching my head back. "You think you can play me? Huh? I ought to open your throat right here!"

The blade was already against my neck when, finally, finally, Vitale appeared.

But he hadn't brought the money. He'd brought an army of enforcers, who stormed the road and beat the gang into the pavement inside a handful of minutes.

So that was where he'd been. Not raising cash. Not negotiating. Just putting Serafina to bed.

The ride back was silent at first. Then, as he wound gauze clumsily around my ruined hand, he sighed, as if he were the one who'd suffered something.

"Adriana, I know this was hard on you. I do. But Serafina, she isn't like you. She's fragile. She could never have survived something like that."

"If anything had happened to her, I couldn't face my brother in the next life. You understand, don't you?"

I was too exhausted to argue. Too done to care.

I waved him off, my voice flat. "You don't need to explain. I understand. I won't hold it against you."

His eyes lit like I'd pinned a medal to his chest. "That's what I've always cherished about you, Adriana. You're the one who understands."

"Once the union with Serafina is done, I swear, I'll settle the debt with these men in blood. You'll never be in danger again."

Whether Vitale did it for me or for Serafina's safety, he knew the answer better than I ever could. I didn't need to say it aloud.

On the morning of the blood-bound union, just before he left, Vitale took my hand.

"Adriana," he said gently, "thank you for being so understanding. Once all of this is behind us, I'll take you and Gia away. Just the three of us. A real rest."

I gave him a soft smile and reached up to straighten his collar. "Of course," I said. "Go on now. Don't keep your dear sister-in-law waiting."

He paused, surprised, maybe even wary. He hadn't expected me so calm. So agreeable. I'd fought him over his precious Serafina too many times to count.

He let it go in the end. With a nod he turned and left for the hotel, his wedding suit crisp, his step certain.

I watched his back vanish down the long drive of the compound and thought to myself, yes. It was time. Gia and I needed to disappear.

Meanwhile, at the hotel, the ceremony was well underway.

The officiant stood tall, his voice carrying through the grand hall of the Moretti front. "Don Moretti, do you take Serafina to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

Vitale opened his mouth to answer. Before a word left him, the aged household steward burst through the doors, pale and breathless.

"Don Moretti, something terrible has happened. Right after you left, those men from the other day, they came back. More of them this time. They took the house. They took the Signora and the little miss."

The room froze.

"They've sent a video," Don Ricci stammered, smoothing the front of his waistcoat with both trembling hands. "They, they've been killed."