I fixed my eyes on Vittorio, a crushing sense of disillusionment spreading through my chest. There had been a time when I thought every angle of his face was carved by heaven itself, as if even the moon had paused to admire him. Back then, I would have sworn he was flawless. Now the mere sight of him made my stomach twist. Whatever affection I once carried had long since rotted into disgust.

Vittorio parted his lips as if he were about to speak, but Valeria slipped in ahead of him, her voice laced with practiced weakness.

“Don… my head feels dizzy again,” she whispered. “And my cheek is aching. Could you see if it’s swollen?”

His attention snapped to her instantly, concern lighting his eyes without the slightest delay. Seizing that opening, Valeria leaned heavily into him, letting out a faint breath like she could barely remain upright. The red mark from my hand stood out vividly against her pale skin, a perfect prop for her act.

Tears welled quickly in her eyes. Vittorio reached up and brushed them away with gentle fingers, the familiarity of his touch driving a dull ache straight through my chest. There had been a time when he did the same for me—when he would steady me if I faltered, when his voice softened only in my presence. Those memories felt like fragments from another life.

Then his face hardened. The warmth drained away, leaving only cold authority.

“Bianca,” he said curtly, “you will apologize to your sister.”

I squared my shoulders and raised my chin, refusing to look away.

“No,” I answered.

The word startled him. Once, I would have tiptoed around his temper, desperate for approval that never came. No matter how devoted I was, it was never enough. Valeria always stood higher in his eyes.

Looking back, I realized she had never tried to hide her hostility. Even as children, she resented me for being trusted more, for being capable. That bitterness only grew when the heirloom—the family heirloom she coveted—was passed down to me instead of her.

When she sensed my feelings for Don Vittorio, she began pursuing him too, turning it into a contest she refused to lose. Still, I never imagined she would return after her own partner’s death and shatter my world all over again.

Vittorio’s surprise faded quickly. He leaned back against the sofa, Valeria still cradled in his arms, and spoke in a voice edged with threat.

“Don’t test me, Bianca.”

Seconds later, the syndicate enforcers he had summoned through his private line arrived and blocked my escape. They seized my arms and shoved me back in front of the couple, their grips merciless.

Vittorio lounged as though nothing was amiss, his eyes skimming over me with detached indifference.

“Apologize,” he said again.

Valeria turned to him, a faint curve of triumph on her lips, half-hidden behind false humility.

“It’s fine, Don. She didn’t mean to hurt me.”

He gazed at her with sympathy. “You’re too generous. You’ve always treated her kindly, yet she’s never acted like your sister.”

Then he looked back at me, his stare cutting.

“Anyone who lays a hand on Valeria will pay the price.”

At his subtle signal, the guards forced me down. My knees hit the floor hard. As my head dipped, I caught the slightest hint of satisfaction on his lips. One of the men stepped closer, hand raised, ready to strike.

Valeria’s voice stopped him.

“Don,” she said softly, “she’s still my sister. I’m afraid they might hurt her too badly. If discipline is needed… let me handle it.”

Vittorio gave a brief nod.

Valeria stepped forward and slapped me—once, then again. Her nails raked my skin, leaving stinging lines across my cheek as pain burst through my face.

She turned back to him, feigning uncertainty.

“Don… I’ve hit her. What should we do now?”

His reply was ice-cold. “She deserved it. And you’re still worrying about her after everything.”

The guards released me. My legs buckled and I fell to the floor. Vittorio remained seated, staring down at me without an ounce of regret.

“You still owe Valeria an apology,” he said.

An apology.

She was the one who mocked my son, who accused him of lying. Luca would never lie. Yet this worthless Don always chose her side, no matter how vile the injustice.

I lifted my head and glared at him, my voice thick with fury.

“Keep dreaming.”

Then I screamed, every shred of pain and hatred pouring out. “I despise you, Don Vittorio!”

When my eyes met Don Vittorio’s, there was nothing gentle left inside them. The woman who once looked at him as though he were the center of her universe was long dead. Whatever affection I had once carried had been burned to cinders, leaving behind only a searing, merciless hatred that I could no longer conceal.

He noticed immediately.

The Don was used to fear, devotion, even worship—but not this. His brows knitted together, and for the first time that night, something close to discomfort crept across his face.

“Bianca,” he said after a moment, tempering his voice as if trying to reason with a volatile subordinate, “just listen to me this once. Do what I ask and I’ll make it worth your while. Name your price. I’ll even arrange that birthday dinner you wanted for the kid. Exactly how you described it.”

The words rang in my ears like the hollow echo of a gunshot fired into an empty room.

A birthday dinner.

For a child who no longer breathed.

I almost laughed at the cruelty of it. Luca had been gone for days, his small body already lowered into the earth, and this man still believed a party could undo everything. Vittorio had made his priorities known long before tragedy struck. He had chosen Valeria over his own blood more times than I could count.

Everyone in the syndicate knew.

At formal banquets, he escorted my sister while I stood forgotten at the edge of the room. At closed-door negotiations, she sat beside him while I remained invisible. I had been reduced to a title with no authority—Don Vittorio’s wife only in name, a decorative piece to legitimize his empire.

And now, with Luca dead, he thought he could lure me back with the same promise he had already broken.

It was manipulation, pure and calculated—grief turned into leverage.

I forced my expression into something unreadable and met his gaze without blinking.

“There’s no reason,” I said evenly. “It’s finished. I’m leaving this house, leaving this family—just like you always wanted. You’re free now. Go live out your perfect life with Valeria.”

He stared at me, clearly unprepared for that answer. His disbelief quickly twisted into mockery.

“What’s this supposed to be?” he scoffed. “You’ve finally stopped clinging to me? You won’t beg anymore? No more tears about your precious son needing his father?”

The disdain in his voice felt like poison poured straight into my veins.

Before I could speak, Valeria slid into the conversation, her voice soft, dripping with false concern.

“Bianca, don’t mislead the Don,” she said gently. “If Luca were really that sick, wouldn’t you have dragged Vittorio home by now? Why would you be standing here alone?”

Something inside me shattered.

“Shut up,” I snapped. “You don’t get to say his name. Not now. Not ever.”

Her face shifted—hurt on the surface, triumph beneath.

“Alright,” she whispered. “I won’t mention him again. Please don’t be upset with me.”

Vittorio’s jaw tightened as he watched the exchange. A low, humorless laugh escaped him. He pulled out his phone, pressing a few buttons with deliberate slowness, then switched the call to speaker.

“Oliver,” he said coolly to his lieutenant, “track down my son immediately. Bring him to me.”

He shot me a smug glance, convinced this would expose my supposed lie and reestablish his dominance.

I smiled faintly, though my chest felt like it was collapsing inward.

Several long seconds passed before Oliver answered, his voice strained.

“Don… Luca passed away a few days ago. It was the morning after you left the territory with Valeria.”

The room went silent.

Even the air seemed to freeze.

Vittorio’s hand tightened around his phone as though he couldn’t quite understand what he was hearing.

“What did you say?” he demanded.

Oliver repeated himself, slower this time, each word deliberate.

“Luca is dead, sir. He died the day after you went to the mountains.”