My world shattered the moment Amara collapsed. One second, my daughter was running toward me, giggling as she dodged the waves at the private beach behind our villa. The next, she crumpled like a puppet with its strings cut.

"Amara!" My scream tore through the air as I bolted toward her. But I wasn’t the first to reach her.

Lorenzo was faster. One moment, he was by the fireplace, discussing business with his men. The next, he was on his knees, his strong arms scooping our daughter off the cold floor.

"Amara, piccola," his voice was rough, panicked—nothing like the cold, untouchable mafia king the world knew. "Stay with me."

Her tiny fingers clutched at his shirt, her breaths coming in short, pained gasps. "Papa…"

"I’m here, sweetheart." His jaw clenched, his grip on her tightening as he turned to me. "Get the doctor. Now."

I snapped out of my frozen shock and grabbed my phone, my fingers trembling as I called Dr. Romano. "She collapsed," I choked out. "She—she can’t breathe properly."

"Bring her to the clinic. Now."

She was fine just minutes ago. Playing. Laughing. This can’t be happening.

"She—she was fine, Lorenzo," I forced out, trying to keep the panic from swallowing me whole.

"Not now," he snapped, his jaw clenched as he carried Amara toward the waiting black SUV. His men moved swiftly, opening the door as he slid inside with our daughter cradled in his arms.

I climbed in beside them, my hands shaking as I reached for Amara’s pale face. "Baby, stay with me. Mommy’s here."

Lorenzo didn’t speak, his entire body tense as he held Amara against his chest. His heartbeat was steady—controlled—but I knew him too well. Beneath that ruthless composure, he was barely holding it together.

The drive to the hospital was suffocating.

Every second felt like an eternity. When we arrived, doctors were already waiting. Lorenzo didn’t waste time; he strode through the entrance, barking orders like a man used to being obeyed.

Dr. Romano met us in the hallway, his face grave as he motioned for the nurses to take Amara.

"What’s happening to my daughter?" Lorenzo demanded, his voice like steel.

Dr. Romano exhaled sharply. "It’s as we feared. Her nervous system is failing. If we don’t act fast—"

"Then act," Lorenzo cut him off, his patience razor-thin.

The doctor hesitated. "She needs a transfusion. But her condition is rare. There’s only one match."

My stomach twisted.

Dr. Romano’s gaze flickered to Lorenzo. "You."

Silence.

Lorenzo’s expression didn’t change, but something dangerous flickered in his eyes.

I swallowed hard. "Then do it. Whatever it takes."

Dr. Romano nodded, but before he could speak, the doors swung open.

A woman walked in. Tall. Elegant. Dressed in a designer coat, her heels clicking against the pristine floor. Panicked.

Isabella—my husband's first love. They were in a relationship for almost five years. She should have been Lorenzo's wife, but she ran away from him. I was the one who saved him from drowning in pain, and a year later, he married me.

But Isabella wasn't alone.

A boy stood beside her. No older than Amara. Pale. Frail. His small hand gripping Isabella’s tightly.

My stomach dropped. No. Not now.

Dr. Romano stiffened. "This is… unexpected."

Lorenzo’s voice was eerily calm. "Why is she here?"

Isabella’s fingers trembled as she clutched her son’s hand. "Because… Dr. Romano is my son's doctor. Dante needs help too."

The air thickened with tension.

Dr. Romano exhaled. "Dante has the same condition as Amara. And Lorenzo… you’re his only match."

The words hit like a gunshot. My world tilted.

"What?" Lorenzo’s voice was dangerously low.

Dr. Romano hesitated, then said the words that shattered everything.

"Dante is your son."

The silence was deafening.

I took a step back, my vision blurring. No. No, this couldn’t be happening.

Lorenzo’s entire body went rigid. His jaw clenched. His knuckles turned white. "Is this some kind of joke?"

Isabella’s lips trembled. "I didn’t want you to find out this way."

Lorenzo’s hands curled into fists. "How long?" His voice was cold, deadly.

Isabella swallowed. "Eight years."

I flinched.

Eight years. The same age as Amara.

Lorenzo inhaled sharply, his nostrils flaring. "And you didn’t think to tell me?"

Tears welled in Isabella’s eyes. "I was protecting him."

Lorenzo let out a dark, humorless laugh. "From me?"

"From my dead-husband," she whispered. "If he knew Dante wasn’t his… he would have killed us both."

I felt sick. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t real.

Dr. Romano broke the silence. "We don’t have time for this. Lorenzo, you have two children who need you."

Two. The word twisted like a knife in my chest.

Lorenzo’s face was unreadable, but his hands clenched at his sides.

Isabella took a shaky breath. "I know I have no right to ask, but please… save him."

My throat burned. I looked at Lorenzo, at the man I had loved, at the father of my child.

"Lorenzo." My voice was barely a whisper. "Save our daughter."

His jaw tensed. His gaze flickered between Amara’s hospital bed and Dante’s frail frame.

One choice. Two lives. No way to save them both.

And for the first time in my life, I realized—

Even the devil could bleed.

I held Amara against my chest, her tiny body cold, her breaths growing weaker.

“Please, Lorenzo,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “She needs you. Our daughter needs you!"

Lorenzo’s jaw clenched as he looked between our daughter and the boy beside Isabella. Dante. His son. I saw the war in his eyes—the hesitation, the unbearable weight of his decision.

And then he spoke. “I’m sorry, Valeria.”

The words hit harder than any bullet.

My breath caught. “No…” I shook my head, clutching Amara tighter. “No, you don’t mean that.”

But he did.

Lorenzo turned to Dr. Romano. “Do it. Save Dante.”

A strangled sob tore from my throat. “Lorenzo—”

He didn’t even look at me.

Doctors rushed to prepare for the transfusion. Men stood guard, their expressions unreadable as they bore witness to the infamous Lorenzo De Luca’s choice. Not his daughter. Not our daughter.

I pressed my forehead against Amara’s, my tears soaking her cold skin. “I’m here, baby,” I whispered. “Mommy’s here.”

She didn’t answer. Didn’t even move. Her tiny fingers slipped away.

And then—nothing.

The world tilted. I don’t remember screaming, but I must have, because suddenly hands were on me, prying Amara from my arms.

“No! Don’t take her from me!” I thrashed, sobbing, my voice raw.

Lorenzo didn’t stop them. He just stood there, his hand on Dante’s shoulder as my world collapsed. And in that moment, I knew—I would never forgive him. Not in this life. Not in the next.

***

The funeral was small. Private.

Rain fell in a steady drizzle, soaking through my black dress, but I barely felt it. I stood at the edge of the grave, staring at the small coffin being lowered into the earth. My tears had long dried. There was nothing left inside me. Nothing but hatred.

Lorenzo stood a few feet away, his men forming a silent wall around him. He hadn’t spoken to me since that night. Hadn’t even tried. Not that it mattered. He made his choice. And now, my baby—our baby—was gone.

The priest spoke of peace, of God’s plan. But there was no peace. No plan. Just a gaping hole where Amara used to be.

Then, movement.

Lorenzo stepped back, phone pressed to his ear, expression cold. And then he turned. Walked away. Didn’t even wait for the burial to finish.

I already knew why. Isabella. She had called him. And like a fool, he ran to her.

A bitter laugh bubbled in my throat, but I swallowed it. My hands clenched into fists, nails digging into my skin. Lorenzo De Luca had left his daughter’s burial because Isabella called.

I should have screamed. Should have begged him to stay. Should have demanded he grieve. But I was too broken. So I let him go. And as the last of the dirt covered Amara’s coffin, I swore I would never forgive him.

Because the truth was, Isabella had taken everything from me. She had left Lorenzo once, chosen another man over him. Then, when that man was shot dead, she had come crawling back.

Not just for Lorenzo. But for everything he had. For my daughter’s place. For my life.

And Lorenzo—blind, stupid, heartless Lorenzo—had let her.

---

I stood there until midnight. The cemetery was silent, the only sound the wind rustling through the trees. My legs ached, my body cold and drenched, but I couldn’t move. I was numb. Yet my mind wouldn’t stop.

Memories flooded in, drowning me in everything I once had—everything I lost.

Lorenzo.

He used to be a loving husband, even with the blood of the mafia staining his hands. I remembered the night I was kidnapped. The ropes biting into my wrists. The cruel laughter of the men who thought they could use me against him.

Then—gunfire. Screams.

And Lorenzo.

He stormed in alone, rage burning in his ice-blue eyes. He fought them all, his movements swift and merciless. Blood splattered, bodies fell, but he didn’t stop until I was in his arms. His hands trembled as he cupped my face.

“Did they hurt you?” His voice was raw.

I shook my head, tears spilling.

He pulled me into his chest, holding me so tight I could barely breathe. “I would burn this whole world down for you, Valeria.”

A broken sob escaped me as I clutched my coat.

He used to mean it.

Then another memory surfaced.

The hospital. Lorenzo lying on the bed, his stomach wrapped in thick bandages. He had been shot protecting me. Yet, even as he struggled to stay awake, he had smiled.

“I don’t want to wait anymore,” he murmured, pulling a small velvet box from under his pillow. His fingers were weak, shaking, but when he opened it, the diamond ring still sparkled.

I gasped. “Lorenzo—”

“Marry me.”

Tears burned my eyes. “You’re in the hospital. You just got shot.”

He grinned, that stupid, arrogant grin. “And? You gonna say no to a dying man?”

I laughed then, shaking my head. “You’re not dying, idiot.”

“Then say yes.” He whispered, voice hoarse. “Because no matter what happens, you’re mine, Valeria.”

My knees hit the wet ground as more memories attacked me.

The day Amara was born. Lorenzo pacing outside the hospital room like a caged animal. Then, when he finally held her for the first time, his entire world shifted.

“She’s perfect,” he whispered. “My little princess.”

I had never seen him cry before, but that day, his eyes shimmered.

“I’ll protect her,” he vowed, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Lies. All of it.

My fingers curled into the cold, wet earth. And still, the memories wouldn’t stop.

Disneyland.

Lorenzo had closed the entire park. No tourists. No strangers. Just us.

Amara had squealed. “Is this all for me, Daddy?”

Lorenzo picked her up, spinning her. “All for you, princess.”

She giggled, clinging to him. “Mommy too?”

He smirked. “Mommy too.”

At the end of the night, fireworks lit up the sky, and he wrapped his arms around me from behind.

“This is what I fought for,” he murmured. “This is my world. You. Her. Us.”

A bitter laugh broke from my throat.

Lies.

He fought for us once. But when it mattered most—when Amara needed him—he didn’t choose her. Didn’t choose me. He walked away.

And now, I was standing over our daughter’s grave while he was probably in Isabella’s arms.

The betrayal burned through me like fire, but I didn’t cry. I couldn’t.

Because something inside me had already died.

And it would never come back.

Two weeks.

That’s all it took for Lorenzo to forget. To erase our daughter like she never existed.

The De Luca empire’s five-star hotel was lit up like a beacon, the grand ballroom filled with the most powerful figures in the mafia world. Champagne flowed, laughter echoed, and a massive banner hung above the stage—

WELCOME HOME, ISABELLA & DANTE.

My nails dug into my palm as I stood at the entrance, staring at the scene before me. Amara had only been gone for fourteen days. Fourteen. And yet here he was, throwing a goddamn celebration. My grief, my pain—it meant nothing to him.

I pushed past the guards, ignoring their protests. My heels clicked against the marble floors as I stormed through the crowd, my vision tunneling toward the stage. Toward them.

Lorenzo stood at the center, dressed in an expensive black suit, his presence commanding as always. Beside him, Isabella wore a stunning red gown, her arm draped possessively over his. She was glowing. Smiling. As if she hadn’t stolen everything from me. As if my daughter hadn’t just been buried.

Rage roared in my chest. I didn’t think. I just moved.

The gasps came the moment my palm connected with Isabella’s cheek. The sharp crack echoed through the ballroom. Her head snapped to the side, shock flickering in her eyes before she quickly masked it.

“Valeria—” Lorenzo’s voice was sharp, warning.

But I wasn’t finished. “How dare you?” My whole body shook. “You stand here, celebrating, while my daughter—our daughter—is in the ground?” My voice cracked, but I didn’t care. I turned to Lorenzo, fury burning through every word. “You didn’t even give me a month, Lorenzo. Not even a month to grieve. And now, you’re parading your whore like she’s some kind of queen?”

Isabella let out a small gasp before—she collapsed dramatically to the floor. Crying. Loudly. As if she was the victim.

“Oh my God!” she sobbed, pressing a trembling hand to her cheek. “She hit me! She attacked me in front of everyone!” Tears streamed down her face, her shoulders shaking violently. “Lorenzo, please,” she whimpered. “Make her stop.”

Lorenzo’s jaw clenched, his entire body radiating tension. And then—a small figure rushed forward.

Dante. His son. His precious son.

The boy launched himself at me, his tiny fists slamming into my stomach. “You monster!” he screamed, his little face twisted in fury. “You hurt my mama! You’re a bad person! My papa doesn’t love you anymore!” He kicked me—hard.

Pain shot through my ribs, but I barely had time to react before his fists pounded against me again. Tears streamed down his cheeks, his small body trembling with anger. “I hate you! I hate you! You deserve to be alone forever!”

Guards moved forward, hesitating. No one knew if they should stop him. Lorenzo did nothing. He just stood there, watching.

I swallowed back the pain, my breath shaky. I wasn’t going to fight a child. Even if he was Isabella’s. Even if he was his. But the betrayal stung like hell.

I looked up, my vision blurred. And that’s when I saw it—Isabella smirking. Just for a second. Just enough for me to see the triumph in her eyes before she quickly wiped her tears, clinging onto Lorenzo’s arm like a fragile victim.

“She’s trying to ruin us, Lorenzo,” she whispered brokenly. “She can’t stand that you love me now.”

Lorenzo exhaled sharply, his hand clenching into a fist. I knew what was coming before he even moved.

The slap came fast.

Pain exploded across my face as I staggered back. The entire ballroom fell silent. I slowly lifted my gaze, my skin stinging, my pride shattered. Lorenzo didn’t look regretful. Didn’t look anything. His expression was cold. Distant. Like I was nothing to him. Like I hadn’t been his wife for years. Like I hadn’t carried his child.

“This ends tonight,” he said, his voice emotionless.

He pulled something from his pocket and threw it at me. The papers scattered to the floor at my feet.

Divorce papers.

I stared at them, frozen. But then—photos. Pictures floated in the air, landing around me.

Me. Naked. In bed. With three different men. Intimate. Compromising.

Lies.

I gasped, my entire body going cold. “What the hell is this?”

Lorenzo’s jaw tightened, his eyes filled with nothing but disgust. “You think I wouldn’t find out?” His voice dripped with venom. “You’ve been spreading your legs for my enemies. Sleeping with my rivals.”

“No,” I whispered, my throat closing up. “Lorenzo, this isn’t real. I never—”

Isabella sobbed harder, pressing her face against his chest. “Lorenzo, do we really have to do this here? She’s already humiliated herself enough.”

I snapped my gaze to her. And that’s when I saw it. The slight smirk. The glint of satisfaction in her eyes.

She had done this. She had planted these photos.

But Lorenzo didn’t see it. Or maybe he didn’t want to.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “You think I would betray you?” My voice wavered, but I forced myself to meet his gaze. “After everything? After Amara?”

Something flickered in his eyes at her name. But then, just as quickly, it was gone.

“I don’t care anymore, Valeria.” His voice was final. Cold. “Sign the papers.”

I sucked in a sharp breath. He wasn’t going to listen. He had already chosen his side. Chosen her.

My heart cracked, but I refused to break—not in front of them. I straightened, lifting my chin. “You’ll regret this.”

Lorenzo didn’t reply. He simply turned his back on me. Just like he had with Amara.

And as I stood there, surrounded by whispers and judgment, I realized something—

Lorenzo De Luca, the man I once loved, was dead to me.

And if he thought I would walk away quietly…

He had no idea what I was capable of.