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.

I was dead. At least, that’s what the world would believe soon enough.

The divorce papers were still in my hand when I walked out of the De Luca estate for the last time, my face stinging from Lorenzo’s slap, my heart a hollow shell in my chest. The guards didn’t stop me. No one did. I was nothing now. Not a wife. Not a mother. Just another discarded woman in the mafia’s brutal world.

I gritted my teeth and clutched the small duffel bag tighter—Amara’s things. Her favorite stuffed bear, her tiny shoes, the last traces of her existence. Lorenzo could take everything else. The money, the title, the house I built with him. But I would never let him erase my daughter.

I walked until my legs burned, my mind replaying everything—the slap, the accusations, the disgust in his eyes. The way he let Isabella and that bastard child humiliate me. I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat. This wasn’t over.

I dialed a number with shaking fingers. The line rang twice before a familiar voice answered.

"Valeria?"

“Ronan,” I breathed, the weight of the night crashing down on me. “I need you.”

A pause. Then—"Where are you?"

“Doesn’t matter. I need a car, a body, and a fire.” My voice was steel now. “I need the world to think I’m dead.”

Another pause, then a low chuckle. "You finally woke up, huh?"

A sharp exhale left my lips. “Just tell me you can do it.”

"I can."

"Good. Make it convincing."

"Consider it done. You just focus on disappearing."

I ended the call and threw my phone into the nearest storm drain. I was no longer Valeria De Luca. That woman died tonight.

The plan was simple. Ronan, a man I had once saved from death, owed me more than a few favors. He got me a stolen car, a fresh set of documents, and most importantly—a corpse. The body belonged to a woman of my height, my build. A nameless girl who had met a cruel fate in the hands of some low-level thugs. I would have felt guilty if I still had the capacity for guilt. But right now? Survival mattered more.

We drove the car to the outskirts of the city, an abandoned stretch of road near a cliff. Ronan positioned the corpse in the driver’s seat, doused everything in gasoline, and lit a cigarette. But there was one last thing I had to do before I vanished.

One last call. To say goodbye.

To him.

I pressed Lorenzo’s number, my heart pounding. It rang. Once. Twice. Then—

“Lorenzo isn’t available,” a sickeningly sweet voice purred.

My stomach twisted. “Isabella.”

She laughed softly, and it sent ice down my spine. “You really are pathetic,” she sighed. “Calling him one last time, hoping he’d change his mind? How tragic.”

I gritted my teeth. “Put him on the damn phone.”

“Why?” she taunted. “So he can slap you again? So he can tell you how much of a whore you are?”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, gripping the phone so tight my knuckles turned white. “You think you’ve won?”

“Oh, Valeria,” she giggled. “I already have.”

I stayed silent, my pulse hammering in my ears. And then she said something that shattered what was left of my restraint.

“Funny how your daughter died,” she mused, her voice thick with mockery. “When the truth is—Dante was never sick.”

The world tilted. My breath caught. “What?” I whispered.

She laughed. A cruel, victorious laugh. “We just pretended,” she continued, the amusement dripping from her tone. “And Lorenzo? He fell for it like a fool.”

I couldn’t breathe.

Amara died… for nothing. Lorenzo gave her blood to a boy who didn’t even need it. They had killed my daughter for a lie!

The call ended, Isabella’s laughter still ringing in my ears. I sat frozen, the phone slipping from my grasp. My hands trembled. My vision blurred. The world spun into a haze of pure, uncontrollable rage.

I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I just burned.

Isabella. Lorenzo. Every single person who stood by and watched. They would pay. All of them.

“You sure about this?” Ronan asked, watching me carefully. “Once this burns, you can’t come back.”

I looked at the flames reflected in his lighter. “I’m already gone.”

He flicked the lighter into the car. Fire roared to life, devouring the interior in seconds. The heat licked at my skin as I stepped back, watching the woman who would take my place in death turn to ash.

Sirens would come soon. The De Lucas would be informed. Lorenzo would hear about his ex-wife’s tragic demise in a fiery accident. And he would feel nothing.

Good. Because I wasn’t doing this for him. I was doing this for me. For Amara. For every moment I had wasted loving a man who never deserved me.

By sunrise, I was gone.

Ronan got me out of the city, slipping me through the cracks of the underworld where no De Luca could reach. A new identity. A new face to the world. But inside? I was still me. Still the woman who had lost everything. Still the woman who would make them pay.

I stared at my reflection in the grimy motel mirror, running a hand through my now jet-black hair. My blonde locks had been a signature, something Lorenzo used to run his fingers through, whispering promises he would never keep. Now, that woman no longer existed.

"Welcome back to hell," I muttered to myself.

The world thought Valeria De Luca was dead. But the woman I had become?

She was just getting started.