I am Calvert Caruso, the head of the Caruso family of Chicago. And now, I was organizing a baptism for a child. A child my husband—the family's Underboss—had with his mistress.

My political marriage to Jarren Valachi had lasted for five years. In those five years, I had elevated him from a nobody to the feared Underboss of the family, and I had borne him an heir, Luca.

Yet, he would never grant me the ceremony that would officially make me Donna at the Lake Geneva estate my father left me—our family's most sacred ground. It was always, "Next time, Calvert." Until I received an invitation from Jarren's mother for a "family matter."

Also present was a young woman named Cassie. With a shy smile, she was basking in the delusion of becoming the next Mrs. Valachi.

"Jarren chose this place himself," she said softly. "He insisted on holding the baptism for our child here."

I flipped open the agenda in front of me, my gaze fixing on the name of the estate.

It was the sacred ground of the Caruso family. The place I had mentioned to Jarren countless times for my own induction ceremony.

Just as I was about to sneer at her audacity, another line on the agenda struck me like a physical blow.

Jarren Valachi would announce Cassie as his "true partner" at this ceremony.

My fingers stilled on the smooth paper.

The girl across from me was basking in her bliss. She added gently, "We've only been together for a few months, but he said he wants to give me and our child the grandest ceremony imaginable, to make a statement."

A faint, cold smile touched my lips as my eyes locked onto the handsome face I once thought I knew.

After all this time, the day Jarren dreamed of replacing me had finally arrived.

Unfortunately for him, he had picked the wrong opponent.

————————

1

I set the file down, my eyes lingering on the woman across from me.

She was young, with pale skin and a cultivated fragility.

My deliberate silence stretched between us, and I watched her begin to fidget.

Cassie Doyle's voice was tentative when she finally broke the silence. "Calvert… is something wrong with the plans for the ceremony?"

I leaned back in my chair, my gaze drifting over her, then settling on the necklace she wore—one of Jarren’s.

"No, nothing's wrong," I said. "I was just thinking that the tattoo of his family vows on his arm has looked a little different lately."

Cassie’s head dipped guiltily, and she stammered, "I... I don't think so. You must be mistaken. He swore he's never added anyone's initial to it!"

The moment the words left her mouth, she realized her mistake. Her body went rigid.

I lowered my gaze and let out a soft, knowing laugh.

One casual remark and she'd already given the whole game away. Jarren’s taste in women was as pathetic as ever.

I pretended not to have heard her slip, tapping my finger on the photo of the estate and smoothly steering the conversation back.

"Miss Doyle, why this place? As far as I know, this estate isn't open to the public."

Seeing that I wasn't pursuing the matter, she visibly relaxed, a hint of pride creeping into her tone.

"Jarren chose it. He said it took him a long time to convince the family elders to open this sacred place for me. He’s always dreamed of starting a new future with the woman he loves, right here."

She looked up at me, the undisguised triumph in her gaze.

"He told me... he'd made promises to other women, but never here. He never even considered it. Then he met me. And he knew. I was the one he wanted to claim in front of the whole world, right here."

As she lost herself in that fantasy, I let my eyelids fall, masking the cold fury in my gaze.

If I didn't know any better, I might have thought she was deliberately provoking me.

I had agreed to the political marriage with Jarren because, while I was busy with the family's dirty work, he was the first man to promise me a future.

He had once held my hand, patiently describing the ceremony that would be ours.

Sunlight would pour through the stained-glass windows. We would stand in this estate, receive the deference of our entire organization, and complete the transfer of power.

He said he wanted to give me the highest honor in the prime of my life. For that promise, I waited five years.

Now, he was finally holding a ceremony here.

In a place he had described to me countless times. Except the woman by his side was some girl he'd only known for a few months.

I let out a soft laugh. "What a touching story."

If that man wasn't my husband, it would indeed be a beautiful story.

Perhaps my apparent praise helped Cassie regain her confidence. She began to show off her connection to Jarren.

"That night, there was a conflict within the family. I saw him outside the ER. One of his Made Men was injured," she paused, correcting herself slightly. "He was clutching the doctor's arm, pleading with them to save his man's life. Seeing how loyal and devoted he was, I went over to comfort him."

She pursed her lips, a shy smile playing on them.

"He said it was my courage and purity in that moment that made him fall for me."

So that's how it happened.

Compared to her story, my memory of that day was starkly different.

I was on a cold operating table, bleeding out after shielding our son from a car bomb, fighting with every ounce of strength just to stay alive for him.

Knowing that I had unknowingly witnessed the moment they met, should I feel my heart tear in two, or should I be grateful?

A dull ache throbbed in my chest. I dug my nails into my palm, forcing myself to maintain a mask of detached professionalism.

"Miss Doyle, do you have any other requirements for the ceremony?"

Cassie tilted her head, thinking for a moment. Then she said, "Oh, right. The entire hall must be decorated with imported bulletproof silk. My gown is a one-of-a-kind design, custom-made for me by Jarren, and it can't be damaged at all. Money is no object; Jarren will handle everything."

Hearing this, I almost laughed out loud.

Jarren. The man I had personally raised from a low-level Soldato. The enforcer who once couldn't afford a decent gun was now the family's unassailable Underboss. A position that took other men twenty years to climb, I helped him secure in just three.

Perhaps I had paved his path too smoothly, letting him forget where he came from—and who put him there.

As for that gown, it was from a luxury brand that required an asset check just to place an order.

At the show in Milan, the admiration in Jarren's eyes had been so obvious. In that moment, I was sure that bulletproof gown would be mine.

Then I received the confirmation letter from the brand, informing me the order had gone into production.

It was just two sizes too small.

I had assumed he’d simply misjudged my postpartum figure.

Now I finally understood. That gown I could never fit into was never meant for me.

I closed the folder. "I understand, Miss Doyle. I promise you a ceremony that money can't buy."

After seeing her out with a practiced smile, I sneered and called my father's most loyal strategist, my Consigliere, Marco Bellini.

"Jarren has betrayed the family," I said calmly. "I want everything he has, and I want him to disappear from this world."

...

In less than half an hour, encrypted evidence of Jarren's betrayal landed in my inbox.

It was only a few months' worth of data, but it was nearly 100GB.

The first video was from the day I was almost killed by the bomb. Cassie hadn't told the whole story.

While I was fighting for my life on the operating table, Jarren had taken her to the "safe house" we had prepared for our son for a tryst.

He had only rushed back, disheveled, after I was out of surgery, feeding me a lie about hunting down a family traitor.

The second video was from our son Luca's one-month celebration.

An enemy family had infiltrated and poisoned the wine. Luca was rushed to the hospital.

I was standing in the hallway, trembling, while Jarren slipped into another consultation room to murmur to Cassie, who was on the night shift.

The third video was from the time he claimed he was going for "peace talks" during my postpartum recovery.

The excuse was laughably thin.

The Caruso family business was mine; how could I not know about any peace talks?

But seeing him startled awake by our son's cries every night, his face etched with exhaustion, my heart had ached for him. So I let him go out to "relax."

I never imagined my consideration was just enabling an affair. An uninterrupted romantic getaway on my private island. How thoughtful of him.

With a trembling hand, I held my phone and clicked on the longest video.

The video started with the faint cry of a baby filling the room. I recognized it instantly. It was my son, Luca.

My fingers trembled as I fast-forwarded.

Cassie's cloying voice came through, "Are you sure about this? Using your own son to… test my nerve? Is that really okay?"

Jarren replied nonchalantly, almost with a laugh, "What's the problem? People always say you're afraid of blood. Practicing on a corpse isn't as effective as a live subject. If he can’t learn the smell of steel now, he doesn't deserve to be my son."

In the past, I had always thought Jarren was a good father. From his initial clumsiness to his later proficiency in checking our son's surroundings for threats.

Especially after he started his frequent "outings," he seemed to handle Luca with newfound care and experience.

That was why I felt at ease letting him take our son out alone.

I never thought he could be so cruel to his own flesh and blood.

In the video, Jarren stuffed a loaded silver pistol into my two-month-old son's hand, forcing his tiny fingers around the grip, and even laughed. "You have to get used to the smell of steel from a young age." And Cassie was excitedly taking pictures from the side.

My son's cries grew louder, and a pain so sharp it stole my breath shot through me. I wanted to smash through the screen and wring the necks of that wretched pair with my own hands.

Then, in the next second, my phone rang.

I answered, and Cassie's shy, sweet voice came through the receiver, "Calvert, the baptism might have to be moved up. Jarren's mother specially chose a date for us. We'll hold it in three days. The timing is perfect; it will bring us good luck and bless us with a boy."

Almost simultaneously, Jarren sent me a message.

"My Queen, the peace talks have been moved up. I might have to leave as early as tomorrow. You and Luca be good at home and wait for my triumphant return."

I looked at the wallpaper on my phone—a picture of my son sleeping peacefully, his face soft and innocent—and I suddenly smiled.

Since my husband and his mistress were holding their ceremony, how could I, the legitimate wife and Donna of the family, possibly be absent?

...

I flew to the estate on Lake Geneva ahead of Jarren.

The moment I landed and turned on my phone, his message popped up. "My Queen, how are you and our son?"

I expressionlessly sent a photo of me and Luca back to him.

He replied almost instantly, "My heir looks so strong. You too, My Queen. I don't even want to go to the peace talks anymore. I just want to come home and be with you and our son."

I stared at those lines, a cold, icy sneer forming on my lips.

That photo was from last month. I wasn't this thin then. And my son was much smaller.

Jarren had taken the picture himself, yet he didn't notice a thing.

...

On the day of the ceremony, I stood on the second-floor gallery, watching from my position as Donna of the estate.

Almost all of Jarren's relatives and friends were present. His mother, Genevieve, bustled through the crowd, her face beaming with joy, attending to every detail with care—the picture of a flawless, doting grandmother-to-be.