That night was my first time. I didn't even know if I should cry or laugh. He held me the whole night, his grip tight like he was afraid someone would take me away too. But every word that came out of his mouth… was her name. Over and over again. Not mine. Never mine.

I stared at the ceiling until my eyes burned, wondering… was this what being a wife meant? Or was I just something he used to survive her absence?

The next morning, he woke up first. There were bloodstains on the sheets. He noticed. I saw it in the way his eyes paused for a second. Just a second.

Then he looked away.

Didn't say anything. Not even one word. Not even… sorry.

I smiled like nothing happened. I got his clothes ready, laid them out neatly like I always did.

"You've got an important sit-down today," I told him softly. "Don't be late."

Like I wasn't the one who bled all night. Like my heart wasn't already torn open.

...

From that day on, I tried harder. Pathetic, right? I knew he didn't love me. I knew I was just filling space. But I still tried.

He had a bad stomach, so I woke up early every morning and made him broth. The kind that wouldn't hurt him — slow-simmered chicken, the way his mother's cook used to make it before Domenico dismissed the old staff. He was always under pressure, dealing with things I didn't even want to imagine — territories shifting, tributes running short, the constant weight of holding five capos in line — so I learned how to massage his shoulders and his back, careful and quiet.

I liked silence anyway. Or maybe I just got used to it. I stopped making noise, stopped asking for anything. Even my footsteps became softer on the marble floors of the Valente compound. If I stayed small enough… maybe I wouldn't bother him.

And somehow, he started changing. A little.

When he came back from trips — Palermo, Zurich, wherever the Family's business carried him — he'd sometimes bring me small things. Nothing big. Just… something.

When I got sick, he'd make me medicine himself and hand it to me without looking at me.

"Drink it," he'd say. "Don't be stubborn."

And at night, sometimes he held me. His arm around my waist, his body warm against mine. Those moments felt so real it scared me. Like maybe… maybe he was starting to see me. Maybe I wasn't just nothing to him anymore.

He never mentioned the divorce again. Not once. Like that paper we signed never existed.

And I… I actually believed it. I thought maybe if I just held on a little longer, he'd fall in love with me.

Stupid, right?

Three months ago, Ambra came back. She broke up with her boyfriend and returned from Europe like nothing happened.

And Domenico? He went back to her without hesitation. No explanation. No guilt. Nothing.

He took her out to eat at the Family's restaurants, went shopping with her on Fifth Avenue, stayed by her side like she was the only thing that mattered in the world. He even canceled sit-downs, important ones, the kind he used to say could never be moved — men left waiting in backrooms, capos exchanging looks that said more than words. All because she said she was in a bad mood.

I stood by the window one night and watched his black sedan pull away from the compound gates, the taillights disappearing past the soldiers on perimeter detail. Same direction. Same place. Her place.

I didn't cry this time. I just watched.

And finally understood.

Love was love. Real love didn't change. No matter how much I gave, how much I tried, how much I broke myself into something smaller and quieter and easier to keep… it would never compare to one look from her. Not even close.

Five years. It was almost over.

"Why aren't you saying anything?"

His voice snapped me out of it. I blinked and looked at him, my throat tightening like something was stuck there.

He didn't remember?

For five years, I'd been counting down every single day, scared that when the time came, he'd just walk away without even looking back. But now he stood there like none of it existed. Like that agreement meant nothing.

Did it ever mean anything to him?

I parted my lips, about to remind him, to say it out loud before I lost the courage again — but his phone rang.

He picked it up right away.

I couldn't hear clearly, but I knew that voice. Ambra. She was crying, choking on her words, panicking about something.

Domenico's expression changed instantly. His whole body tensed, like nothing else in the world mattered anymore. His hand stilled on his father's silver ring, and then he was already moving.

"Hey, hey… don't panic," his voice dropped, low and urgent. "I'm coming right now. Stay there. Don't move, you hear me?"

He didn't even wait for a reply. The call ended and he grabbed his keys, already moving.

"Domenico, I—"

I didn't even finish.

He rushed past me and his shoulder slammed into mine so hard I lost my balance. My back hit the door frame and a sharp pain shot through me. I let out a small sound, something between a gasp and a groan.

But he didn't stop.

Didn't look back.

Didn't even notice.

The door closed and he was gone.

Just like that.

I stayed there for a few seconds, leaning against the wall, trying to breathe through the pain. The compound was quiet around me. Somewhere beyond the walls, an engine turned over and tires bit gravel. Then nothing.

I slowly pushed myself up and walked back to the bedroom.

I took off my coat and saw the bruise already forming on my shoulder. Dark. Ugly.

I opened the first aid kit and cleaned it quietly, pressing the cotton against my skin. It stung, but it was nothing compared to what was inside my chest.

That felt like something dull was slicing through it… slowly, over and over again.

I sat on the edge of the bed and stared out the window. The sky was getting darker, the city lights coming on one by one beyond the estate walls, past the iron gates where the soldiers stood their posts.

I don't even know how long I stayed like that. Until my phone rang.

Domenico.

I hesitated for a second then picked up.

"Come to the Favilla clinic," he said, straight to the point.

My heart skipped. "What happened?"

"We'll talk when you get here."

The line went dead.

...

When I arrived, I saw him right away. He was standing outside the operating room, two of his soldiers posted at either end of the corridor, keeping the hallway clear. And Ambra… she was pressed against him, crying like her whole world was falling apart.

My steps slowed.

Something tightened in my chest again, like a hand squeezing too hard.

I still walked over.

"What happened?" I asked softly.

Domenico looked at me, his expression serious. "Ambra's mother collapsed earlier. It's a severe blood disorder. Her body's failing fast. She needs a bone marrow transplant immediately."

I froze. "And…?"

"We checked everywhere," he continued, calm like he was discussing a piece of business at a sit-down. "No match. So I had them run a test on you. Quietly."

Something inside me dropped. My fingers drifted to my left wrist, pressing against bare skin where nothing sat anymore.

"And?" My voice barely came out.

"You're a match."

For a second, I just stared at him.

"Y-you want me to donate?" I asked, my fingers curling slightly. "Domenico… I can't. I'm scared of needles, I don't even… this is surgery, it's risky, I—"

"I didn't call you here to complain," he cut me off, his tone turning cold. "Don't start that shit with me."

"I'm not complaining, I just… I'm scared, okay?" My voice shook and I hated it. "Can't you find someone else? Please, I really can't do this—"

Before I could step back, two of his soldiers moved. They grabbed my arms.

Hard.

I flinched, panic rising in my chest. "Let go! What are you doing?"

Domenico stepped closer, his shadow falling over me. His eyes were dark, unreadable, like there was no room for refusal. The fluorescent lights of the private ward hummed above us, and neither soldier so much as shifted. They held me like men accustomed to holding people still.

"I'm your husband," he said, voice low and dangerous. "And you'll do exactly what I say."

My heart dropped.

"Your life is mine," he continued, his grip tightening on my chin, forcing me to look at him. "So you're donating. Don't make me repeat myself."

For a moment, I couldn't breathe. Was I even a person to him? Or just something he owned? My eyes burned but I forced it back, swallowing everything down like I always did. My left hand drifted to my bare wrist, fingers brushing the skin where my grandmother's bracelet used to sit. The ghost of its weight was all I had left.

"…Okay," I whispered.

The men let go of me.

"I'll sign."

The nurse handed me the form. My hands were shaking, but I still took the pen.

Stroke by stroke, I wrote my name. Each line felt heavy. Like I was carving something into my own heart. And I smiled a little, just enough so no one would notice the tears I was trying so hard to hide.

Just before they pushed me in, I couldn't hold it in anymore.

"Domenico!"

My voice came out weaker than I wanted. He stopped and turned his head slightly, eyes cold, like I'd just interrupted something unimportant. The silver ring on his right hand caught the corridor light as he half-turned. For a second, I forgot everything I wanted to say.

My lips trembled. Then I forced out the only thing I could.

"…Nothing."

His eyes flickered, just a little. I thought maybe, just maybe… But he didn't say anything.

He turned and walked outside. The doors closed right in front of me. And that was it. The moment they shut, my vision blurred and the tears I'd been holding back just fell. Quiet. Helpless.

So this was how deep his love went.

Deep enough to throw me onto an operating table without hesitation. Deep enough that even if it was my life, he wouldn't care.

When I woke up, everything felt heavy. My body, my head, even my breathing. It was like I was floating somewhere between awake and not.

The lights were too bright. My throat felt dry.

"…You're awake?" a nurse's voice came gently beside me.

I blinked slowly, turning my head. "Mm… yeah…"

"How are you feeling? Dizzy? Pain anywhere?"

"A little," I whispered. "I-is the surgery done?"

She smiled. "Yes. It went well. The patient is stable now and recovering."

Good.

That meant she was okay.

I swallowed, my chest feeling strangely empty. "Domenico, where is he?"

The nurse paused for a second, then said casually, "Mr. Valente? He's with his wife and her mother right now."

My heart stopped.

His wife?

Oh.

Right.

I stared at the ceiling, not saying anything. The private ward was still. Somewhere down the corridor, a door opened and closed, and low voices carried through the walls of this Family-funded clinic where no one asked questions and every room had a lock from the outside. The nurse didn't notice. She just kept talking, even giggling a little.

"Honestly, I was watching them earlier and I got so jealous," she said, her eyes lighting up. "They look like such a perfect couple!"

I didn't move.

"Mr. Valente was so attentive," she continued, almost dreamy. "He kept holding his wife's hand and talking to her softly. You wouldn't even guess he's someone so powerful."

Each word felt like something pressing deeper into me.

"And the way he looked at her," she added, smiling. "Gosh, it was so sweet. I mean, you can really tell he loves her a lot."

I closed my eyes slowly.

"Even when the doctor came out, he didn't leave her side," she said again, laughing quietly. "He kept comforting her, like she was the one who just went through surgery. If I had a husband like that, I'd never let him go."

I let out a small breath. So that was how it looked from the outside. A loving husband. A devoted man.

And me? What was I?

I forced a small smile, even though no one was looking.

"…That's good," I murmured. "As long as she's okay."

I lay there staring at the ceiling, my hand hooked to the IV, the slow drip the only thing keeping time. My body still felt heavy and numb, like it didn't belong to me anymore.

The nurse had just left when the door opened again.

I thought it was Domenico but it wasn't.

Ambra walked in.

She looked soft, fragile, eyes still a little red like she'd been crying for hours. In her hands was a basket of fruit, neatly wrapped like this was some kind of polite visit. A soldier stationed outside the door glanced in, registered her, and looked away. She belonged here. I was the one who didn't.

"Mrs. Caruso…" she said gently, stepping closer. "I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to trouble you like this again."

I looked at her but didn't say anything.

She placed the basket down and gave me a small smile. "Thank you. Really… if it wasn't for you, my mom wouldn't have made it. You saved her."

Her voice softened, almost sweet but it was fake. She tucked a strand of hair behind her left ear with a slow, deliberate motion.

"Thank you for being such a devoted slave to my husband. I mean… devoted wife to Domenico."

My fingers twitched slightly on the blanket.

Slave?

"Do you want some apples?" she asked, already reaching for one. "I'll peel it for you."

"I'm fine," I said quietly.

She didn't stop.

The knife slid against the apple skin in slow, careful strokes. The sound was soft, almost soothing. Almost.

"I really didn't expect…" she continued, her voice turning distant, like she was drifting somewhere else. "After all these years, he's still like that with me."

My chest tightened.

"What do you mean?" I asked, even though I wasn't sure I wanted to hear it.

She let out a small laugh, shaking her head. "He just never changed."

The peel fell in one long strip as she spoke.

"Last year, I mentioned once that I liked this limited edition watch," she said casually. "I didn't even remember saying it. But a week later, he flew overseas just to get it for me. It wasn't even available locally."

My fingers slowly curled.

"He showed up at my place in the middle of the night," she added, smiling faintly. "But I was still mad at him back then, so I didn't even let him in. I told him to leave and threw the box back at him."

Her tone was light. Like it was nothing. Like his effort was something she could just throw away.

My mind went blank for a second.

Because I remembered. That same time. He told me he had an arrangement overseas. Three days. When he came back, he handed me a watch. Just like that. No explanation. No emotion.

"Take it," he said. "Saw it. Thought it suited you."

I'd been so happy. I didn't even wear it. I kept it safe, tucked away like something precious I didn't deserve to ruin.

And now? It was just something she didn't want. I didn't realize my nails were digging into my palm until it started to hurt.

Ambra didn't notice. Or maybe she did and just didn't care.

"And there was this one time," she continued, peeling another strip, her voice softening again. "I got into a fight with my ex. It was really bad. I blocked everyone, disappeared for a few days."

She glanced at me, like she was about to share something intimate.

"Domenico went crazy trying to find me. When he did, he dragged me out of that place himself. He was so angry, I thought he was going to kill someone." She laughed lightly. "He kept cursing, saying, 'You think you can just disappear on me like that? I'll tear this whole city apart if I have to.'"

My heart twisted. I remembered that night too.

Christmas Eve.

He came home late. Different. Rough. Like something inside him had snapped. He didn't say much. Just claimed me, over and over again, like he couldn't stop.

I thought…

I thought maybe he finally wanted me. That maybe, he was starting to feel something.

I was so stupid.

The next morning, when I woke up, the bed beside me was already cold. I told myself he had Family business. That was normal, right? The Don always had somewhere to be.

But now? Now I know. He wasn't busy. He was running to her. Always her.

Ambra finished peeling the apple and finally handed it to me. "Here."

I didn't take it.

She didn't mind. She just set it down beside me and looked at me with that same soft, harmless expression.

"You're really kind, Mrs. Valente," she said gently. "Staying by his side all these years, taking care of him like that."

Her eyes lingered on me, something unreadable passing through them.

"But some things…" she added quietly, "no matter how hard you try, they just don't belong to you."

I lowered my gaze to my hand, the IV needle still buried in my skin. My left wrist was bare. I almost reached for it, that phantom weight where my grandmother's bracelet once sat. I stopped myself.

Yeah.

I think I finally understood that.

…

After I got discharged, I went back to the Valente estate and packed everything quietly. Clothes. Jewelry. Things I barely touched. Things I once thought mattered. I didn't take much. What was the point? I was just waiting. Waiting for the dissolution of the blood-bound union to finalize. Waiting for it all to end.

During those days, Ambra kept sending me messages. Not even hiding it. Videos. Photos. One after another. At first I didn't open them. Then I did. I don't even know why. Maybe I wanted to hurt myself properly. Maybe I just needed to see it with my own eyes.

Domenico stayed by her side the whole time. Not for a moment did he leave. In one video, he was sitting beside her hospital bed, carefully feeding her fruit, peeling everything clean like it was something precious. In another, he was adjusting her blanket, his movements slow, patient… gentle. Gentle. I stared at the screen for a long time. Was this the same man? The same man who never even looked at me twice?

Then another message came. A video.

"Look, Mrs. Valente," Ambra said, her face filling the screen as she turned the camera.

Domenico was there, talking to a doctor in the private ward, his expression serious, controlled. That same cold aura. That same authority that made soldiers lower their eyes when he passed.

"He sent my mom abroad for treatment," she continued casually. "Paid for everything. Even bought her a house there. There's a maid, a private doctor… everything's arranged." She laughed a little. "He's really something, right?"

My fingers tightened around my phone.

"Mrs. Valente, I'm sorry for taking your husband for now, okay?" she added, voice soft, almost teasing. "He just missed me too much. He loves me so much, I can't even push him away." Her smile didn't change. "You can't really compete with that, can you?"

The screen went dark. I didn't realize I was crying until the tears hit my hand. Drop by drop. I wiped them away quickly, taking a shaky breath.

Over the years, I did all those things too. He had a bad stomach, so I woke up early every day to cook for him. I waited for him with the lights on, no matter how late it got, no matter what business kept him in those back rooms where I wasn't allowed. I peeled his fruit, cut everything into small pieces so he wouldn't even have to think. I gave him everything. And now… he was doing all of that for someone else.

I closed my eyes and let out a slow breath. "It's fine," I whispered to myself. "It'll be over soon." Right? Once I stop loving him, I'll be okay. I'll take care of myself. I have to.

…

A week later, he suddenly came home. I was surprised when I saw him. Shouldn't he be with her?

"Get changed," he said, already loosening his tie. "We're having dinner at the estate tonight."

"…Okay."

I didn't ask anything. I just went upstairs and changed.

At the dinner, everything felt normal. Too normal. The long dining table in the main hall was set with the good silver, candles lit, wine poured from bottles older than anyone sitting around them. People were laughing, talking, raising their glasses like this was just another Sunday gathering. Capos and their wives. Associates who owed the Family their livelihoods. Then the topic shifted.

"You've been married five years now. It's about time you had a child."

"Yeah, Domenico's the head of the Family now. There needs to be an heir."

"Serafina, you should hurry up."

I kept my head down, fingers brushing against the rim of my glass. A child? With him? Did I even have that right?

"No rush," Domenico said.

His voice wasn't loud, but it cut through everything. The whole room went still. Forks paused. Conversations died mid-syllable. Everyone exchanged looks but no one dared say anything else. Not to him. Not to the Don. The atmosphere turned stiff after that and the dinner ended quickly.

"Serafina," Donatella said sharply as we stood. "Come with me to the study."

I knew what that meant. Anyone could see it. A warning. About children. About my place.

"If you've got something to say, say it in front of me," Domenico said, frowning.

Before she could respond, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen and his expression changed immediately.

"…Ambra?" he answered, already stepping aside. "What's wrong? Did something happen?"

His voice… it wasn't the same voice he used with me. Not even close.

Donatella let out a cold snort. Her hand drifted to the gold crucifix at her throat, adjusting it slowly, deliberately. "Come with me."

I pressed my lips together and followed her without a word. As soon as the study door closed, her face changed. All that fake calm from dinner disappeared.

"Kneel."

I didn't argue. I just went down slowly, my knees hitting the cold marble floor. It stung, but I was already used to that kind of pain.

"Do you know where you went wrong?" she asked, looking down at me like I was something dirty.

I lowered my eyes and stayed quiet.

A loud bang hit the desk. "You stupid girl!" she snapped, her voice sharp and cold. "Domenico said he's not in a hurry to have a child and you just sat there? You didn't even try to change his mind?"

My fingers curled slightly. Was I supposed to beg him? Force him? Didn't he already make it clear… I meant nothing?

She opened a drawer and took out a small bottle, then slammed it in front of me. "Drink this. It's a fertility tonic. Starting today, you take it every day and you sleep with him until you get pregnant. I don't care what it takes. This Family needs an heir."

I stared at the bottle. In the past, I would've taken it without a word. But now… "I won't take it," I said quietly.

The room went still. The kind of still that falls over a room when someone has said the unsayable.

"What did you just say?" Her voice dropped, dangerous.

"I won't take it," I repeated, lifting my head slightly. "He doesn't want a child right now. I'm respecting that." That was the truth. Every time we were together, he made sure there were precautions, and if something slipped, he'd make me take pills right after. I used to think that maybe he just wasn't ready yet. Now I knew. He just didn't want one with me. And if I was leaving, why would I tie myself to him forever?

"You've got some nerve," she said slowly, eyes narrowing. "Say that again."

"I won't take it."

Her expression twisted. "You've gone too far!" she shouted. "As his wife, you can't even do your duty? You can't even give him a child? And you let him waste himself on that woman. All that effort, all that money, all for her and her damn family. You didn't stop him once."

My chest tightened. Stop him? When had I ever had that power? I was the blood-bound bride, not the one who held his heart. I was the arrangement. She was the choice.

Donatella turned her head slightly. "Bring it."

A servant stepped forward and handed her a thick leather strap. Dark. Heavy. The kind they used for punishment in the old country, the kind Donatella's own mother-in-law had kept in a drawer just like this one. My body tensed.

"I'll ask you one last time," she said, gripping it tightly. The crucifix at her throat caught the lamplight and held still. "Are you going to take the medicine or not?"

I shook my head.

The sound came before the pain.

CRACK.

A sharp crack filled the study, then it hit. My back arched as the pain exploded across my skin, burning and tearing at the same time. I bit my lip hard to stop myself from crying out.