"Answer me. Are you taking it or not?"

I shook my head again.

Another strike. And another. Each one landed harder than the last. My body trembled, my hands pressing against the floor as I tried to stay upright.

Through the glass window, I could see outside. Domenico was there. Standing in the garden of the estate, past the stone balustrade where two soldiers stood at their posts. His back facing this room. One hand in his pocket, the other holding his phone. His posture relaxed, like nothing in the world could touch him.

Then he laughed. Low, soft.

"…Ambra," I heard faintly through the glass.

Of course. Who else?

"Since you don't understand," Donatella said coldly behind me, raising the strap again, "then I'll beat it into you."

The leather cut through the air and landed again. My vision started to blur. Pain spread everywhere, hot and overwhelming. I could feel something wet soaking through my clothes but I didn't look. Somewhere in the house a clock was ticking, steady and indifferent, counting out every second Donatella's arm kept swinging.

"I w-won't," my voice came out weak, barely there. "I won't take it…"

Another strike. My body gave out and I collapsed forward, barely able to hold myself up. The gold crucifix at Donatella's throat caught the light each time she drew back. She hadn't adjusted it once. She'd already decided my fate before she walked in.

Through my fading vision, I saw him again. Still standing there. Still talking. Still not turning around. Not even once.

A small, broken thought crossed my mind. Was I ever anything to him? Or was I just… someone he could lose without noticing?

Everything started going dark. And just before I lost consciousness, I felt something strange.

Relief.

Maybe… this was good. Maybe after this, I wouldn't feel anything for him anymore.

…

When I woke up, I was already in a bed at the Family's private clinic. Everything felt heavy, and my back burned the moment I tried to breathe a little deeper.

"Don Valente, the injuries are quite severe," someone beside me said. "The leather strikes cut deep. Some areas reached the dermis. It'll take time to heal."

"Then use the best damn medicine," Domenico's voice came, low and cold. "I don't care what it costs. Get the best doctors and make sure she doesn't get scared."

"Yes, of course."

Footsteps faded, and the room went quiet. The kind of quiet that only settles in rooms where the Don has spoken and no one dares fill the silence after.

I slowly opened my eyes.

He was there.

Standing beside the bed, looking down at me. He wore his sleeves rolled to the forearm, his father's silver ring catching the dim overhead light as he shifted his weight. When he realized I was awake, he moved closer, his brows slightly furrowed. "You awake? How are you feeling?"

I tried to shift, but the pain hit instantly, sharp and burning. I sucked in a breath and forced a small voice out. "I'm fine, there are people here to take care of things. If you've got something to do, you should go."

I expected him to leave.

He didn't.

Instead, he sat down beside the bed, his gaze staying on me like he was thinking about something he couldn't say. His thumb turned the silver ring once, slow, before his hand went still on his knee.

"Why didn't you call me?" he asked after a moment. "When she was doing that to you… why didn't you call me?"

My fingers tightened slightly under the blanket. The skin of my left wrist was bare. I felt for the place where my grandmother's bracelet used to sit, then stopped myself.

I remembered him outside.

Back turned. Laughing softly into his phone.

"I saw you were busy," I said quietly, a small bitter smile slipping out.

Then I looked at him. "If I called you, would you really come right away?"

"Of course I would," he said without hesitation.

I froze.

That wasn't what I expected.

Not at all.

"I've already handled it," he continued, his tone calmer now. "No one's going to bother you about having a child again. That shit's over."

The Don had spoken. Which meant Donatella would obey. For now. Because in this house, even the Matriarca bent to the seat, not the man, and Domenico still held the seat.

"…I understand." I lowered my eyes. "Then you should go. You don't have to stay."

He frowned slightly. "Why do you keep pushing me away?"

I blinked, a little confused. "Aren't you busy?"

Busy with everything. Busy with her.

"I'm not busy lately," he said. Then he reached out and adjusted the blanket around me, his movements careful, almost gentle. "I'll stay here for a few days. Take care of you."

I didn't know what to say to that. It felt wrong. Like something that didn't belong to me. But he really stayed.

…

The next few days, he didn't leave the clinic.

He adjusted my bed when I couldn't move, fed me when my hands felt too weak, even helped with my dressings like it didn't bother him at all. The Don of the Valente Family, a man whose word could end lives with a nod, changing gauze on his wife's back like it was the only task in the world. The soldier posted outside the door stood straighter every time Domenico passed, but Domenico didn't notice. He only noticed the bandages.

Sometimes I caught myself just staring at him. Was this real? Or was I dreaming again?

One night, the pain got so bad I couldn't sleep. It kept spreading across my back, making every breath feel heavy.

He noticed.

"Can't sleep?" he asked quietly.

I didn't answer, just closed my eyes tighter.

Then I felt it.

His hand, slow and steady, lightly patting my back. Careful. Gentle. Like he was afraid to hurt me more.

"It's alright," he murmured. "Just sleep."

Again and again, the same rhythm.

That kind of warmth, it felt so familiar. Like those rare moments before everything broke. For a second, I almost wanted to believe it again. But I didn't. I couldn't. I already decided. I was leaving. And this time, I wouldn't look back.

A week passed, and the marks on my back finally started to fade. Not gone, but lighter.

When he was applying the medicine that day, his fingers brushed too close and I let out a small sound before I could stop it. He froze. I turned, confused, and saw his eyes on me, dark and heavy, his throat moving slowly like he was holding something back.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked, but his voice sounded rough, not like before.

"No… I just—" I tried to speak but he moved closer. Too close. His hand settled on my waist, firm, like he wasn't even thinking anymore.

"Domenico…" I whispered, my heart starting to race.

He didn't answer. His breathing got heavier, his gaze dropping to my lips. His face leaned closer, slow, like he was about to cross a line—

Smack!

We both turned.

Ambra stood at the door, her eyes red, the fruit basket already on the floor, everything scattered. One hand hovered near her left ear, a strand of hair half-tucked, trembling there like a reflex she couldn't complete. Her lips trembled. "Did I come at the wrong time? I didn't know you two were…" She bit her lip, like she couldn't even finish.

Domenico pulled away from me instantly. "Ambra, stop thinking nonsense! It's not what it looks like. I was just helping her with the medicine, that's it."

Before I could react, he shoved me away.

Hard.

I lost balance and fell straight off the bed, the back of my head hitting the sharp edge of the table with a dull crack. Pain exploded and something warm started running down.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to ruin your moment." Ambra's voice broke as she turned. "I'll go, you don't have to explain…"

"Ambra!" Domenico didn't even hesitate. "Wait, listen to me. Don't run off like this." His voice turned urgent, almost angry. "Damn it, stop right there."

He ran after her.

Didn't look at me.

Not once.

The door slammed and everything went quiet again. The clinic room. The antiseptic light. The soldier outside who must have heard everything and would say nothing, because that was omertà, and silence protected the Family even when the Family didn't deserve protecting.

I stayed on the floor, my vision slowly blurring. Blood slid down past my temple, warm and sticky. I stared at the ceiling and suddenly laughed, soft and broken.

Why did I even hope?

Tears slipped into my hair. Wasn't I used to this already?

My left hand lay open on the cold tile, fingers curled toward the bare wrist. I wasn't reaching for anything anymore.

By the time the nurse found me, everything was fading. Voices sounded far away.

"Head injury! She's bleeding a lot, call the doctor now!"

Then darkness.

When I woke up again, my head hurt and everything felt heavy. Because of the injury, I had to stay longer. Domenico never came back. Not once. But I knew why. He was with her. Of course he was. I didn't call him. Didn't text. What was the point?

On the day I was getting discharged, the housekeeper called. "Mrs. Valente, about the Don's birthday feast this year, how would you like to arrange it?"

I held the phone and stayed quiet for a while.

Birthday.

I used to handle it every year. His family never cared about things like that. Power, territory, tribute, the business of running the syndicate… that's all they saw. Not him.

I remembered the first birthday I attended at the estate. Everything looked perfect, but there was food he couldn't eat. Something that could trigger a reaction. I saw him later, alone in his study, taking medicine quietly.

"Why didn't you just tell them?" I asked back then, my chest tight.

"What for?" he said, not even looking at me. "They don't give a shit about that. As long as the Family's running, that's enough for them."

From then on, I took over. Every dish, every detail, everything he liked and avoided. I made sure he never had to deal with that again.

"Mrs. Valente?" the housekeeper called again.

I closed my eyes for a second. "I'll handle it."

This was the last time.

After the divorce… someone else would do it.

Not me anymore.

…

I prepared everything the same way I always did. Careful. Quiet. Like it still mattered. But this time, I made the housekeeper follow me through every room of the estate, step by step, making her remember everything.

"The cake should be a vanilla berry one. He doesn't like anything too heavy and sweet, it makes him sick after a few bites."

"And listen, decorations should be white lilies, not red. He hates anything too loud, says it looks cheap."

"Don't put whiskey on the main table. He drinks it, yeah, but it gives him headaches if he hasn't eaten properly."

I paused, then added softly, "You need to remember all of this. Next time, you'll be the one handling it. Don't mess it up."

The housekeeper looked confused. "Madam… won't you still be the one arranging it next year?"

I didn't answer.

Next time… I won't even be here.

How could I?

On the day of the feast, everything looked perfect. Crystal chandeliers burning gold through the ballroom, soft music threaded between the conversations of men and women who carried holstered secrets beneath their tailored clothes. People laughing like this house actually had warmth in it. I stood at the entrance in a light blue dress, greeting guests one by one, smiling like I always did. Capos and their wives. Associates. Men whose names I'd memorized because Domenico never bothered introducing me. Like I wasn't already gone inside.

Then he walked in.

Domenico.

And beside him was Ambra.

Her arm hooked around his, leaning into him like she belonged there. She wore something soft and pretty, pale pink, light like she was fragile. She looked up at him, smiling. And he looked back.

God… he looked back.

That was when I understood.

He already fixed everything with her.

Of course he did.

His eyes never left her the whole night. When her glass got empty, he noticed right away.

"Don't give her that," he said, voice low but firm, and the soldier pouring drinks froze mid-motion. "Get her something lighter. She doesn't drink much."

When her dress shifted a little, he frowned and called someone over.

"Fix it properly. Don't let it drag."

She laughed at something, eyes curved, soft… and he actually smiled. Not that cold, distant smile he wore at sit-downs. A real one.

I stood there watching for a second too long.

Then I looked away.

What was I even expecting?

He never looked at me.

Not once.

I moved to the side, greeting people like I was just part of the staff.

When it was time to open gifts, people brought out all kinds of expensive things. Jewelry, rare pieces, things worth more than most people's lives. Capos presented envelopes thick with tribute, crystal decanters of aged Sicilian wine, watches that could buy a house. Then mine was brought out. A custom-made fountain pen. Simple, elegant, something I chose carefully because he once said he preferred things like that. Quiet. Useful.

The attendant placed it on a silver tray.

"Mrs. Valente really understands the Don's taste," someone said with a smile. "This kind of piece isn't flashy but it fits him perfectly."

"Yeah, it's refined. Just like him."

Domenico glanced at it, then at me.

For a second, I thought…

"Thanks," he said casually.

That was it.

Then Ambra's gift was brought out.

A small box.

Inside was a handmade leather bracelet. The stitching was uneven, rough in some places, like it wasn't done by a professional.

The room went quiet.

Then someone laughed softly.

"…Seriously? People still give things like this?"

"Looks cheap. I don't think the Don would even touch that."

"Who even let her in here dressed like that, bringing something like this?"

Ambra's face went pale. She stepped back slightly, like she wanted to disappear.

Domenico's expression darkened instantly. He picked up the bracelet and the room went silent. Every voice, every glass, every whispered aside stopped dead. Without hesitation, he slipped it onto his wrist.

"I like this," he said, his voice low but sharp enough to cut through everyone. "At least this one means something. Someone actually put time into it."

No one spoke.

Then his gaze shifted to the pen. He picked it up, looked at it for a second, then let out a quiet scoff.

"This kind of thing…" he said coldly, "you can buy it anywhere. There's nothing special about it."

My chest tightened.

Before I could even react, he tossed it straight into the trash. The sound echoed louder than it should have. The metal bin rang against the marble floor, and the silence that followed was the kind that fills a room after a gunshot.

The whole hall went quiet for a second, then suddenly everyone started agreeing.

"The Don is right, handmade things actually mean something."

"Yeah, expensive stuff is nothing if there's no heart behind it."

"This is way more special, you can tell she put effort into it."

I just stood there.

It felt like all the blood in my body turned cold. I spent three months on that gift. Flying around, checking stores, comparing designs, choosing something I thought… he'd actually like.

And now?

Thrown away like it was nothing.

Just to make her look good.

But wasn't this always how it went?

He could drop everything for her, cancel sit-downs like they didn't matter. But my birthday? He couldn't even remember the date. She got sick and he stayed up all night taking care of her. I had a fever once, burning for hours… and he didn't even call. She said one word and he'd fly across the world. I asked him to have dinner once… and he said he was busy.

Every time… he chose her.

Every single time.

Just like tonight.

I pressed a hand lightly to my chest. It used to hurt so much here. So much I thought I couldn't breathe.

But now…

It was quiet.

Empty.

So this was what it felt like when you finally stopped loving someone?

All that pain, all that waiting… it just disappeared like it never mattered.

Then everyone gathered around Ambra. The same people who mocked her earlier were now smiling, praising her, trying to get close. Capos' wives who would have looked through her five minutes ago now touched her arm and laughed too brightly.

I stood in the corner and smiled a little.

That's how it works here.

One look from him… and everyone follows.

It didn't matter.

After the divorce, he'd probably bring her into the Family properly anyway. This was just the beginning.

The feast ended slowly. Guests left one by one, their drivers pulling dark sedans around the circular drive, soldiers holding umbrellas and opening doors. I stood at the entrance, smiling, saying goodbye like I always did.

Perfect.

Polite.

Like I was still Mrs. Valente. Only when the last guest left did I finally breathe out a little.

When I turned around, they were still there.

Domenico and Ambra.

It was raining hard outside. Cold wind rushed in through the open doors, damp and sharp, carrying the smell of wet stone and the estate's hedgerows. Ambra shivered suddenly and sneezed.

Domenico frowned right away. "You're cold?"

"I'm fine… just a little," she said softly, but her voice sounded weak.

"Fine my ass," he muttered, already taking off his suit jacket and placing it over her shoulders. "You're shaking. Don't act tough."

She held it close, still trembling a little.

"It's still cold…"

His eyes moved.

Then they landed on me. On the scarf wrapped around my neck. A soft wool scarf. The last thing my grandmother made before she passed. The only thing I brought into this family that was truly mine.

"Give that to her," he said.

My fingers tightened instantly. I touched the bare skin of my left wrist without thinking, reaching for the ghost of a bracelet that was no longer there.

"T-this was made by my grandma," I said quietly, my voice barely steady. "It's not something I can just—"

"I know exactly what it is," he cut me off, his tone turning colder. "She's just borrowing it. Why are you making it such a big deal?"

My throat felt tight. I held the shawl for a second longer and slowly, I took it off. My hands felt cold the moment it left my skin.

I stepped forward and handed it over.

Ambra took it, her expression soft, almost guilty.

"Thank you… I'll have it cleaned and return it to you."

"No," I said quickly, shaking my head. "Don't wash it yourself. It can't be soaked. It needs special care. I'll have someone pick it up tomorrow."

"Oh, okay," she nodded gently.

The car pulled up outside, headlights cutting through the rain. One of the soldiers held an umbrella at the rear door.

Domenico glanced at her again, noticing her pale face.

Then he looked at me.

"Ambra's not feeling well," he said, already opening the car door for her. "I'm taking her home first. It's not on the way for you, so just go back yourself."

I didn't even get the chance to answer.

He helped her into the car, careful, like she might break.

The car door shut, the engine started, and the black sedan disappeared into the rain like I was never there. I stood at the entrance of the estate, my dress getting soaked, the cold wind cutting straight through me. The streets beyond the compound gates were empty, rain pouring so hard it blurred everything. I waited… and waited. Forty minutes before I could even get a car. By the time I got home, I was shaking, completely drenched, my head spinning. My forehead burned but I still forced myself to take some medicine, then I just dropped onto the bed and passed out.

Sometime in the night, my phone kept vibrating. Again and again. I heard it but I couldn't move. My head hurt too much, my body too heavy. I just let it ring until it finally stopped.

The next morning, the fever went down a little, but my throat felt like sandpaper. I sat up slowly, took a sip of water, then reached for my phone. There were more than a dozen messages.

All from Ambra.

My fingers paused… then I opened them.

The first photo hit me like a slap.

My shawl.

The hand-embroidered Sicilian shawl my grandmother made was completely soaked, twisted, ruined. The delicate stitching looked wrong, clumped and stretched like it was destroyed.

More messages popped up.

"Oh my god I'm so sorry, I forgot the embroidery can't be soaked so I just left it in water when I got home."

"I feel really bad… how much was it? I'll pay you back. The fabric's nice though, maybe I can reuse it and turn it into something else."

"If you're not replying I'll just assume it's fine, okay? I'll send you 2 dollars. Since you said your grandma made it, it shouldn't be that expensive right?"

The last photo loaded.

My hands started shaking.

The shawl was cut.

Not just ruined but cut into pieces. Strips. Like someone took their time destroying it.

My chest tightened and something snapped inside me.

I threw the covers off and got up, not caring that my body still felt weak. I grabbed my coat and walked out.

When I got to her place, I didn't even hesitate. I rang the doorbell hard, my fingers cold but steady.

The door opened.

Ambra stood there, wearing something simple, her face soft and surprised. "Serafina? You came all the way here? Is something wrong?"

"Where's my shawl?" I asked, my voice flat.

She blinked, then turned casually and picked something up from the couch. The pieces. "You mean this? I already paid you for it, didn't I?"

She glanced at her phone. "Oh, you didn't accept the transfer? Was it too little? I can add more. I mean it was handmade by an old woman, it shouldn't be that expensive, right? I'll send you another 2 dollars, okay? It's not really worth much anyway."

Something burned in my chest.

Before I even thought. My hand moved.

Smack!

The sound was loud in the quiet room.

She stumbled back, holding her face, eyes wide. "You… you hit me?"

"You did it on purpose, didn't you?" I said, my voice shaking but sharp. "You soaked it, you cut it, you sent those messages like you didn't know. You think I'm stupid?"

Her eyes filled with tears instantly. She tucked a strand of hair behind her left ear, slow and deliberate. "What are you talking about? I really didn't mean to, I was just careless…"

"Careless?" I laughed, but it sounded wrong. "You came back on purpose. You called him at the exact time your mother needed surgery and forced him to make me donate. You stood outside that room and said all those things. You walked in at that exact moment. And now this?"

I stepped closer. "How many things did you plan? How many times did you think I wouldn't fight back?"

"I didn't…" she shook her head, tears falling faster. "I really don't understand why you're saying all this…"

"I see through you," I said quietly. "I just didn't bother saying it before. But that doesn't mean you get to keep stepping on me like this."

Her expression flickered for a second, just a second.

Then a voice cut through the room.

Cold. Low. Dangerous.

"Serafina… what the hell are you doing?"

My body went stiff.

I turned around.

Domenico stood in the doorway, his eyes dark and terrifying. The air in the room changed the moment he spoke, like the temperature dropped ten degrees. But when he looked at her…

His voice changed.

"Ambra," he said, stepping forward quickly, his tone softening. "What happened? Why are you crying?"

Ambra sniffed, tears falling as she spoke, her voice shaking like she was about to break. She twisted the story just enough, soft and pitiful, and I watched his face grow colder with every word.

Then he turned to me.

"It's just a shawl," he said, his voice flat, sharp. "Why the hell did you have to hit her over something like that?"

My chest tightened. "Just a shawl?" My voice shook before I could stop it. "Domenico! That's the only thing my grandmother left me. The only one."

He paused.

Just for a second.

Like he didn't expect that.

In five years… I never raised my voice at him. Not once. Not at the Don, not at the man, not at anyone in this world. But now my hands were shaking, my eyes burning, and I didn't even recognize myself.

"Ambra didn't do it on purpose," he said, his tone softening when he looked back at her. "She already paid you, didn't she? What more do you want? If the money's not enough, I'll handle it."

Handle it.

Like everything could be fixed with money.

He pulled out his checkbook, wrote something fast, then held it out to me. "Take it. That should cover it."

I stared at the check.

My chest felt tight, like something was squeezing it slowly, making it hard to breathe.

I didn't move.

He frowned, annoyed, then tore another check and wrote a bigger number, his jaw tightening. "Not enough? Fine. Then take this. Stop making a scene over something so small."

One after another.

More numbers.

More money. Like he was buying silence. Buying me. The way the Family bought everything. The way every ugly truth in this world got sealed under a stack of bills and a warning not to speak of it again.

My fingers finally moved. I took the last check, my hand trembling. I touched the bare skin of my left wrist where my grandmother's shawl had once warmed me, and felt nothing there.

"That's enough," I said quietly.

More than enough.

Domenico… this is enough to end everything between us.

I turned to leave.

But I barely took two steps.

"Stop." His voice cut through me like a blade.