"You witch!" Alessia shouted, her voice filled with venom. "You killed our mother!"

"You'll pay for it," Rocco added coldly, his eyes gleaming with something disturbingly cruel.

My legs gave out, and I collapsed to my knees, shaking violently as sobs tore through me.

The bites burned, but they were nothing compared to the pain of their words.

They didn't know.

They had never known.

Their mother had been my best friend.

I carried them.

I endured everything for them.

I gave them everything I had.

And now…

Now they looked at me like I was a monster.

"I didn't kill her," I choked out, my voice breaking completely.

"Don't speak her name!" Matteo roared, his face twisted with rage. His fingers curled into his palms and squeezed, knuckles white, the ghost of the toddler who'd once gripped my hand through every stuttered word now channeled into fists.

"You wanted her gone so you could take our dad," Nico spat, each word dripping with accusation. He shrugged his left shoulder as if the whole thing bored him, but his eyes were black with hate.

Their hatred carved into me, deeper than any wound.

As I struggled on the floor, desperately trying to brush the ants off my body, my skin burning, my dignity shattered, Lucia suddenly stepped closer.

Her expression softened. She tucked her hair behind her right ear and tilted her head, the picture of gentle concern.

"This is unfair, guys," she said, her tone almost sympathetic. "We can't just leave her like this."

For a moment… hope flickered.

"Let's help her," she added.

Relief flooded through me so suddenly it made me dizzy.

Finally… one of them. One of them still had a heart.

I lifted my trembling hand toward her, reaching out, desperate for even the smallest kindness.

"Psych!"

Her laughter exploded in my ears.

Before I could react, she shoved something into my hand.

A sharp, immediate sting followed.

Confusion flashed through me, then realization.

A beehive.

My scream tore through the room, raw and animalistic, as pain erupted everywhere at once. My vision blurred instantly as I tried to fling it away, my entire body shaking uncontrollably.

"Pathetic," one of them sneered.

"She really thought we wanted to help her."

"You deserve this," another voice added coldly. "And we'll make sure you keep suffering as long as you're here."

Their words echoed in my head as everything spun.

A maid rushed in at the sound of my screams, her face going pale as she hurried to help me, brushing away the hive, swatting away the remaining insects. The woman's hands were practiced, efficient, the way all household staff in the Montecarlo compound learned to clean up messes without asking questions.

"What kind of cruelty is this?" she snapped at them, her voice trembling with anger.

"Shut up, maid!" they hissed back in unison.

Alessia turned her gaze to me one last time, her eyes sharp and unforgiving. She went completely motionless, not a blink, not a breath, before she spoke.

"Know your place, Seraphina," she said coldly. "And it's not here."

Then they left.

Just like that.

Leaving me behind.

Broken.

Shaking.

Crawling on the floor like I was nothing.

"I'm sorry, Miss, do you need—" the maid began softly.

"Just go," I rasped, my voice barely holding together.

She hesitated, then left.

Slowly, painfully, I dragged myself back up, crawling toward the mirror, gripping its edge as if it were the only thing keeping me from collapsing completely.

This wasn't me.

This couldn't be my life.

And that was the moment I made the call.

I didn't pack anything.

Didn't take a single possession.

Just my phone.

And my wallet.

On the wall, Catarina's photograph stared back at me. Perfect. Beautiful. Untouchable. Framed in dark wood beside a votive candle that someone in the household kept lit, the way the Montecarlo family honored their dead.

I reached out, my fingers brushing lightly against the frame, my chest tightening painfully.

They didn't know.

They didn't know she stole Enzo from me.

They didn't know she begged me, begged me, to keep the truth hidden.

That I was their real mother.

That I gave everything up for them.

Everything.

My left hand found my wrist and pressed hard against the bare skin where my mother's bracelet once sat, fingers digging in until the ache bloomed through bone.

"I'm sorry, Catarina…" I whispered, my voice trembling as tears blurred my vision again. "But I can't do this anymore."

Footsteps echoed from the hallway.

Closer.

"Seraphina?" Enzo's voice called out. "Where are you? The gathering's starting. You need to play the piano for Don."

The Old Don's Christmas Eve dinner. The one night a year when the entire Montecarlo family sat at the same table and pretended to be holy. I was expected to perform, the way I was always expected to perform.

I said nothing.

Not a word.

When the door finally opened, he froze.

"Jesus, Seraphina, what happened to you?"

Blood streaked down my face. My body trembled. Tears slipped silently from my eyes.

"Ask your precious kids," I snapped, the bitterness in my voice sharp enough to cut.

"What… what do you mean?" he asked, confusion flashing across his face. His thumb drifted along the edge of his jaw, that unconscious tell he'd carried since boyhood, already preparing to deflect whatever came next.

I looked at him. Really looked at him.

And for the first time, I felt nothing.

"I want a divorce, Enzo," I whispered.

"I want a divorce, Enzo," I whispered, the words barely leaving my lips, yet feeling heavier than anything I had ever said in my life.

For a moment, he didn't react. He just stood there, blinking at me as if he hadn't heard correctly, as if his mind refused to process what I had just said. Then confusion crept across his face. "What… what are you saying?"

"I'm done," I said again, this time a little steadier, even though my chest felt like it was caving in on itself.

He stepped closer, his brows knitting together in annoyance more than concern. "Is this about the kids? They're just acting out, Seraphina. You know how they are."

A hollow, bitter laugh escaped me before I could stop it. "Acting out?" I repeated, my voice shaking with disbelief. "They almost killed me."

"They're just kids—"

"They're monsters, Enzo," I cut in sharply, my voice rising despite how exhausted I felt. "And you let them become this."

He opened his mouth, ready to argue, to dismiss me again like he always did, but I lifted my hand, stopping him before he could say another word.

"No more, Enzo," I said, my voice dropping into something cold, something final. "I gave you ten years. Ten years of my life. I gave you everything I had. And all you ever did was take, take, take…" My throat tightened, but I forced myself to keep going. "You never once looked at me like I was your wife."

His expression hardened instantly, his eyes turning cold. The same face he wore across the table at sit-downs when a man owed tribute and came with excuses instead of cash. "Don't be dramatic. You know I had to marry you because of the kids. Catarina made me."

"And I stayed," I shot back, tears burning in my eyes. "For them. For you. I stayed when I should have left a long time ago. But not anymore."

I didn't wait for him to respond. I couldn't. If I did, I might break.

I pushed past him, my shoulder brushing against his chest, my vision blurred with tears I refused to let fall. "I'm leaving, Enzo. For good."

A sharp knock on the door startled both of us.

"Sir, it's time. Don Montecarlo's entrance," one of the household soldiers called from the hallway, his tone respectful but urgent.

Enzo exhaled, as if irritated by the interruption, and adjusted his tie, his expression smoothing over into that familiar mask of composure. That perfect, untouchable image he showed the world. His thumb ran along the edge of his jaw, slow, unconscious, as if the gesture could seal over whatever crack I'd just put in his armor.

"Come on, Seraphina," he said, as if nothing had just happened, as if I hadn't just told him I was leaving him. "Clean yourself up. You're still playing the piano for Don. We can discuss this nonsense later."

Nonsense.

That was all this was to him.

"No, Enzo," I said quietly, but firmly. "I said I'm done."

His hand twitched at his side, like he wanted to grab me, to stop me. But in the end, he didn't.

Instead, he gave me one last cold, dismissive look before turning away. Without another word, he walked out and closed the door behind him softly, as if sealing everything that had just happened inside this room.

Like it didn't matter.

Like I didn't matter.

That was Enzo Montecarlo. Always pretending. Always smoothing things over. Always pushing everything inconvenient out of sight, burying it under layers of silence and omertà, that code he wielded not to protect the family but to protect himself from having to feel anything at all.

I sank down slowly onto the edge of the bed, my body giving out beneath me. Exhaustion washed over me in waves, heavy and suffocating. I felt broken… completely shattered. Somewhere beyond the bedroom door, the compound hummed with preparations for Don Montecarlo's arrival. Silver being polished. Soldiers checking the perimeter. The whole estate performing its loyalty. And here I sat, in the silence they left behind, pressing two fingers against the inside of my left wrist where my mother's bracelet once sat. The press deepened into a grip.

But then something caught my eye.

A small slip of paper, barely visible, sticking out from beneath my pillow.

My brows furrowed. That hadn't been there before.

With trembling fingers, I reached for it and pulled it out.

Something else came with it.

Photos.

No… not just photos.

My photo.

The one I had kept hidden. The only picture I had left of my parents. The last piece of my old life I had managed to protect in this house that had taken everything else from me.

Or at least… it had been.

Now it was destroyed.

Shredded into countless tiny fragments, each piece torn cleanly, deliberately, like someone had taken their time to make sure it could never be whole again.

My breath hitched violently. My hand flew to my mouth, but it did nothing to stop the sob that tore out of me.

Then I saw the note.

Written in messy, childish handwriting.

"We told you to leave. Next time, it won't just be a photo."

My fingers curled tightly around the torn pieces, crushing them in my fist as my entire body shook uncontrollably.

Why?

Why this?

That picture… it was all I had left. Of my parents. Of my past. Of the life I used to have before everything fell apart.

I pressed the broken pieces against my chest, as if I could somehow hold them together, as if I could stop the pain from spreading any further.

Memories flooded in without warning.

Gianna climbing into my bed in the middle of the night when she had nightmares, her tiny hands clutching my sleeve. Matteo holding onto my fingers tightly when he stuttered in front of others, looking to me for reassurance. Lucia hiding behind me whenever she was scared, peeking out from my back like I was her shield.

All those nights I stayed awake for them.

All those tears I wiped away.

All those lullabies I sang until my voice went hoarse.

And yet…

Not once. Not even for a second. Did they ever see me as their mother.

And now… they wanted me gone. Like I had never mattered at all. Like I was nothing.

I forced myself to stand, my legs unsteady beneath me. I wiped my face roughly, smearing away the tears, and began to pack.

Only the essentials. My wallet. My phone. And my mother's old scarf.

At the very back of the closet, tucked away where I hadn't looked in years, I found a small velvet box. My heart clenched.

The bracelet. My mother's bracelet.

I opened it slowly, almost afraid of what I would find.

And then I saw it. Crushed. Broken clean in two.

Another piece of me… destroyed.

For a moment, I just stared at it, my mind blank, my heart too numb to even react properly. My left hand drifted to my bare wrist and pressed hard against the skin where the bracelet had sat for years, the emptiness there worse than any wound on my body.

Then, carefully, I picked up the broken bracelet and placed it into my bag.

No tears came this time. I had none left to give.

Downstairs, the celebration was already in full swing. Laughter echoed through the halls of the Montecarlo estate. Glasses clinked. Voices blended into a cheerful hum. I could hear soldiers and capos and their wives all performing their loyalty, the way they did at every gathering the Old Don hosted.

Enzo was down there too. Smiling. Talking. Playing his role perfectly. As if I had never existed.

I pulled my sleeves down tightly, trying to cover the angry red bites that still burned across my skin. My hand throbbed painfully, swollen and tender, but there was nothing I could do about it.

Taking a steadying breath, I opened the door and stepped out.

I heard them before I saw them. Lined up along the corridor like a receiving line of small, well-dressed judges. The hall sconces caught the silk of their clothes, the sheen of their hair, and the flatness behind their eyes.

"Wicked witch changed her dress," Gianna snickered.

"Doesn't fix her face," Nico added with a laugh, one shoulder lifting in that careless shrug.

"Shhh," Alessia said with a smirk. "She still has to play the piano. Let's not ruin Grandpa's party… yet."

Each word struck like a blade.

But I kept walking. Step by step. Face composed. Smile forced.

The grand room opened around me, heavy with cigar smoke and the low murmur of men who understood that the Old Don's birthday was as much a summit as a celebration. I sat down at the piano, my hands trembling as I placed them on the keys. The familiar melody began to flow, even as pain shot through my fingers with every movement. I had practiced this piece for weeks.

Now, I played it like a ghost.

All eyes were on me. I could feel them. The whispers. The curious stares. The quiet gasps at my appearance. Wives leaning toward each other. A soldier near the doorway shifting his weight, uncomfortable with something he couldn't name.

But I didn't stop. I couldn't stop.

When the final note faded into silence, I stood immediately and slipped away before anyone could approach me.

I needed air. I needed space. I needed to breathe.

And I needed Miso.

But before I could take more than a few steps into the garden, a voice stopped me.

"Seraphina."

I turned slowly, blinking back tears as I faced him. The only person in this house who had ever shown me even a fraction of kindness. He stood beneath the garden pergola, both hands resting on the silver head of his cane, watching me with eyes that had judged men for half a century and never once been fooled.

"Happy Birthday, Grandpa," I said softly.

He frowned deeply, his eyes scanning my face, taking in every bruise, every mark. "On my happiest day, you look the saddest. What happened?"