"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?"

Before I could answer—

They appeared.

All six of them.

And Enzo.

My heart sank instantly.

Don Montecarlo's gaze shifted to them, sharp and questioning. "Did you attack Seraphina?"

Enzo sighed, already looking annoyed. "Seraphina, not tonight. I told you, we'd talk later."

The Old Don raised his hand, silencing him without even looking his way. "Kids?"

"It was just a prank," Nico said smoothly, without hesitation.

"Apologize," Don Montecarlo ordered firmly.

Gianna stepped forward, her expression shifting instantly into innocence, her eyes wide and soft. "We're sorry, Aunty Seraphina. We didn't mean it."

"Yeah, sorry," Matteo added quickly. "We even brought you a gift."

My body went rigid.

A gift.

Gianna held out a neatly wrapped red box, her smile sweet and harmless. "You'll love it," she said.

Every instinct in my body screamed at me not to take it.

Not to touch it.

But Enzo's gaze hardened, warning, pressuring. "They apologized, Seraphina. Don't be petty."

Don Montecarlo nodded gently. "Accept their apology. Children make mistakes."

My hands trembled as I reached out, slowly peeling back the ribbon. My breathing grew shallow, uneven.

The moment I lifted the lid—

The world tilted.

A scream tore out of my throat before I could stop it.

Inside the box—

Miso.

My puppy.

Lying completely still. Lifeless.

His soft white fur… soaked in red.

And beneath his small, fragile body—

Another note.

"You'll be next if you don't leave."

The box slipped from my hands, crashing to the ground.

Everything spun.

Enzo froze. Don Montecarlo murmured something in shock.

And the children…

They simply smirked.

Then turned away.

As if none of it mattered.

As if he had never mattered.

I couldn't breathe.

I couldn't see.

All I could see…

Was Miso's lifeless eyes staring back at me.

Don Montecarlo's cane slammed against the marble floor with a sharp, bone-rattling crack as he stepped forward, the sound echoing through the hall and silencing everything in an instant. Two soldiers by the far door straightened. A conversation across the room died mid-word.

"Who did this?" His voice carried no trace of weakness. It was cold, commanding, and filled with restrained fury.

No one answered.

The six children stood there with their heads lowered, shoulders tense, putting on the perfect act of innocence. Anyone else might have believed them.

But I saw it.

I saw Gianna's lips twitch slightly, the faintest hint of a cruel smile before she quickly hid it. Her chin tilted up and to the left, just barely, the same angle I'd seen when she delivered her worst words. Then she caught herself and let it drop.

Enzo looked pale, his composure cracking. "I… I didn't know. I swear."

Don Montecarlo turned to him slowly, his gaze cutting like a blade. "Do not swear, Enzo. Your ignorance is your shame."

I held Miso closer, his small body limp in my arms. His white fur was soaked red, sticky against my skin. My tears fell onto his face, but he did not move. He never would again. My left hand found my wrist, fingers pressing down hard against the bare skin where my mother's bracelet once sat, pressing until the pressure burned, until it was the only thing I could feel besides the grief.

"He was just a puppy," I whispered, my voice breaking apart. "He didn't do anything wrong. He didn't deserve this."

Don Montecarlo's cane struck the ground again, louder this time, filled with anger. He gripped the silver head with both hands and rested his chin on his knuckles, and the room went still in a way that had nothing to do with the hour and everything to do with what that posture meant. Every man in the family who had seen it before felt their mouths go dry.

"You think this is a joke?" he thundered, his voice echoing across the hall. "You think harming the innocent is something to laugh about?"

The children flinched.

"You will each receive twenty lashes tonight," he continued without hesitation. "For one full month, you will have no outings, no toys, no entertainment of any kind. You will rise at dawn and scrub this entire estate until your hands bleed."

Gianna gasped, lifting her head. "But Grandpa—"

"Silence," he snapped.

"But it was just a prank—"

"A prank?" Don Montecarlo's voice rose, filled with disbelief and rage. "You call this a prank? Taking the life of a helpless creature? Shame on all of you."

Enzo tried to say something, but the Old Don silenced him with a single look. The same look that had once stripped a capo of his territory in front of twenty men without a word being spoken.

"This is my house," Don Montecarlo said firmly. "And Seraphina is still family under this roof. If she wishes it, I will throw every one of you out myself."

Enzo froze, clearly shaken.

For a fleeting moment, something stirred inside me. A faint sense of protection.

But it came far too late.

Nothing could undo what had already happened.

I stood up slowly and walked past them, ignoring their whispers, ignoring the hatred in their eyes. I did not look back.

In the garden, beneath the dim night sky, I knelt down and began digging with my bare hands.