I stayed up until dawn, phone glowing in the dark.

Carla wouldn't quit posting.

[Soaked like a drowned rat! Good thing my darling Leon was there.]

She was wrapped in his jacket, shopping at some high-end boutique, drowning in diamonds. Way more than I ever got—all these years, not even close.

6:00 AM hit:

[Some nights... are so wild you never want the sun to rise.]

A pic of two hands tangled on hotel sheets. One had his tiger's eye ring. The one he never took off.

I shut the phone off, no sound, no tears.

Printed the divorce papers in the study.

Then, like always, I made breakfast for Antonio.

"Anna," he beamed, already dressed—for the first time ever. "Today's... my brother said... amusement park day. When's he coming back?"

Poor kid must've just crashed for an hour, tops.

"He's busy today." I faked a smile. No way I'd crush a boy who hadn't stepped outside in five years. "How 'bout I take you?"

His face fell a little, but he nodded. No fight in him.

At the park, Antonio was all over the place—eyes wide, energy cranked to ten.

He pointed at the massive roller coaster. "Anna, that one—I wanna ride it!"

I hesitated. He wasn't exactly built for this.

"Antonio, it's kinda tall. We—"

"No! I want to!" he snapped, cheeks flushing. "Ms. Vitti said... my brother took her! She called me a coward!"

Carla. Of course.

I bit back the heat rising in my chest and crouched to his level. "You're not a coward. But there's a height limit, and you're not quite there yet. Let's hit the carousel instead, yeah?"

He pouted but didn't argue. Let me lead him away.

I watched from the fence as he rode a white horse, spinning to tinny music, the tension finally sliding off his face.

Then—bam. Some guy in a baseball cap slammed into me.

"Ah!"

I stumbled back, purse flying, stuff everywhere.

"I'm so sorry!" he blurted, already down on the ground scooping everything up.

I didn't answer—just snapped my eyes to the carousel, scanning for Antonio.

He was already jumping off, running straight for me.

"Antonio! Don't run! Stay right there!" I yelled.

He didn't hear me. Just kept coming, face lit up.

Then—out of nowhere—an electric cart packed with drinks turned the corner, heading right for him.

"Watch out!"

I bolted.

Bang.

I shoved him clear, but the cart clipped me. Sent me flying.

"Anna!" Antonio's face crumpled. He ran over, bawling.

In the mess, I realized—baseball cap guy? Gone.

I took Antonio home, still rattled. Got him cleaned up, patched the scrape. Didn't even touch my own bruises when—

Bang!

The front door slammed open.

Marcella's voice sliced through the air. "Anna! You can't even take good care of a kid!"

Leon stormed in right behind her, ripped Antonio from my arms. His eyes locked on the scrape, jaw tight.

"Leon..." Antonio whimpered.

"It's okay. I'm here." Leon soothed Antonio, then turned to me, voice like ice. "I told you to take him out to relax, not get him hurt. What the hell were you thinking?"

Marcella scoffed. "Can't even handle a kid. What use are you? Our family never should've let trash like you in."

Seven years of silence. Last night's betrayal. The panic. This—this pushed me over.

"Basta!" I snapped. "YOUR family? Oh, right—the noble bloodline. Three generations of lies! Sons paraded as brothers. Grandsons passed off as sons!"

Marcella's face went stiff. She pointed at me, mouth open—but nothing came out.

Leon's grip on Antonio tightened. "What are you even saying?"

"What am I saying?" I let out a bitter laugh, yanked the crumpled paper from my pocket, and smacked it against his chest. "Seven-year-old birth certificate. Father: Leon Ferrante. Want me to read it for you?

"I've known. You dumped his mom 'cause her status wasn't good enough. And now? You're chasing the Vitti heiress, so I'm just the leftover maid, right?"

Leon's face twisted. He set Antonio down and stepped toward me.

"Anna, just calm down—"

"Calm down?" My voice cracked. "After you kissed her in public? Draped her in jewelry? Posted like you spent the damn night together?"

I lost it. The dam broke—tears flooding.

"For seven years, I gave up everything. I raised your kid like he was mine. Turns out I was just the help—free labor for your whole twisted family. And now you're ready to toss me out, make room for your next trophy?"

Leon froze—rattled. Panic flared in his eyes.

But it vanished just as fast.

He grabbed my wrist, tight. Sneered.

"And you're calling me a liar? You're Anna Rossi. Not even a Brioni. You think I didn't know? You were the one lying all along."

His voice dripped with disgust. "You really think I kept our marriage secret for no reason? That I didn't want kids just because? I was giving you time—waiting for you to come clean! You think I could go public, have a child, with a woman who lied to me?"

I laughed.

Laughed until the tears came.

Of course. How could I forget?

This whole marriage was a damn fairy tale—built on lies from the jump.

Seven years back, I was fresh outta college, juggling shifts at some artsy gallery.

That night? Pouring rain. I ducked into an alley, dodging this creepy client who wouldn't take a hint.

Then he showed up—like some dark knight. Came outta nowhere, laid the guy out cold with a couple mean punches.

Rain dripping off his fancy suit, eyes like straight razors under that busted streetlamp.

Yeah. That's when I fell. Hard. No coming back.

Didn't take long to find out who he really was—

Leon Ferrante. Youngest Don in Northern Italvia. Boss of the Ferrante Family.

There was a damn canyon between us.

But I loved him. Crazy, stupid love.

I knew I was nothing—just some nobody with no business near his world.

So, I did the dumbest, riskiest thing I could.

I dove headfirst into mafia records, digging through every scrap I could find—

until I landed on one half-dead name: the Brioni Family.

Their legacy was toast, bloodline scattered, history a total mess.

Perfect.

I faked it—turned myself into some long-lost Brioni heir.

But just having the name wasn't enough.

A real Brioni would know how to shoot, how to survive Family politics.

So I got to work. Learned everything.

Stripped down weapons at 3 a.m., drilled mafia history until my brain fried, forced myself to act like cigars and wine were second nature.

Ten months. I crammed a decade into that.

Every time I got close to him—or anyone from his crew—I was walking a damn wire, scared stiff I'd blow it.

But I pulled it off. Fooled every last one of them. Even him.

First his Consigliere. Then his wife.

I really thought love and grind could close the gap.

But the way he's looking at me now?

Yeah... we were never real. Just lie stacked on lie.

I wiped my tears, locked eyes with him. "So you knew. The whole time."

Leon looked away. Typical.

"Hard not to. Last Brioni heir was a kid—died at fifteen. Your story had cracks. But..." He shrugged. "You picked things up quick. Decent shot. Not bad at negotiating. You helped out. So I put up with you."

"Put up with me?" I almost laughed. "You put up with me running your Family? Or playing housemaid while I raised your bastard kid for free?"

I scoffed. "What a saint. Bet you loved every second. While sneaking around with Carla—'cause a real Principessa wouldn't stoop like I did, right?

"You're not just a liar, Leon. You're a coward. A damn hypocrite."

Marcella looked like I'd slapped her.

Antonio? Shaking, eyes like saucers.

Leon's face went cold, eyes dead. Any flicker of emotion? Gone—replaced with straight-up fury.

"Enough!" he barked. "You don't get to yell at me! Know your damn place! You're a fraud who clawed her way into the mafia! If I hadn't tolerated you, you'd be fish food by now!"

I didn't flinch. Just stared, empty.

A fraud. That's all I ever was to him.

All those years—choking down every insult, every lie—thinking his love made it all worth it.

But now? The sweet cover was gone.

All that was left was bitterness—burning its way up my throat.

Leon turned away, fists tight. Looked like he wanted to say something—but didn't. Just walked off.

"Go to the confessional," he tossed over his shoulder. "Don't come out till you realize your mistakes."

Marcella scooped up Antonio, shot me a cold warning, and followed him out.

Once the door clicked shut, I pulled out the divorce papers, signed them, and left them right there on the table.

My biggest mistake? Hoping.

As I walked out of that mansion, it hit me—I'd left the pregnancy report in the bedroom.

Screw it.

He wouldn't care.

Even if it was the one thing he and his precious Family always wanted—a healthy heir.

But coming from a liar like me?

Yeah, meant nothing.

I turned into the alley and slid into the Rolls-Royce waiting for me.

***

Third-Person POV:

Leon didn't notice Anna was gone until dinnertime.

No food. Just Antonio bawling his lungs out, and nobody could shut him up.

Leon tore into the bedroom—bam, divorce papers on the bed.

First he blinked. Then he snapped. Flipped the whole damn desk.

Divorce? From him? She serious?

She hadn't worked in seven years. Where the hell would she even run?

It was one fight. Big deal. And since when did a mafia wife mouth off to her husband?

A paper slid off the vanity in the chaos. He caught it outta the corner of his eye, froze.

Picked it up slow.

Medical report.

[Eight weeks pregnant. Fetus developing healthily.]