No. No. No!

He kicked the shattered pieces of the urn so hard they flew across the floor and cracked against the wall. Ceramic fragments rained like glass.

I froze. My breath stalled in my throat. My body wouldn't move.

My chest convulsed. A sound clawed up my throat, too broken to be a scream, too raw to be a cry.

Lucian stepped in front of me. His hand wrapped around my face, his fingers pressing into my cheeks until I felt bone.

"Enough," he growled. "Enough of this spectacle."

I blinked at him. His expression was carved from stone. No guilt. No grief. Nothing.

"I almost believed you. For a moment, I almost pitied your little corpse."

His thumb dragged along my jaw. The touch burned.

"But then the clinic sent proof. Videos of Matteo laughing. Sitting up. The doctor said you exaggerated everything. Said you used him. Said you let him pretend he was worse just so you could collect pity."

A lie. Her lie.

My gaze drifted past him... to the stairs.

Gianna stood halfway up, one hand resting on the rail. Her eyes gleamed in the dim light, and there it was, that tiny smile curling the corner of her mouth like she was savoring a secret victory.

She bought those photos. She paid off the doctor. She spun the story. And Lucian swallowed it whole, like he always did.

They headed upstairs. Gianna leaned her head on his shoulder, her steps slow and delicate, her fingertips brushing her collarbone as though the ordeal had left her too fragile to speak.

"Come to bed, amore," she murmured. "I can't breathe another second around her."

Nico looked back just once, disgust flickering in his eyes before lifting his chin and following his mother. The wide-eyed innocence he wore for the adults slipped on like a second skin the instant Lucian's gaze left him.

The house fell silent. The compound's surveillance cameras blinked their red eyes in the hallway corners, recording nothing that mattered. I stayed on the floor, hands torn and bloody, gathering the last pieces of my child with fingers that wouldn't stop shaking.

Hours passed. Or maybe the world just forgot to move.

I didn't sleep. I couldn't. I sat outside my room, knees pulled to my chest, dried blood on my palms, the taste of salt still trapped in my mouth. Somewhere beyond the walls, a soldier made his rounds along the perimeter. I heard the crunch of gravel, the low static of a radio check. The compound breathed on as though nothing had happened.

Past midnight, I heard a cough.

Then Lucian's voice. Sharp. Frantic.

"Gianna, look at me. What hurts? Tell me."

I didn't move.

Gianna's cries rose like thunder through the walls.

"I can't breathe," she gasped. "Oh God, Lucian! My stomach, my chest, she cursed me. That urn! Ever since she brought that death into this house... something's choking me!"

Footsteps thudded. Lucian paced. Swore.

"That bitch."

Gianna's voice cracked into a trembling whisper.

"I heard the maids... they said she bought poison. Something... something meant for me. Maybe she put it in the urn. Maybe she wanted me gone. I'm scared, Lucian. I'm pregnant. I don't want to die... not me... not the baby."

The door slammed open like a gunshot. Lucian stormed in, his rage so thick I could taste it. The Don of the Ferro Family, and he moved through his own house like a man possessed by something smaller than himself, something she had planted in him and watered nightly.

He grabbed my wrist and yanked me up from the floor.

"You did this."

My ankle twisted. My arm burned. His grip was iron.

"You poisoned this house," he roared. "You cursed her. You knew she was carrying my child and you still brought death into these walls."

"I didn't—"

He cut me off with a jerk so violent I choked on my breath.

"She almost died tonight! Is that what you want? You want her dead?"

He dragged me into their room and shoved me forward.

"KNEEL."

"I said kneel."

"No."

The slap cracked across my face. Stars burst behind my eyes.

"On your knees."

I stood.

He kicked the back of my legs. Pain shot up like fire. I dropped hard, skin tearing open again. The floor stained red beneath me.

Gianna sat on the couch like a queen receiving tribute. Her hair immaculate. Her swollen stomach framed by a soft blanket. She pressed her hand to her chest as if fragile, but her eyes were sharp. Hungry. The fingertips at her collarbone lingered, tracing small circles against the hollow of her throat, the gesture so practiced it had become instinct.

"I don't believe her," she whispered. "She doesn't sound sorry. Make her louder, Lucian. I want to hear her break."

Lucian towered behind me, a shadow ready to crush.

"Apologize," he hissed. "Until she forgives you."

My lips trembled. My voice splintered.

"I'm sorry."

Again.

Again. Until my throat burned. Until my voice cracked. Until I felt something inside me tear open and bleed.

Gianna rose slowly, clutching her belly, swaying on her feet.

"L-Lucian... something's wrong." Her voice shook with manufactured terror. "My stomach... I think I'm bleeding—"

Gianna collapsed cleanly, right into Lucian's arms, as if she'd rehearsed the fall in front of a mirror.

He caught her instantly, clutching her like she was carrying the last heir of the Ferro bloodline.

"Gianna. Amore! Stay with me," he choked out, his voice cracking as he cradled her face. "Look at me. Don't close your eyes. Breathe, baby, breathe."

Her eyelids fluttered like a saint under attack.

"Lucian... I'm scared..."

He snapped toward the hallway, shouting loud enough to shake the walls.

"Get the damn car! Move!"

I stayed kneeling.

Blood seeping through my pants. Hands sticky, torn. My son's name still burning somewhere inside my chest.

He lifted her with both arms as if she might shatter. Gianna curled into him, whimpering, holding her stomach as if her soul was slipping out.

Before leaving, he turned back.

His eyes; those same eyes that once held me like I was his whole world were now a pair of knives.

"Don't move," he said. "You don't even deserve to breathe."

I didn't answer.

"You don't deserve a bed."

The door slammed. Silence swallowed the room whole.

I don't know how long I stayed like that. My legs felt carved from stone. My head buzzed. My throat was raw.

Then… the door creaked.

Tiny footsteps padded close.

I didn't look up until his shadow touched mine.

"Why are you sitting like that?" Nico asked.

He held a blue toy car by the roof, swinging it casually. His pajamas were spotless. Hair brushed. Eyes bright like he'd just woken from the best sleep of his life.

He crouched beside me with a little smirk, elbow on his knee, like he was studying a stain.

"My mommy's a really good actress, isn't she, puta?" he whispered with a grin.

The word sliced clean.

My mouth opened, but nothing came out.

He pushed his toy car across the tiles. The little wheels clicked against the marble that the Ferro family had shipped from Carrara three generations ago.

"Daddy always falls for it," Nico added. "Again and again."

He stood and walked away humming. Like he hadn't just stomped on my son hours earlier.

I lowered my face. My voice barely scraped out.

Soon.

Soon this would end. The dissolution papers were already with the family's outside attorney. I just had to wait.

Then I would finally be free. Then they would finally learn what it meant to lose everything.

…

Lucian came back before dawn.

He tossed a bottle onto the floor in front of me. It clattered and rolled. Painkillers. No label. The kind the family's private doctor dispensed without questions or records.

"Try not to kill anyone next time," he muttered, not even looking at me.

He grabbed his keys again. Stopped at the doorway.

"My parents' anniversary feast is this weekend. You're still my wife. People will look for you. Bring Matteo."

I felt nothing. Not even anger.

"You heard me," he repeated. "Bring him. Clean him. Smile. You know how this family works."

Then he left, back to Gianna, back to the private clinic the Ferro family kept on retainer.

…

The anniversary arrived.

Lucian didn't let me sit beside him. He pushed me to the front seat with the driver like I was hired help.

Behind us, Gianna curled against him like she was the rightful queen of the empire. Nico sat beside her, tucked under her arm.

She whispered something. Lucian laughed softly, brushing his thumb across her knuckles.

I looked down at my black dress, plain, scratchy, too short. Everyone else would wear diamonds or silk. Gianna wore white. Pearls down her back. A halo of expensive innocence.

No one spoke to me before we left.

No one even glanced.

At the estate, cameras flashed like gunfire. Reporters swarmed the gates, the kind of press the Ferro family cultivated for their legitimate face. Lucian stepped out first, adjusting his cuffs, pretending he was a faithful man.

He opened Gianna's door himself.

She stepped out like she owned the night.

Nico followed her, his hand in hers. He went perfectly still and wide-eyed as a flashbulb caught his face, the innocent child mask settling over him like a second skin.

I stepped out alone, sinking into the gravel.

"Don't speak unless spoken to," Lucian said quietly.

I nodded.

He didn't look back.

The ballroom glowed with gold and wealth. Chandeliers dripping like jewels. Music soft and arrogant. The room was filled with associates, silent partners, capos from allied families, and the politicians who owed the Ferro name favors they could never fully repay.

Lucian lifted his glass.

"Everyone," he announced, "meet Gianna. The woman who will soon carry this family into the future."

Applause thundered.

She bowed her head, shy and royal at once. Her fingertips drifted to her collarbone, lingering there as she accepted the room's adoration.

"And this," he said, bringing Nico forward, "is our future. The next heir."

Carmela and Geraldo embraced Nico like he was a crown made flesh. Carmela adjusted her left pearl earring with a single precise turn before kissing the boy's forehead, having already decided how the evening's hierarchy would arrange itself.

I stood near the coats. Out of focus. Forgettable.

Someone near the dessert table whispered, "Who's she?"

"Oh," Carmela said lightly, "that's just the old wife. She couldn't even raise her own son right. Sick little thing she kept hidden. God knows what happened to him."

Gianna placed a hand over her heart.

"Matteo's… still recovering," she said gently. "He wasn't strong enough to travel." Then she turned to me, pity etched perfectly on her face. "Poor Serafina… still grieving."

She kissed Lucian on the cheek.

My nails dug into my palms.

A waiter bumped a dessert tower. A silver tray crashed, echoing through the hall.

Laughter rose. Geraldo's loudest.

"We're here to celebrate," he boomed. Then pointed at me. "Let her clean it. She knows how."

Some guests laughed. Capos who ran entire districts. Associates who feared the Ferro name. All of them laughing at the woman kneeling to pick up broken silver.

Gianna stepped forward, voice dripping syrup.

"She used to be such a lovely hostess," she said. "Maybe she can help serve the champagne. Just until they catch up."

Lucian said nothing.

So I picked up the tray.

I followed the servers around the room, handing out flutes. One waitress gave me a sympathetic look.

Someone by the bar whispered, "Is that the first wife? I heard she poisoned the house."

Another replied, "With her dead kid's ashes. Can you imagine?"

I kept walking, quiet, steady.

They couldn't take anything from me.

I'd already lost everything worth losing.

Let them mock the ghost they thought I was.

Soon, they'd all learn my name again.

And they'd learn it screaming.

While serving champagne near the garden tables, I tried to disappear into the warm glow of the lanterns, praying no one would notice me. But they did. Every whisper burned through me like acid.

"Lucian and Gianna look perfect together."

"She fits this world. She moves like a real mafia wife."

"Their boy is so disciplined. She clearly raised him right."

"Lucian finally found someone worthy."

I kept pouring champagne, fingers tightening around the silver tray until they ached. My plain black server dress clung to me like a punishment. Everyone else sparkled in diamonds soaked in blood money and generations of power.

Then it happened.

Nico. Lucian's precious heir, his pampered prince, stuck his polished shoe out. I caught it too late. My heel snagged, and I lurched forward. Crystal shattered across marble. Champagne splashed onto a woman's ivory gown, the stain blooming like a sin she'd never forgive.

Gasps broke the air. The string quartet stuttered to a stop. I stood in the center of the ruin, hands trembling.

Nico lifted his chin and announced, "She ruins everything. Just like she ruined my baby brother."

A slow, suffocating silence swallowed the garden. Two soldiers by the fountain shifted their weight but didn't move. No one moved.

Gianna rose with a delicate hand resting on her stomach, eyes glassy with rehearsed fear. Her fingertips touched her collarbone, lingering there. "Please… he's only a child. He's been terrified ever since that cursed urn appeared. He has nightmares. About her." A pause. A whisper like poison. "About what she did."

Someone murmured, "The urn? Saints above…"

I whispered to myself, too soft for anyone to hear, "The cursed urn that held my son. The one you all destroyed."

Then Lucian stormed toward me, cutting through the crowd like a blade. The guests parted for him the way they always parted, instinctively, the way a room rearranges itself around a loaded weapon. His grip crushed my arm, yanking me forward. "You dare embarrass me in front of my men? In front of Gianna?" His voice was fire. "You ruin everything you touch."

His hand cracked across my face. Blood pooled on my tongue. I stood my ground.

Gianna's soft little gasp came next. "Babe, don't hurt her… she's still the mother of your child." Her palm stroked her belly like she was blessing herself.

Carmela arrived last, draped in jewels like a queen presiding over my execution. She adjusted her left pearl earring with a single precise turn before she spoke. "Dissolve this marriage now, Lucian. I won't have filth like that tied to our name."

This time, I lifted my head.

"No need," I said, voice cracking but clear. "The papers were filed this morning. You can have your son. I want nothing more from this Family."

Lucian froze. Confused. Insulted. Almost scared. His left hand twitched at his side, but there was nothing to crack, nothing to crush. Just the silence and what I'd said sitting in it.

Carmela slapped me so sharply my ears rang. "How dare you speak as if you get a choice? You should be grateful we tolerated you!"

Whispers exploded around us.

"She should be locked up again."

"She's unstable."

"She's out of her mind."

"She'll never survive without them."

My phone buzzed. A single sentence lit up the screen: Divorce approved.

For a moment, the world blurred. Then I smiled. A thin, dangerous curl of freedom. I wiped my lip, lifted my chin, and walked toward the gates.

Lucian's voice chased me. "Serafina! Where are you going?"

I didn't turn. "Somewhere you'll never cage me again."

He stepped forward, ready to order his soldiers to grab me, but Gianna let out a soft, trembling gasp and collapsed right on cue. The perfect distraction. Guards rushed. Guests panicked. Cameras flashed.

No one stopped me.

…

Back at the compound, the maid opened the door with wide, guilty eyes. I didn't speak. I moved past her and climbed the stairs to Matteo's room.

His scent still lived here. Sweet. Innocent. Untouched by their rot.

I packed his toys. His chewed picture books. His tiny clothes. I pressed each one against my chest, trying to remember the weight of him. My fingers found the glass locket at my throat and closed around it, and something in me settled into place. A decision that could not be unmade.

Then I removed my wedding ring and left it on his pillow.

The maid watched silently, clutching the railing like she might break. I walked past her, out to my rusted car, and slid into the seat. The compound glittered in my windshield. Cold, monstrous, beautiful in the way a coffin is beautiful. The security lights swept the perimeter in slow arcs, illuminating nothing that mattered.

"Goodbye, Lucian," I whispered. "Wait for the day I burn your empire."

My phone vibrated again and again.

"Come back right now."

"You humiliated me."

"Ungrateful bitch."

"If you leave, you'll suffer."

I lifted my phone, smiled faintly, and sent him two words: FUCK YOU.

Then I drove.