The screen lit up. A message from Bianca, sent two weeks ago:

"My love, the ultrasound today was perfect. The baby is so healthy. The sunset in Miami is beautiful. Wish you were here to see it with me."

Miami?

I scrolled up. Every message was a knife in my heart.

For the past eight months, Massimo had told me he was in Colombia, handling business.

Lies. All of it.

He was on his private island in Miami with Bianca, waiting for her to give birth.

There were pictures. One after another.

Massimo teaching Bianca to shoot, his hand covering hers, correcting her stance.

Massimo painting her portrait, making her look like a goddess.

Massimo peeling grapes for her, feeding them to her one by one.

A killer with blood on his hands, peeling grapes for his whore.

And me?

I was at home, waiting alone, worrying about him every single day.

Every time he called with a "business update," I was too anxious to sleep.

I even lit candles for him at church, praying for his safety.

What a fool I was.

I remembered the first time I met Bianca. It was Thanksgiving, two years ago. Massimo’s mother, Maria, was holding her and crying.

"Bianca, my poor darling, you've suffered so much. Your mother asked me to look after you on her deathbed, and I will."

Maria told me Bianca was the daughter of her dead best friend. She and Massimo were childhood sweethearts, but she'd married an English nobleman. Her husband died in a car crash last year, leaving her pregnant and alone, so she'd returned to Chicago.

I’d pitied her. What a joke. Her whole damsel-in-distress routine was just an act.

Her husband probably wasn't even dead. Maybe he never existed at all.

I kept scrolling and saw an address that made my blood run cold.

1247 Oak Street, on the shore of Lake Michigan.

My heart stopped.

That was the address of the glass art studio Massimo had promised to build for me. My dream sanctuary, for my work as an art restorer.

"After the baby is born, I'll build you a studio right on the lake," he had promised. "All glass walls, so you can watch the water while you work."

My hand shook as I clicked on a video file.

The camera was shaky. It was Massimo's point of view.

He was giving Bianca a tour of the studio. The one I had dreamed of for years.

"Do you like it?" Massimo’s voice purred from the phone. "I built it just for you. My studio. My Bianca."

Bianca let out a flirtatious laugh and stood on her toes to kiss his lips.

"I love it, Massimo. As much as I love you."

The walls were covered in her paintings. Every single one was of Massimo.

And in the center of the room, on the very easel I had picked out and had shipped from Italy, sat an unfinished painting.

It was a portrait of Bianca holding a baby whose face wasn't finished, with Massimo embracing her from behind.

It was supposed to be… our family portrait.

My hand was shaking so badly I could barely hold the phone.

Tears blurred my vision, but I forced myself to keep looking.

I needed to see just how deep his betrayal went.

The last message was from three hours ago:

"Massimo, our son misses you. He won't stop crying, but he gets quiet when he sees your picture."

Attached was a photo of Bianca holding the baby they were passing off as mine.

The baby's big eyes were open, his tiny hand clutching a picture of Massimo.

The perfect little family. And I was just an incubator. A disposable tool.

I deleted my browsing history and carefully placed the phone back in Massimo's pocket.

Then I took out my own phone and booked a one-way ticket to Italy, for three days from now.

I was leaving this place. And I was never coming back.

The next day, Massimo wanted to take me to a family gathering at the estate.

"You need to see the family," he said gently. "They're all worried about you."

Worried? I almost laughed out loud.

When we arrived, I saw exactly what I expected.

Bianca was lounging on the sofa, dressed in the latest Valentino, as my mother-in-law, Maria, fed her caviar from a spoon.

"Eat up, Bianca, my darling. You just had a baby and you were hurt. You need to get your strength back."

Hurt?

Bianca looked more radiant than I'd ever seen her. Her skin was glowing, her figure already perfect again.

She didn't look like someone who'd just been through hell.

Then there was me.

Pale, with dark circles under my eyes, so thin I looked like a ghost.

"Arabella!" My mother-in-law's brow furrowed when she saw me. "What on earth are you wearing?"

"You are the Donna of the Falcone family. How dare you show up to a family gathering dressed like that?"

I looked down at my simple black dress. It was plain, but perfectly respectable.

"Look at Bianca," Maria turned back to her with a doting smile. "Even after being so badly hurt, she's still so elegant and beautiful. Such a good girl, always so sweet. Since you lost your mother, I'll just have to love you like my own daughter."

In the past, Massimo would have defended me.

Today, he sat in silence.

Then Maria brought out the family's heirloom sapphire necklace. As she was about to put it on Bianca, Massimo finally spoke.

"Mama, a necklace isn't enough."

He made a phone call. Moments later, his men started carrying in bags. A hundred of them.

Hermès, Chanel, Louis Vuitton, Dior...

Each one worth tens of thousands of dollars.

"Bianca, I know you like bags," Massimo said with a smile. "The finest jewels deserve the finest bags to carry them in. Don't you agree?"

Bianca gasped, covering her mouth in delight. "Massimo, you're too good to me!"

She rose onto her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

The air in the living room went still.

Massimo took an awkward step back. "Bianca's just… excited," he explained, looking at me. "We grew up together, she's always been more affectionate. She just had a baby, no husband around… try to be understanding, Arabella."

Understanding? I watched Bianca's coy smile and felt my stomach churn.

"Massimo's right," Bianca cooed, running her hands over the expensive leather. "You've always been the only one who's good to me."

Her fingers brushed against the back of Massimo's hand, a touch so intimate it felt like a challenge.

Catching my glare, Bianca suddenly clutched her forehead, swaying as if she was about to faint, and collapsed into Massimo's arms.

"I… I feel so dizzy all of a sudden. So tired. Can you take me upstairs to rest?"

Massimo’s arms shot out to catch her by pure instinct. In his haste, his elbow slammed into my side.

"Ah—"

I lost my balance and fell hard onto the rug. A searing pain tore through my barely-healed surgical wound.

But Massimo didn't even look at me.

His eyes were wide with panic, fixed on Bianca. "Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

"I… I'm dizzy," Bianca whispered weakly into his chest.

"Okay, okay. I'll take you upstairs to rest."

He swept her into his arms—a perfect princess carry—and disappeared up the stairs, never once looking back at me.

I lay on the floor, watching them disappear around the corner.

From start to finish, he never looked at me. It was like I wasn't even there.

"Look at her. Our 'Donna'," Maria's voice dripped with contempt.

"Can't even stand on her own two feet. What an embarrassment."

The whispers started among the other family members.

"No wonder Massimo has a soft spot for Bianca."

"Right? What's this one good for besides a pretty face?"

"All that talk about her 'artistic talent' fixing the family's art business… she never even got close to the real operation."

Maria sneered. "Massimo only married her out of pity. Now that Bianca's back, he finally has a real woman by his side."

I struggled to my feet, my legs shaking.

I couldn't break down here. I wouldn't let them see me cry.

I limped towards Massimo’s study, clutching the divorce papers I had already prepared.

I reached the second-floor landing and froze. I heard them before I saw them. Moans. Coming from the study.

I crept to the door and peered through the crack.

The scene inside made me want to scream.

Bianca was sitting on Massimo's lap, unbuttoning her dress.

"Massimo," she purred, "it hurts so much. My milk has come in and there’s no baby to feed. Won't you… help me?"

"Bianca, no," Massimo's voice was strained. "You're still recovering."

But his hand was already on her waist.

"I don't care," Bianca said petulantly. "I only want you."

She grabbed his head, pulling it towards her chest.

Massimo was barely resisting, his mouth saying "no" while his hands roamed her body.

He wrapped his arms around her from behind, kissing her neck.

"My baby…"

I couldn't watch anymore. My stomach revolted. I clamped a hand over my mouth and ran out of the villa.

The cold air burned my lungs, but it couldn't chase away the disgusting image.

I stumbled into the garden behind the estate.

There was a field of tulips here. Massimo had planted them for me with his own hands.

"When spring comes, you'll see a whole field of tulips," he'd promised. "Red, for my burning love for you."

Such a sweet lie.

I fell to my knees among the flowers, letting my tears fall onto the petals.

"You look like you're in pain."

A sickly sweet voice came from behind me.

I turned. Bianca was standing elegantly on the path.

Her clothes were perfectly arranged, her face flushed with satisfaction.

"Does it hurt? Seeing me and Massimo together?" Bianca stepped closer. "Oh, right. You should be used to it by now."

I clenched my fists, fighting the urge to tear her apart.

"You know," Bianca crouched down, her lips close to my ear, "if I hadn't gotten married in Europe, the spot next to Massimo would never have been yours."

"He was always mine," her voice was pure venom. "You should have been gone the second I came back."

"But then you got pregnant," Bianca sneered. "Such an inconvenience. Though, in the end, you saved me the trouble of getting rid of you myself."

She paused, a crazed light in her eyes.

"Do you want to know how your pathetic little boy really died?"

My heart stopped.

"I paid the midwife. The second he was born, she simply... held a pillow over his face until he went still. I had your son murdered, Arabella."

Blood rushed to my head.

I raised my hand and swung, aiming for her smug face.

But she was faster.

Bianca grabbed my wrist and then threw herself backwards.

CRACK!

Her forehead slammed against the stone steps of the garden path.

Blood instantly gushed from the wound.

"HELP!" Bianca shrieked. "ARABELLA PUSHED ME! SHE'S TRYING TO KILL ME!"

The next second, Massimo burst out of the villa.

He saw Bianca, her face covered in blood, and his eyes lit with fury.

He shoved me to the ground without a thought, then carefully scooped Bianca up.

Cradling her in his arms, he turned and roared at me, "ARABELLA, ARE YOU INSANE?!"

"Massimo!" Bianca sobbed, burying her face in his chest. "She's jealous of me! Jealous of the jewels your mother gave me, jealous of the gifts you bought me!"

"She said she was going to kill me and our son!"

I scrambled up from the ground, blood dripping from my scraped palms.

"Bianca, you—"

"Enough!" Massimo cut me off, his eyes burning with a rage that terrified me. "Just because my mother doesn't like you, you have to take it out on Bianca?"

"You want bags and jewels? I can buy you anything!" his voice rose. "All you have to do is be obedient! Stop this goddamn jealousy!"

"We have an heir to raise together! I won't have you acting like this!"

An heir?

I couldn't stop the cold, bitter laugh that escaped my lips.

"What heir, Massimo? Is our heir even still alive?"

Massimo's face went pale.

"Why was security pulled from the gala, Massimo? Why did I almost bleed to death on that floor? Don't you have an answer for me?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Massimo clutched Bianca tighter. "Arabella, stop this nonsense!"

"Now, apologize to Bianca. Immediately!"

Apologize?

Apologize to the woman who murdered my son?

A desperate rage swallowed the last of my sanity.

I snatched the dagger from Massimo's belt and slashed it across my own forearm.

Blood poured out, a river of red far more horrifying than the scratch on Bianca's forehead.

"Is this sincere enough?" I stared at them, my voice dead. "Is this apology good enough for you?"

"Arabella!" Massimo looked at me in shock.

But the moment was broken by a weak moan from Bianca.

"Massimo… my head hurts so much…"

His attention snapped back to her. "I'm taking you to the hospital. Right now."

He turned and ran back toward the villa without another look at me.

He left me standing in a pool of my own blood.

A few hours later, Massimo's deputy, Alex, found me.

He brought a doctor and a first-class medical kit, a pained look on his face.

"Donna, the Boss asked me to tell you he apologizes for his… outburst this afternoon. He also insists you attend the christening tomorrow. For the sake of the family's honor."

I stared at the ugly gash on my arm, ignoring the kit he offered.

I uttered a single word. "Get out."

Alex started to protest, but I met his gaze with an expression he had never seen before. "Tell Massimo I'll be there," I said, my voice dangerously low. "I wouldn't miss it for the world. I'm going to give him and his 'heir' a christening they'll never forget."

Shaken, Alex backed away and left in a hurry.

The next day, the whispers spread through Chicago's underworld:

Don Falcone had used his family's private medical jet to fly in a dozen of Europe's top surgeons.

All to treat a minor cut on his mistress's head.

Such a grand romance. Such a high price to pay.

And me?

I was at home, silently bandaging my own arm, with no one to care.

Over the next two days, I sold all my jewelry.

The "tokens of love" Massimo had given me were converted into cold, hard cash.

I also found our marriage contract and tore it, page by page, into shreds.

Three years of marriage, gone.

On the morning of the christening, I got a text from Bianca.

It was a picture of her in a white dress, Massimo's arm around her waist, the baby in his arms.

The perfect family.

Below it, her message:

"If you know what's good for you, you'll get lost. Today is my son's big day. Don't ruin it."

I deleted the message without replying.

Massimo texted too, asking when I would arrive at the church.

I ignored it.

Instead, I made a phone call.

"Uncle Marco, it's me, Arabella."

Marco Ricci. My father's most loyal man, now running a legitimate import-export business.

"Little Miss!" his voice was full of surprise. "Are you alright?"

"I need you to do something for me," I said, later handing him an encrypted USB drive. "In one hour, take this to St. Anthony's Cathedral. Give it to the priest officiating the ceremony."

"And remember," I added, "make sure he plays it. In front of everyone."

Marco took the drive without asking any questions.

"As you wish, Miss."

I took one last look at the house that was once my home, then dragged my suitcase to the car waiting outside.

The driver asked me where to.

"The private airfield," I said.

---

An hour later, St. Anthony's Cathedral was packed.

The heads of every major family in Chicago were there to witness the christening of the Falcone heir.

Massimo stood at the altar in his finest suit, holding the baby.

Bianca was beside him, looking like an angel.

"My friends, thank you for coming to witness the baptism of my son, Dominic," Massimo said with a smile.

But his eyes were scanning the crowd.

Where was Arabella?

She said she would come.

Just as the priest was about to begin, Marco Ricci walked into the church.

He went straight to the priest and handed him the USB drive.

"This is from the Donna Falcone. She asked me to deliver it."

Massimo frowned, but before he could stop it, the priest had plugged the drive into the projection system.

The large screen behind the altar lit up.

Just then, Alex scrambled to Massimo's side, his face pale. "Boss," he whispered, panic in his eyes.

"Don, we have a problem. The Donna… she's gone."