Just because my five-year-old twin daughters ate leftover cake that belonged to my husband's kept woman, he sent them to St. Lazarus.

The enforcers came to the house in the middle of the afternoon. Two men in dark coats who answered to the compound, not to me. They dragged my girls out by the arms. Elena and Rosalia clung to the car door, sobbing, screaming for their daddy.

I dropped to my knees and begged.

"They're only five years old. They're just babies. A place like that will kill them. I'm their mother. I'm the one who failed to teach them properly. If someone has to be punished, punish me..."

But my husband just stood there with his arms around his precious Vanessa, watching the three of us with cold, detached eyes. The foyer of the Falcone estate was silent around us. Not one soldier moved. Not one of them looked at me.

"If you hadn't spoiled them so much, they wouldn't have turned into the entitled little brats they are today. I'm their father. If you can't discipline them, I will. What, do you think I'd actually hurt my own children?"

The next day, I rushed to the compound with my sister-in-law.

What we found were my daughters' bodies. Covered in bruises. No longer breathing.

And my husband? He was on social media, celebrating the news that Vanessa was pregnant with his child.

I turned to Lucia, my eyes hollow, empty.

"My children are dead. I have nothing left. Please... just let me go. I don't want anything anymore."

——

By the time we reached the clinic, there were no vital signs to save. They never even made it to the examination room. They were wheeled straight to the morgue.

My sister-in-law looked at me with pity she couldn't hide, but still tried to comfort me in a soft voice.

"It's going to be okay. Don't worry. Papa and I are both on your side. My brother was wrong this time. I'll make sure he apologizes to you. You two can still—"

Before she could finish, I shoved my phone in front of her face.

On the screen was a post Maeve Falcone had made just two hours ago.

"Before you even came into this world, Mommy and Daddy already loved you."

Attached was an ultrasound report. The name on it was clear: Vanessa Rosati. Six weeks pregnant.

Vanessa Rosati. My husband's idealized love. The woman the heir to the Falcone Family kept closer than his own blood.

Lucia's voice died in her throat. A moment later, her face twisted with rage.

"I'm calling my brother right now. Don't worry. The Falcone Family will give you an explanation for this."

I let out a bitter laugh and dialed Maeve's number myself. The second the call connected, his impatient voice cut through.

"Are you going to whine about the kids being mistreated at St. Lazarus again? They're my children. Who would dare touch a hair on their heads? Stop playing the victim. I sent them there to learn some manners. Was that really worth calling me over and over?"

"Adriana Moretti, you disgust me."

I hadn't said a single word. He'd already hung up.

I'd had the call on speaker. Every word reached my sister-in-law's ears.

Her face went white. Her lips moved, trembling, but no sound came out, as if she no longer knew what to say.

I forced the ghost of a smile onto my face. Tears spilled down my cheeks in heavy, uncontrollable drops. My thumb found the edge of the ash locket at my throat and pressed until the metal bit into skin.

"Please. I have nothing left. Just let me go. I can't take this anymore."

She opened her mouth to respond, but two federal agents were already approaching us.

"Are you the family of the deceased? The staff responsible at St. Lazarus have been taken into custody. We need your cooperation with the investigation."

The moment I stepped into the station, I saw them. The men who had come to the Falcone estate yesterday to take my children.

I lost all reason.

A scream tore from my throat as I lunged at them, clawing, sobbing.

"You animals! You're all animals! They were only five years old! How could you do it?! How dare you?!"

Officers scrambled to pull me back. Lucia wrapped her arms around me, holding my thrashing body tight.

"Adriana, please. Don't do this. You have to calm down!" Lucia held my trembling body so tightly she was nearly crushing me into her arms. Her tears splashed hot against my back, scalding. "I promise you, the police will handle this properly. Those monsters who hurt the children, every last one of them will pay! The Falcone Family won't let this go. Grandfather won't let this go. Elena Moretti and Rosalia Moretti won't have suffered for nothing. We'll make them pay in blood!"

Her comfort was warm and urgent, but to my ears, it was nothing but bitter irony and despair.

I went limp in her arms, sliding to the floor. My gaze locked onto the men in dark Nardellis huddled in the corner. Them. Yesterday, they had dragged my children into that van with their own hands. They had tortured my five-year-old babies to death.

At first, my earlier breakdown seemed to have frightened them into silence. But now, seeing me drained of strength, nothing left but bloodshot eyes, they grew bold again. Contempt crept across their faces. One of them curled his lip and let out a low, mocking snort.

"Tch. What a hassle." The one who looked like their crew leader spat on the floor, his gaze sweeping over me with open disdain. His voice dripped with cold deflection. "Maybe if you'd done your job as a mother and raised them right? Spoiled rotten at that age, no respect for their elders. That's exactly why they were sent to St. Lazarus. A little discipline never hurt anyone."

Another man chimed in, his tone even more vicious: "The house has always believed in 'spare the rod, spoil the child.' Other kids can take it just fine. How were we supposed to know your two little girls were so fragile? One day of training and they gave out. Rotten luck, that's what this is, and now we're the ones dealing with the fallout!"

"What did you just say?!" My head snapped up. My fingers curled so tight my nails dug into my palms, drawing blood I couldn't feel. Fragile. Hassle. Each word was a poisoned blade, plunging into my heart, shredding what little sanity I had left. Rage and hatred detonated inside me, flooding through my veins, burning through every limb until my whole body felt like it was on fire. I wanted to lunge at them, tear the flesh from their bones, grind their skeletons to dust.

"You... you animals!" My voice came out shredded, like a broken bell. Every word was soaked in blood and tears. My body shook like a candle guttering in the wind. "My children were five years old. Five. What could they possibly understand? They were just babies! How could you do this to them? How dare you! I'll kill you. I'll make you pay for their lives!"

I tried to claw my way up, but Lucia held me down. Then a violent surge of copper flooded my throat, choking me. My chest seized like a boulder had been dropped on it, the pain blinding. The next second, my mouth opened and a spray of bright red blood burst out, spattering across the cold stone floor like blossoms of desperate, blood-red plum flowers, searing to look at.

My vision blurred. I could still hear Lucia's anguished screams, the men's panicked whispers, but I couldn't hold on anymore. My eyes fell shut, and I plunged into endless darkness, where even hatred became a distant thing.

When I woke again, the familiar scent of sandalwood filled my nose. Not the antiseptic smell of a clinic, but the distinctive fragrance of the Falcone estate. I opened my eyes slowly. Above me was the carved ceiling I knew so well. On the nightstand, a lamp cast a soft amber glow. Warm light that couldn't touch the ice in my heart.

Lucia was curled up in the chair beside my bed, her eyes swollen like walnuts, dried tear tracks still visible on her face. Her hair was a mess, exhaustion carved deep beneath her eyes. She must have been watching over me for hours. The moment I stirred, she jolted awake and leaned in close, her eyes lighting up with relief and heartache. "Adriana! You're awake? Oh thank God, you're finally awake. You scared me half to death!"

She reached out to feel my forehead. Only after confirming I had no fever did she exhale and continue: "Don't worry, we've been on top of the police. Grandfather made the calls himself." Her voice dropped the way it always did when she invoked Salvatore Falcone's authority, as though the old Don's name alone could bend the law like a loaded envelope passed under a precinct desk. "Everyone at that compound, the administrators, the staff who laid hands on them, they're all in custody now. We won't show any mercy this time. We'll make sure they face the consequences. We'll get justice for Elena and Rosalia!"

I turned my head slowly, my hollow gaze drifting to the ceiling. Empty. As if my soul had been ripped out, leaving only a broken shell behind.

Justice? What was justice? My children were dead. Their bodies covered in bruises. I never even got to say goodbye. Even if every last one of those people rotted in the joint, my babies weren't coming back. Justice was just a lie we told ourselves. My thumb found the edge of the ash locket at my throat and pressed there, hard, until the metal bit into the pad of my finger like a second pulse.

"Please..." My voice floated out thin and numb, like something drifting up from the depths of hell. "Let me go, Lucia. I have nothing left. My children are gone. What's the point of being alive? I don't want anything. Not compensation from the Falcone Family, not your so-called justice. I just want to leave. I want to get away from here. Away from everything connected to Maeve..."

Lucia's hand froze mid-motion, the joy draining from her face, leaving only raw heartache.

She knew. She understood what I'd already accepted in my bones—those monsters at St. Lazarus were guilty, yes, but the one who truly pushed my children into hell, who killed them with his own hands, was never anyone else.

It was their father. Maeve Falcone.

If he hadn't favored Vanessa. If he hadn't refused to listen. If he hadn't signed that agreement with his own hand, sending my babies to that place, my Elena and Rosalia would still be curled in my arms right now, calling me Mama.

The one truly responsible had always been Maeve.

Lucia pressed her lips together, her eyes reddening again. She reached out and gently took my ice-cold hand. Warmth seeped from her fingertips into mine, but it couldn't thaw the frozen wasteland inside me. After a long silence, she seemed to steel herself, her voice both firm and tender: "Alright, Adriana. I promise you. I'll go talk to Grandfather right now. No matter what he says, I'll help you. I'll get you out of here, away from all of this, so you can finally breathe."

I watched her walk away, that slender, determined silhouette like a lifeline thrown into dark water. But even a lifeline couldn't pull back a heart already shattered beyond repair. I couldn't hold it in anymore. The sobs tore out of me, muffled and desperate, as if I were purging every last drop of grievance, agony, and injustice I'd swallowed over the years. Tears soaked the pillowcase, cold against my skin, matching the chill that had settled into my very bones.

Memories surfaced unbidden, distant and warm, from another lifetime.

I was eight years old when I first came to the Falcone household. That year, Maeve was eight too. Salvatore Falcone and my grandfather had been bound by something older than friendship, a loyalty forged in the worst years of the syndicate wars, when a bullet meant for Salvatore found my grandfather's shoulder instead. Between them existed a bond sealed in blood. A debt the Falcones could never fully repay.

My parents died in separate incidents shortly after I was born. I grew up at my grandfather's side. Vittorio Moretti was all the family I had. But fate is cruel. When I was eight, he passed away too, leaving me utterly alone. It was Salvatore who honored that old blood debt. Despite resistance from his own family, he brought me into the Falcone compound and raised me like his own granddaughter, cherished and protected.

I still remember those first days. I was timid, afraid to speak, afraid to meet anyone's eyes, always shrinking into corners of that enormous house where soldiers stood at every door and conversations stopped when I entered a room. It was Lucia who sought me out, took my hand, and grinned at me: "Adriana, this is your home now. I'm your little sister. Anyone gives you trouble, I'll make them pay!" And it was Salvatore who brought me treats every day, sat with me while I did homework, patted my head and said gently, "Don't be afraid, child. Grandpa's here."

Only Maeve hated me from the start. He called me "charity case" in front of everyone, threw my belongings out of the house, tormented me at every turn, insisted I didn't belong in the Falcone name. But Salvatore always scolded him sharply, and Lucia always defended me. Eventually, Maeve learned to keep his cruelty quieter, though his contempt never faded.

All these years, Salvatore and Lucia treated me as true family, as one of their own. They gave me warmth, gave me something to hold onto, showed me what home could feel like. So seven years ago, when Salvatore suggested a blood alliance between me and Maeve, I agreed.

I told myself it didn't matter that Maeve didn't love me. It didn't matter that there was no romance between us. If I was good to him, kept the household running smoothly, gave him children, surely, someday, he would see my devotion. Surely he would soften, even just a little.

I told myself that even without love, even with a life that was merely ordinary, as long as I had my two precious daughters, as long as I could watch them grow, my life would have meaning. It wouldn't have been lived in vain.

I poured everything into my children, into this home. Maeve was rarely there. His heart belonged to Vanessa. I swallowed it. I accepted it.

But never, never did I imagine that all my patience, all my hoping, would lead to this.

My two baby girls. The treasures I'd cradled in my palms for five years. Their own father signed them away to hell, where they were tortured to death.

And him? He was out celebrating his precious Vanessa's pregnancy with his child, toasting the future heir while my daughters lay in ashes.

Now I had nothing. No family. No children. No love. No home.

Only endless pain. Bottomless despair. And hatred carved into my bones.

My thumb found the edge of the ash locket at my throat and pressed until the metal bit into skin. I don't know how long I cried. My voice went hoarse, then silent. The tears dried up, leaving only the raw burn behind my eyes.

The door opened softly. Lucia stepped in, weariness etched on her face, but also a flicker of relief: "Adriana, Grandfather wants to see you. He has something to say."