Bianca's POV

When we arrived at the compound, he helped the nauseous, morning-sick mistress up to the master suite and told the cook to make her favorites.

On his way back downstairs, he saw me heading toward the guest wing, dragging my suitcase behind me.

He paused, then muttered to the cook, "Make two more dishes. The ones Bianca likes. Set three places."

That actually caught my attention. Was that remorse? A flicker of guilt? A weak, pitiful attempt to play house while his mistress slept in the room we once shared?

I didn't know whether to laugh or spit. He couldn't remember the day we met, but sure, go ahead and have the cook whip up my favorite meal. Maybe he thought a plate of grilled rosemary lamb could undo what he did to me.

I clenched my jaw, said nothing, and kept walking.

I stepped into the guest room, closing the door quietly behind me. The silence was heavy, as if the walls themselves knew I didn't belong here anymore. Somewhere deep in the house a grandfather clock ticked, measuring out the last hours I intended to spend under a Valente roof.

I set my bag down on the edge of the bed and knelt to unzip it. The second the zipper peeled open, I stopped cold.

All of my clothes had been shredded. Torn into ribbons with clean, deliberate cuts. Damn it. But tucked deep into the lining, right where I'd hidden them, my passport and documents remained untouched.

For a second, I just sat, stunned. Who would do this?

I didn't have to think long. Of course it was Serafina. Who else would be petty and cruel enough to tear my things apart like this? But I had no time to confront her. Not now.

Let her think she'd won. I had more important things to do, like getting out of here alive.

I was crouched by the bed, shoving the last few salvageable items into my bag when I heard the door creak open behind me.

Serafina stood in the doorway, one hand hanging lazily at her side, holding a small black bottle. Her eyes roamed the room like she was touring a crime scene, nose practically wrinkling at the decor. Then her gaze landed on me, and if looks could kill, I'd be ashes already.

"Wow, Bianca. You're really something. After all the humiliation I've put you through in front of every Don and Donna in the territory, you still cling to this family like a tick."

She tilted her head mockingly.

"Oh, right. Your grandmother passed last month, didn't she? Now that your only real family is gone, of course you're clinging to Dominic like he's your last lifeline."

Then she giggled. The sound bounced off the bare walls of the guest room, thin and deliberate, the kind of laugh that was meant to land like a slap.

"Remember how you begged him to fly you out to see her one last time? You know why he didn't?"

She waved her phone.

"Because he promised to take me to the coast that day. We watched the sunset together. This kiss photo? Taken right then."

Her words hit me slowly, like cracks spreading through glass. The more they sank in, the more something inside me started to boil.

She'd known. She knew what she was doing when she showed me that photo. When she talked about the helicopter. My grandmother. That day I'd begged Dominic, on my knees, to let me see her one last time.

And he chose Serafina.

The weight of it all pressed down on me. My jaw clenched, fists tightening at my sides as the room spun with heat and rage. Something dark stirred inside me, growling low, just as my self-control snapped.

"You think this is funny?" I hissed. "You think tearing down what little I have left makes you what? His Donna?"

Serafina raised her brows, smiling like a snake. She touched the hollow of her throat, fingers resting there with a softness that made the next words land like venom. "I don't need to be Donna. I already have everything."

"You have nothing," I snapped. "You're a parasite. A leech clinging to scraps."

Bianca's POV

She shrugged, smug. "Still more than you."

That was it.

I slapped the phone from her hand. It clattered to the ground.

Then I lunged, my hand flying to her throat before I could stop myself.

The bottle slipped from Serafina's hand and hit the floor with a hollow clink. The sharp, unmistakable stench of gasoline exploded into the air, hitting my nose like a slap. It burned the back of my throat, filling the room in seconds.

We struggled, pushing, grabbing, stumbling over each other. Then she kicked something. Maybe it was a lighter, or maybe her heel struck the metal leg of the bed frame.

Flames erupted like they'd been waiting for a reason to consume us.

Smoke swallowed the room. My body, still healing from what Enzo had done to me at Dominic's order, couldn't keep up. I choked, coughing violently, my legs collapsing beneath me.

The last thing I saw before darkness claimed me was fire crawling across the ceiling.

"Bianca!"

"Don Valente! It's too dangerous! You can't go in! Let the soldiers handle it—"

"Out of the way! Bianca's still in there!"

The sound of Dominic's voice tore through the smoke. I tried to open my eyes. Had I imagined it? Did he really say my name? Did he still care?

"Dominic, I'm here too. Please save me and our baby!"

For a moment, I almost believed he was coming for me.

It was pathetic, really. That tiny flicker of hope that burned inside me just from hearing my name fall from his lips. Like I was still someone he'd fight for.

But of course, reality slapped the fantasy right out of me. He hadn't come running in because he missed me. Not because he cared. He'd stormed in because he wanted to save face. Wanted to be the Don. The man in charge.

And when Serafina cried out? He didn't even pause. Just scooped her up like she was some precious gem while I lay there, smoke choking the last bit of strength out of me.

Half an hour passed.

After making sure Serafina was safe, he tore through every hallway of the estate to find me.

But I was gone.

I still wasn't sure how I'd made it out. The flames were everywhere, roaring in my ears and stealing every breath from my lungs. Smoke clawed at my throat, filling me with dizzying heat. But when instinct finally took over, it wasn't calculation that saved me. It was something deeper, something animal, the part of me that refused to die in a house that had already killed everything else I loved.

I moved mid-cough, muscles screaming, adrenaline flooding my body in a rush of pain and power. Everything became clearer and sharper. Even through the haze, my focus locked onto one thing: survival.

My bag. I lunged for it, grabbing the strap with fingers I couldn't feel. It tasted like ash and desperation against my skin, but I clung to it. Then I threw myself through the shattered window.

Glass scraped my sides as I crashed through, landing hard on the grass outside. My legs buckled, my chest heaving. But I was alive. Barely.

And I didn't look back.

One of the side hallways must've been untouched, or maybe the fire hadn't reached that wing yet. I dragged myself down it blindly, lungs screaming, barely able to stand, until I reached the back service door. The one the kitchen staff used for deliveries, the one no soldier ever bothered to guard because nothing important ever came through it. I collapsed outside in the cold night air, coughing so hard I thought my ribs would snap.

No one saw me. No one followed.

And I didn't stop. Not even when my knees buckled. Not even when I had to use street signs and parked cars for support. I just kept going, because if I stopped, if I let myself get caught again, I knew I wouldn't survive it this time.

Then I boarded a flight to the Northern Territories.

The moment before takeoff, a message came in.

From Dominic:

[Don't have time for games, Bianca. I'm not playing hide-and-seek.]

I stared at the screen.

Then powered off the phone.

Dominic's POV

[Tomorrow at 10 AM, Serafina's got her prenatal exam. You'll come with her. Get your lungs checked while you're at it.]

There was no reply. Honestly, I wasn't surprised. I didn't know it at the time, but Bianca had already yanked out her SIM card and powered down her phone. Just like that, she was gone. Cut me off entirely, with all the finality of a slammed door that would never open again.

...

The next morning, the private clinic on the compound's east wing hummed with low voices and the sharp bite of antiseptic. Serafina clung to my arm like she'd collapse without it.

"Dominic, is the baby okay?"

I nodded, keeping my voice even. "Enzo said the baby's strong. No lasting damage from the fire."

She sagged with relief. "Thank God. You've been so quiet since we got here. I thought something happened."

Something had.

I couldn't get Bianca's face out of my head. The way she looked at me through the smoke, not desperate or pleading, just resigned, like she already knew I wouldn't come back for her. And the worst part? She was right. I didn't carry her out of that burning house. I carried Serafina.

...

After lunch with Serafina, I dropped her off at the main house and went straight to the family's council room.

It was then that my underboss caught up to me.

"Don Valente, Salvatore Winslow has returned. He's called for a full sit-down with the captains."

I nodded and kept walking, but underneath the calm, something sharp twisted in my gut. Tight, restless, and entirely wrong. Bianca was nowhere to be found. She hadn't gone to the clinic. She hadn't returned to the estate. None of the men posted at the gates had seen her leave. No car was missing from the garage. No driver had been called. She'd vanished, and I had no idea how or when she slipped through the cracks.

Where the hell had she gone?

As I started to walk faster, I turned to my underboss again and said, "Get someone to pick up a few of the newest designer bags and some jewelry."

"For Serafina?"

I paused. "Send it to the Ferrante estate."

If Bianca was anywhere, it'd be there.

But if she wasn't?

I didn't want to finish that thought. My thumb found the wedding band on my left hand and rolled it slowly, back and forth.

What if she was hurt? Still recovering somewhere alone?

What if she'd really left?

...

One week later, just past midnight, I came home bone-deep tired from a strategy session with the captains over a territorial dispute along the eastern docks. I stepped into the main house and saw a soft figure curled on the couch in silk, like a memory that hadn't let go.

I chuckled. "Bianca, I told you… Once I finish work, I always come back. You don't have to—" I stopped.

It was Serafina. Not Bianca.

Her face fell when she looked up. "Dominic, she hasn't returned. Not once. I sent her so many apology messages. She won't reply. Maybe I should move out." She sniffled, on the edge of tears.

I let out a long breath and sat beside her, leaning in to kiss her forehead. Not out of affection, but more out of routine. "Don't think too much about it. The baby needs a calm environment." I didn't want to say it, but I forced the words out anyway, because I knew she was waiting to hear them. "This is your home now. Yours and the baby's. Whether Bianca likes it or not."

...

Later that night, I stood alone on the open-air terrace, wearing nothing but a robe. I lit a cigarette. Something I hadn't done in years. But tonight, I couldn't stop. The craving wasn't for the smoke. The desire was to soothe the restlessness that was gnawing at me from within.

The compound was quiet below. Two soldiers made their rounds along the perimeter wall, their flashlights cutting thin lines through the dark. Beyond them, the city sat low on the horizon, indifferent.

I pulled out my phone and scrolled all the way down through my contacts until I found Bianca's name sitting quietly at the very bottom. I stared at it, thumb hovering over the call button, frozen with everything I wanted to say but didn't. In the end, I didn't call.

I sent a message instead:

[Bianca, tomorrow is Salvatore Winslow's 80th birthday. Don't cause a scene. Don't start anything with Serafina or the baby.]

I waited. My chest felt tight, and for a second, I couldn't tell if it was from the cold wind. No. It couldn't be panic.