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.

Dominic's POV

Salvatore Winslow's eightieth birthday was the kind of gathering that demanded appearances, smiles, honor, and an iron-tight grip on image.

I arrived at the grand hall of the Valente estate with Serafina on my arm. Her belly was beginning to show now, enough to draw attention. Whispers floated from the crowd, but none of it mattered. I kept my face blank, unmoved. Soldiers straightened as I passed. Wives looked away from Serafina and then looked back, unable to help themselves.

Only when my grandfather himself entered did I let go of Serafina's hand. He wasn't just the retired Don. He was the founding patriarch of the Valente Family, the man who'd built this territory from nothing, and the last living voice that still carried weight with the Commission. And I knew he had always loved her like a real daughter.

"Where is Bianca?" Salvatore asked me directly. His cane tapped once against the marble floor, and the nearest conversations went quiet.

"She's been busy preparing a gift for your birthday." I shifted my weight, trying to sound more certain than I felt. "She'll arrive later."

He studied me for a moment but said nothing.

Two hours passed.

The gift-giving was just about to begin, but still no sign of Bianca. I kept glancing at the doors, trying to act like I wasn't waiting, but the restless thing inside me was pacing, clawing at my ribs. The longer she stayed gone, the more I could feel the nerves crawling up my spine. I rolled my wedding band with my thumb, slowly, back and forth. Where the hell was she?

Just as I was about to step out and call someone, a courier walked in, carrying three neatly wrapped packages.

The courier looked between me and Salvatore, unsure who to address, fingers tightening slightly around the packages as if they were heavier than they looked.

"Delivery for Don Winslow," he announced respectfully. "They're from Donna Bianca."

My heart stopped at the mention of her name.

I cleared my throat. "Give them to me."

He hesitated. "I was told to deliver them directly to the Don. Her instructions were very clear."

Of course they were.

I stepped aside and gestured toward my grandfather. "Then do as she asked."

Salvatore was in the middle of a quiet exchange with another old-guard patriarch when the courier approached. He nodded respectfully and said, "This is from Donna Bianca, sir. She's wishing you a happy birthday."

The old man blinked, surprised. "Why didn't she deliver them herself? Where's my granddaughter-in-law?"

The courier gave a small shake of his head. "I'm sorry, sir. I was only told to deliver these to you. Nothing more."

Salvatore looked visibly dismayed, his eyes shadowed with confusion. Still, he accepted the gifts with quiet grace and carefully placed them on the table beside him, his hand lingering on one box as if hoping it might speak for her.

I walked over to my grandfather's side, wanting a closer look. "Do you want me to open them for you?"

He shook his head. "No. I'll do it."

Inside was an intricate embroidery piece, a tapestry of the family's patron saints gathered in blessing over a long life. It had taken her months to complete. I knew, because I'd seen her fingers bleed while stitching it.

The old man's eyes moistened.

He opened the second gift with a slower hand this time, as if he too was beginning to sense where this was going. It was a velvet box. Inside lay the heirloom jewelry passed down from his late wife, the same pieces Bianca had worn on our wedding day.

My throat tightened, and my palms started to sweat. Why would she send this back?

Then came the third box.

I couldn't take it anymore. My hands moved on their own as I reached forward and snatched the final package. My grandfather gave me a sharp look, but he didn't stop me.

I tore open the third gift box roughly and directly.

However, when I saw clearly what was inside, I suddenly turned pale and froze in place.