The moment he heard her, Dante's entire demeanor shifted. His body tensed, his expression turning serious and focused in an instant. "Serafina, don't worry," he said gently, his voice softening in a way I hadn't heard in a long time. "Take your time and tell me what's wrong."

On the other end, Serafina sobbed pitifully, her breathing uneven. "My stomach hurts… I want to go to the hospital, but I got on the wrong train… I don't even know where I am now…" Her voice sounded fragile, helpless, as if she might break at any moment.

Dante frowned deeply, concern etched across his face. "Why didn't you call me when you were heading to the hospital?" he asked, his tone carrying a hint of reproach, though it was gentle. "Didn't we agree that I'd have one of the crew drive you there?"

Serafina hesitated, her voice faltering as she spoke. "I… I was stupid again today and upset Bianca… I didn't want to bother you two…" She sounded guilty, as if she was trying to be considerate, even while asking for help.

Dante's expression grew even more serious. "Serafina, you're my only sister," he said firmly, every word filled with unquestioned priority. "No one's matters more than yours." He didn't even glance at me as he spoke. The two soldiers stationed outside the bedroom door would have heard every word through the gap. By morning it would move through the house like gospel. "Send me your location. I'll come pick you up right now."

"No!" Serafina protested quickly. "Dante, I can find the hospital myself, really!" Then, as if suddenly remembering something, she added in a lighter tone, "Don't forget, today is Bianca's ovulation day. Stay with her and maybe you'll get a sweet little niece soon!"

Dante chuckled softly at her words, completely at ease. "Silly girl," he said indulgently. "It's not like doing it once guarantees anything. Your situation is more urgent. Send me your location now."

After hanging up, he finally looked at me again, though his gaze carried a trace of reproach. "Did you hear that?" he said. "Serafina cares about you so much, yet you're always so suspicious of her." He grabbed his car keys from the nightstand without hesitation. "I'll take her to the hospital and bring you back an ice pack."

He turned and headed for the door in a hurry, his steps quick and decisive.

"Dante, wait a second," I called out, my voice calm but firm.

He stopped, but only for a moment. His patience seemed to snap completely this time. He turned back with visible frustration. "Bianca, when will you stop this?" he said sharply. "This is about two lives. Don't let your jealousy go too far!"

I didn't argue with him. There was no point. Instead, I quietly walked to the closet and reached into the overcoat he had worn a few days ago. From the inner pocket, I pulled out a card and held it out to him.

"Serafina's insurance card," I said simply. "Don't forget it."

She couldn't register at the hospital on her own, so the card had always been with Dante. He looked at me, clearly taken aback, as if he hadn't expected me to remember something like this at a time like this.

For a brief moment, he hesitated. His hand hovered near his signet ring but didn't turn it. Then he reached out and took the card from my hand. "Thank you," he said, his voice softer than before.

It seemed like he wanted to say something more, perhaps to explain, perhaps to reassure me. But I didn't give him the chance. "Take care," I said gently, cutting him off before he could speak.

I lifted my hand and adjusted his collar, smoothing out the fabric just like I had done countless times before whenever he left the estate. The gesture was familiar, almost habitual. But this time, there was a quiet finality behind it. I knew, deep down, that this would be the last time I did this for him.

He looked down at me, his gaze lingering on my face as if something flickered in his eyes, something uncertain and fleeting. Then, suddenly, he reached out, grabbed my hand, and pulled me into his chest.

"Bianca," he said in a low voice, holding me just a little tighter than usual. "I'll be back soon. Wait for me."

I didn't wait for him. After hesitating for only a moment, I sent a message to a consigliere-linked attorney I'd kept in my contacts for longer than I cared to admit, asking about the process of filing for a sanctioned severance and what I should prepare. I pressed my thumbnail into the inside of my wrist until the skin paled, held it there while the message went through, then released. An unexpected sense of calm settled over me. Without overthinking it, I turned off the lights and went to bed early, as if ending the day sooner could also end everything weighing on me. Beyond the bedroom walls, the estate was quiet. Somewhere past the gate, an engine turned over and pulled away into the night.

In the middle of the night, the sharp chime of an encrypted message jolted me awake. My head felt heavy as I reached for my phone. It was already 1 AM. The room was silent, and when I turned slightly, the space beside me was empty, the sheets untouched and cold.

I unlocked my phone and saw several messages from Serafina. The first one made my fingers pause. "My big brother is so handsome! I want to eat him up while he's sleeping…" The words felt playful, but something about them made my chest tighten.

There was a photo attached. Dante was sleeping peacefully, his head resting on a pink cartoon pillow. His usually neat hair was messy, falling over his forehead, softening his sharp features. His eyes were closed tightly, and his thin lips were slightly pursed, making him look strangely vulnerable. The signet ring he never removed caught the lamplight on his still hand.

I stared at the image for a moment. Then I noticed the words "The other party is typing…" appear. Almost immediately after, the messages disappeared. Serafina had deleted them.

A second later, she sent a cute kitten meme with a pleading expression. Then another message followed. "I meant to send that to my best friend, but accidentally sent it to you. Dante is asleep. I was just joking and took a sneak photo. Don't blame him, okay?"

She probably thought I would react the same way as before. In the past, I would have called Dante right away, demanding an explanation. But this time, I didn't. I simply blocked her and put my phone aside.

Whether she was joking or not didn't matter anymore. I didn't want to know the truth, and I didn't care to find out. I closed my eyes and went back to sleep.

The next morning, Dante and Serafina came to the counting house together. Two soldiers flanked them at the door before peeling off to their posts. Serafina walked carefully, one hand lightly protecting her belly. Even so, she suddenly stumbled, her face turning pale with fright.

Before anyone could react, Dante stepped forward and picked her up without hesitation. He carried her straight inside. Serafina wrapped her arms around his neck, blushing, and as they passed me, she shot me a faint, triumphant glance. Her fingers smoothed the thin strap of her blouse near her collarbone, just once, a small satisfied gesture.

Associates nearby leaned in and whispered. "She can't even tell a ledger from a receipt," someone said quietly. "Yet she's been the Don's personal courier for half a year. Do you think Don Ravazzani actually likes her?"

I was messaging my consigliere-linked attorney at the time. Without looking up, I casually nodded and said, "Maybe." My tone was calm, as if it had nothing to do with me.

Just then, a familiar voice called out, "Bianca, come here." I turned around and saw Dante standing behind me, his expression cold.

No one in the Family's fronts knew we were married. Dante kept the church-sanctioned union sealed, hidden from every associate, every capo, every soldier who passed through these rooms. In public, we were nothing more than colleagues on the legitimate side of the operation. To avoid suspicion, he always treated me with distance.

There was once when I had a fever of 40 degrees. I could barely stand and went to him for help. But he quickly shook off my hand, afraid of being seen, and told me to ask the house manager for leave instead.

Yet whenever Serafina said her stomach hurt, he would cancel sit-downs without hesitation and take her to the Family's private clinic himself. The difference had always been that obvious.

I followed him into the back room. Serafina was arranged to rest behind the partition. Once we were alone, Dante walked over and took my hand. "Are you still angry?" he asked in a low voice.

I pulled my hand away, my tone distant. "I told you, I'm not angry." I didn't look at him.

He placed his hand on my shoulder, gripping it tighter as he stared at me. "Still being stubborn? You didn't call me last night. Not even a message. And you say you're not angry?"

I paused for a second before replying, "Serafina was there. She's your courier. Of course she would take good care of you." My voice was calm.

His expression darkened instantly. His grip tightened, making me wince. I tried to pull away, but in the struggle, he pushed me onto the sofa.

As I sat up, I felt something beneath my hand. I reached into the gap and pulled it out. It was a pink lace bra, delicate and unfamiliar.

The moment Dante saw it, his anger disappeared. "This is…" he started, clearly trying to explain.

I didn't let him finish. I tossed it back onto the sofa. "If there's nothing else, I'll be leaving now, Don Ravazzani," I said lightly.

After work, I was about to meet a tribute partner when Dante's black sedan pulled to the curb in front of me. "Get in," he said. "I'll take Serafina home first, then take you to the seafood buffet on Maple Road."

Serafina leaned out from the passenger seat with a bright smile. "Sorry, Bianca, I'm hitching a ride again!" she said cheerfully.

I raised my hand to hail a cab and replied casually, "You two go ahead. I'm allergic to seafood."

Dante's face darkened immediately. He knew I had never been allergic. That buffet was one of my favorites.

He looked like he wanted to say something, but I didn't give him the chance. I stepped around the car and got into a taxi on the other side of the road, closing the door behind me without looking back.

I hadn't expected Dante to show up at the restaurant, let alone bring Serafina with him. When I arrived, the client hadn't come yet, and the table felt unusually quiet. The private dining room the hostess led me to was one of those back-corner arrangements with heavy curtains and a single exit, the kind of place where men like Vittorio Marino preferred to do business. Not long after, Dante walked in as if it were the most natural thing in the world, Serafina following closely behind him. Without asking for my permission, they took the seats directly across from me.

Feeling both confused and irritated, I didn't bother hiding my displeasure. "I have an appointment," I said bluntly. "With Vittorio Marino." My tone made it clear that they weren't welcome to stay.

Dante raised an eyebrow slightly, his expression calm but carrying an unspoken authority. "Has Vittorio ever said he doesn't want to see me?" he asked casually, as if my objection held no weight at all.

I paused, my words caught in my throat. There was nothing I could say to that. In the end, I fell silent and didn't insist further. No matter what, Dante was still the Don, and in this setting, I had no position to challenge him openly.

When Vittorio Marino arrived, the atmosphere shifted into formal politeness. Two of his soldiers took positions near the curtain without being told. During the meal, Vittorio instructed his man to open a bottle of fine wine, clearly intending to entertain and build rapport. The rich aroma soon filled the air.

I frowned slightly as I looked at the glass being poured. My thoughts drifted back to the day I had gone to schedule the abortion. The doctor had spoken to me with unusual seriousness, repeating the warning more than once. "After your miscarriage from the car accident, your uterus is already damaged," she had said. "It's a miracle you can get pregnant again. If you lose this one too, you may never be able to conceive again."

Remembering those words, I pressed my lips together. I was just about to decline the wine politely when Serafina suddenly spoke up, her voice bright and cheerful. "I've heard people say Bianca has an amazing alcohol tolerance," she said with a smile. "I've always wanted to see it for myself. Looks like today I finally get the chance!"

Her eyes sparkled with what seemed like admiration, her expression completely innocent, as if she had no ulterior motive behind her words. Her fingers drifted to the thin strap of her necklace and smoothed it once, lightly.

I turned my head slightly and looked at her, my gaze cold. "Who told you that?" I asked, my tone calm but sharp enough to cut through her performance.

Her smile froze instantly. She looked flustered, then quickly turned to Dante, her voice turning soft and uncertain. "Did I say something wrong again…?" she asked, as if she were genuinely worried.

Dante reached out and casually ruffled her hair, his gesture gentle and indulgent. Then he looked at me, his expression turning cold again. "Bianca, it's just a glass of wine," he said flatly. "You're not a child anymore. Stop acting so reserved."

A chill spread through my chest at his words. I pressed my thumbnail into the inside of my wrist beneath the table, feeling the skin pale under the pressure. Meeting his indifferent gaze, I forced a faint smile onto my lips. Then, enunciating each word clearly, I said, "Don Ravazzani, I can't drink. I'm pregnant."

The moment the words left my mouth, the entire table fell silent. It was as if time had frozen for a second. Vittorio's hand paused over his napkin. One of the soldiers by the curtain shifted his weight. Dante's signet ring, which he had been turning idly with his thumb a moment before, went completely still.

Serafina was the first to react. The surprise in her eyes flickered briefly before she quickly masked it. She stood up with a smile, raising her glass. "Congratulations, Bianca!" she said brightly, as if she were genuinely happy for me.

She lifted the glass to her lips, about to drink, but Dante immediately reached out to stop her. "Serafina, you're pregnant. You can't drink," he said, his voice firm, concern evident in every word.