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.

For once, Serafina didn't obey. She shook her head, her expression suddenly turning determined. "No, I want to drink," she insisted. "Ever since I came to Duskmire, I've made you unhappy again and again. This glass is my apology to you, Bianca!"

Her voice grew more emotional as she spoke. Before anyone could stop her, she tilted her head back and gulped down the wine in one go. The next second, her brows knitted tightly together as she started coughing violently. Her cheeks flushed red, and tears instantly welled up in her eyes.

Dante's expression changed immediately. He looked at her with obvious concern, his brows furrowed, his entire focus on her. The next moment, he stood up abruptly and pointed at me, anger flashing across his face. "Are you satisfied now?" he demanded. "Only someone as innocent as Serafina would believe you! If anything happens to the baby in her belly, I will never forgive you!"

I slowly lifted my eyelids and looked at him, my expression calm to the point of indifference. "Do as you please," I replied lightly, as if his words no longer held any weight.

Without waiting for another response, I turned to Vittorio Marino and offered a brief apology. Then I picked up my things and prepared to leave, not wanting to stay in that suffocating atmosphere any longer.

Just as I reached the door, Dante's voice rang out sharply behind me. "Bianca, I've tolerated you for long enough!" he said, his tone filled with anger. "In your eyes, everything Serafina does is wrong! If you really can't accept her, then why don't we just end this marriage?"

The private room went dead silent. Vittorio Marino's hand paused over his napkin. One of the soldiers posted at the far wall shifted his weight, a barely perceptible adjustment, the way men do when they sense the ground is about to open beneath a conversation. No one at that table could have missed what just happened. A Don, in front of an allied boss, had spoken aloud about a union that was never supposed to exist in public.

I paused for a moment, genuinely surprised. But the surprise quickly faded, replaced by an unexpected sense of relief. After five years of a church-sanctioned union, he had never once publicly acknowledged our relationship. And now, just to force me to compromise in front of Serafina, he had finally said it himself.

I turned back and looked at him. His handsome face was twisted with anger, his expression unfamiliar and distant. I nodded slowly, my voice steady. "Fine," I said. "Let's get a severance."

With that, I walked out of the private dining room without looking back, as if closing the door on everything that had tied us together.

Outside the restaurant, the air felt colder than before. The street was quiet, the kind of quiet that only existed on blocks the Family kept clean. I took out my phone and called my attorney, discussing the next steps as I walked along the street. My voice was calm, almost detached. A church annulment, financial separation from the fronts, formal notification to the consigliere. Each word I spoke felt like pulling a stitch from a wound that had never properly healed.

In the middle of the call, a sudden bright light flashed into my eyes, blinding me for a moment. Before I could react, I saw a car speeding straight toward me, its momentum unstoppable.

A wave of fear surged through me. My legs went weak, and I stumbled backward, falling onto the ground. Just as the car was about to hit me, the driver slammed on the brakes, the tires screeching loudly. The car swerved sharply, narrowly missing me, and then sped off without stopping.

I sat there on the ground, my mind blank, my heart pounding wildly in my chest. A passing girl rushed over to help me up. But the moment her hand touched my waist, she suddenly screamed.

"Oh my God! Why are you bleeding so much?" she cried, her voice filled with panic.

I lowered my head in confusion. Only then did I notice the large pool of blood spreading beneath me, staining the ground. The sight made everything feel distant and unreal.

At the hospital, the doctor spoke urgently, telling me to contact my family as soon as possible. The words felt far away, as if they weren't meant for me.

I gripped my phone tightly, my fingers trembling slightly. My thumbnail pressed hard into the inside of my wrist until the skin went white. My gaze lingered on Dante's number for a long moment. Then, slowly, I moved my finger away and dialed my attorney instead.

In my mind, one detail kept replaying over and over again. The car that had just charged at me had the exact same plates as one of the Family's cars. The black sedan Dante and I had chosen together.