On the third anniversary of my marriage to Rocco Grimaldi, Chicago was blanketed in a blizzard. I came home early to the manor and found him with another woman for the tenth time. This time, it was on the desk of the first Don—a sacred symbol of family power.

Unlike all the other times, I didn't fly into a rage. I simply closed the door on them in silence.

To Rocco, I was just the woman his father forced him to marry. My only role was to endure his indiscretions.

Three months later, for his mistress's sake, Rocco slapped a set of divorce papers on the table in front of me and told me to get the hell out.

I looked him in the eye and calmly agreed. "Fine. All I want is our son, Luciano."

I wouldn't take a single dollar from the Grimaldi family.

A brutal family tribunal followed. Everyone mocked me, the foolish outsider.

The entire Chicago underworld was waiting to see how I, the abandoned wife, would meet my ruin.

But I won. In the end, I left that city of sin with my son.

No one knew that Rocco Grimaldi, the heir apparent, was sterile. No other woman could ever carry his child. Because, by a quirk of fate, I possess a unique biology that makes me exceptionally fertile.

My son would be the Grimaldi family's one and only king.

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1

Twenty minutes later, the study door opened. A woman emerged, wrapped in my husband Rocco Grimaldi's bespoke suit. Her name was Krystal Dunn, a dancer Rocco had picked up at a strip club and his newest mistress.

Krystal froze for a moment when she saw me, but she quickly lifted her chin in defiance, flaunting the Grimaldi signet ring on her finger as if she were the lady of this manor. I nodded at her. "You'd better take the servants' passage. The Don has men posted at the end of the hall."

She bit her lip, shot me a venomous glare, and then quickly vanished into the shadows of the hallway. Just then, Rocco emerged, bare-chested with a towel slung low on his hips. He glanced at our son, Luciano, in my arms, then gave me a cocky smirk. "Unusually quiet today."

I placed a sleeping Luciano into his cradle and covered him with a velvet blanket, while Rocco lit a cigar. "Alessia, if only you were always this reasonable." His features blurred in the smoke, and the sight pulled me back to a similar night four years ago.

That night, Rocco had stood beneath my apartment building, a handgun in his grasp, the barrel still smoking, as rain dripped from his black hair. "Dr. Alessia Thorne, I've been chasing you for three months. Give me one shot." He had stared at me with a burning intensity, his eyes filled with a feral honesty I would never see again.

His voice pulled me back to the present. "Have you forgotten how this marriage happened? I was drunk. I got careless. You just got lucky I knocked you up on the first try." Rocco walked over to me and lifted my chin with his finger. "The Grimaldi family values blood above all else. Otherwise, an outsider like you would've never gotten through the door."

"I know." I turned my head, avoiding his touch. Rocco's gaze turned cold. He withdrew his hand and took another drag from his cigar.

"Good. Fulfill your duty as Mrs. Grimaldi, raise the heir, and I'll ensure you continue to live a life of luxury. But don't expect to be my only woman, Alessia."

"I know." I lowered my gaze.

Rocco smiled in approval and turned to leave. "By the way, the Mamma's charity gala is tomorrow. Remember to wear that black gown." With that, he closed the door behind him. I stood frozen in place for a long time, until my legs went numb. Then, I slowly walked over to the cradle.

Luciano's little mouth was puckered, and he turned over in his sleep as if he were having a sweet dream.

There were many things Rocco didn't know. For instance, I had swapped the samples from our premarital physicals. A feat made possible only by my status as the surgeon with the highest security clearance. The analysis report for the sample he submitted read: "Severely infertile, zero chance of natural conception," but I had replaced it with a normal sample I had prepared in advance.

At first, I did it because I loved him and couldn't bear for him to discover his own inadequacy. It wasn't until my mentor explained it to me later that I understood: my body was exceptionally, uniquely fertile. Without me, Rocco could never have a child of his own.

My body changed after I got pregnant. From then on, he began staying out all night. The first time I smelled an unfamiliar perfume on his suit, I confronted him. He had shoved me away, his voice tight with impatience. "Alessia, don't fucking start. You sound hysterical."

After that, I started finding kiss marks on him, and then long strands of hair. Eventually, it escalated to him brazenly bringing his mistresses back to the manor. I'd once shattered everything within reach in a blind rage, until six months ago, when I caught him cheating for the ninth time.

Rocco had irritably pulled on his pants, gripping my chin as he said, "Alessia, learn your place. The only reason you're in this house is because you popped out Luciano. Without him, you're nothing."

In that instant, something inside me shattered. From then on, I stopped fighting. Whenever he brought women home, I started making myself scarce. I wasn't surrendering to fate; I had simply come to understand the rules of the game.

I leaned over and kissed Luciano's soft forehead. He smelled faintly of milk, the only clean scent in this house that reeked of blood and gunpowder. I whispered in Sicilian into his ear, "Be patient, my little lion. Everything the Grimaldi family has will soon be ours."

It was the Mamma's annual charity gala, held on the top floor of Chicago's most opulent hotel. I attended wearing the black gown Rocco had demanded. I was supposed to be standing by his side, but Krystal had taken my place.

She swept into the hall wearing a red gown I had always wanted but couldn't bring myself to buy. All eyes turned to her. "Sorry, Rocco, I'm late," Krystal said sweetly.

Rocco kissed her cheek. "It's alright. My queen always makes a grand entrance." My father-in-law, Don Salvatore, frowned but said nothing. Several of the family's Capos exchanged knowing glances—some mocking, some derisive, and some hungry for the drama to unfold.

My seat was at the far end of the long table, next to a few insignificant family Associates. After several rounds of insincere toasts, Krystal walked over to me, wine glass in hand. She deliberately knocked my champagne flute, splashing the contents all over my gown. "Oh, Mrs. Grimaldi," her voice rang out, sharp and loud enough for everyone to hear. "How clumsy of you."

Everyone looked at me, except for Rocco. He was busy cutting the bloody steak on his plate, not even bothering to look up. I set down my glass and said, "The waiter is right behind you."

Krystal's smile froze, but she quickly composed herself. "I just want an apology from you."

I replied calmly, "If you want an apology from me, you'll have to get the man beside you to ask for it." A few stifled chuckles rippled through the crowd, and Krystal's eyes immediately turned red.

She turned to him, her voice a pathetic whine. "Rocco..."

He finally stood up. "Alessia, she just wants an apology. Is that so hard?" I met his icy gaze as he gripped my chin, his hold so tight I could barely breathe.

Krystal didn't respond, just cried, "Rocco, I was just trying to get closer to her."

Rocco's face darkened instantly. "Apologize!"

The entire hall fell silent. Carmela looked away, and Don Salvatore let out a quiet sigh. I remained frozen, a statue in the suffocating silence. All eyes were on me. Some were sympathetic, some mocking, some dismissive, and some even gloating.

A year ago today, in this very same place, Rocco had held my hand and introduced me to everyone: "This is my wife, Alessia Thorne." For a fleeting moment, he had looked at me with pride.

"My apologies. I shouldn't have suggested you seek assistance from the waiter."

The gala ended on a sour note. That night, Rocco came home reeking of gunpowder. He slapped the divorce papers on the table, lit a cigar, and said, "Krystal wants a title. She's earned it. Sign the papers."

I looked at the agreement, my mind flashing back to the night he proposed. "Marry me, Alessia. I'll give you whatever you want. I swear it." The earnestness in his eyes that night felt so real, even if it was just a fleeting illusion.

"Luciano comes with me."

Rocco sneered. "You're an outsider. How do you expect to support him in Chicago?"

I stood up, and though I was a head shorter than him, I straightened my spine. "Then we'll settle this according to family rules. A tribunal."

Rocco's smile vanished. He stared at me with a complex expression before bursting into laughter. "Fine. If you insist on humiliating yourself, then go ahead. Alessia, you can't win. The Grimaldi family has its own rules. What chance does a civilian doctor like you have against me?"

He slammed the door behind him, and outside, thunder rumbled. Raindrops beat against the windows, the sound echoing through the house.

In the garden, the black roses he had planted for me, symbolizing "conquest," were withering in the storm. Now, those roses were nearly dead.

I returned to Luciano's bedside and leaned down to kiss his forehead. "My sweet boy," I whispered, "I will not lose." I heard the sound of a gun being loaded in the study, and I knew the war was about to begin.

The news that I was demanding custody of our son but no money spread through the Grimaldi family overnight.

"Did you hear? She's walking away without a single dollar? She must be insane!"

"I bet it's just a ploy to get more in the end. I've seen plenty of women like her."

Even my best friend, Bianca Cross, risked everything to travel from out of town to talk some sense into me. "Alessia, are you insane? Rocco was the one who cheated, he's in the wrong. You should take all his money! Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to raise a child alone in Chicago? Do you have any idea what they do to people who cross the Grimaldis?"

Seeing her so frantic on my behalf warmed my heart. There was still one person in this world who genuinely worried about me. I squeezed her hand and said, "Bianca, I have a plan."

At the family tribunal presided over by Don Salvatore, Rocco's people presented a pile of fabricated evidence. They produced doctored photos and a paid-off witness, accusing me of infidelity and conspiring with rival outfits—anything to prove I was an unfit mother for the Grimaldi heir. I had less than a hundred thousand dollars in savings, while Rocco's fortune was enough to buy half of Chicago. They even found the records of me seeing a psychologist for stress.

Don Salvatore looked at me sympathetically. Rocco, impeccable in a tailored suit, sat calmly on the opposing side, occasionally shooting me a look of pure contempt.

During a recess, I ran into Rocco and Krystal in the hallway. Krystal smiled sweetly. "Dr. Thorne, I hear you're insisting on custody of Luciano. Why bother? It's so hard for a single mother to raise a child."

"You don't have the Grimaldi name yet, Miss Dunn. Don't presume to speak on family matters." I ignored her and turned to Rocco. "I want Luciano."

He replied coldly, "You can't afford him. The cost of his bodyguards alone is more than you'd make in years!"

"That's my business."

Rocco stared at me for a long time, then suddenly laughed. "Fine. I'll see you in the tribunal."