Sienna POV

Silas violently yanks his hand back, his eyes darting toward me in panic.

"Sienna, it's not what it looks like."

He grabs a dirty rag, wrapping it around his bleeding finger.

"Lucia is just an associate," he stammers. "We're conducting business for the syndicate."

I pull my phone from my coat pocket and tap the screen, ending the recording.

"I just recorded that entire exchange," I say, my voice flat. "Including your plan to steal my inheritance. I'm accustomed to your past whoring, Silas. I don't care. But I will not let you rob my family blind. "

Silas's face drains of all color. He steps forward, reaching for my arm.

"Sienna, please, listen to me. Whatever you think you heard— "

I sidestep him smoothly.

Lucia immediately plays the innocent victim. Tears well up in her eyes as she presses a trembling hand to her chest.

"Sienna, I swear. We only know each other through the market. I was just trying to help stop the bleeding!"

I refuse to entertain their pathetic charade. I turn my back on them and head for the steel door. I need to get out. I need to get this recording to my father. I need to protect my child from whatever game they're playing.

Lucia lunges forward, her fingers digging into the fabric of my coat.

"Wait, you have to believe me!"

The sudden, violent pull throws me off balance. My heel catches on a patch of wet, slimy concrete, and my feet went out from under me.

I crash hard onto the unforgiving floor.

The impact shot a blinding agony through my lower back, and a secondary pain tore through my abdomen. The air was vacuumed from my lungs. My fingers dug into the fabric of my coat over my stomach, the nails bending. A cramp, sharp and terrifying, tore through my lower body. I looked down. A dark stain was blooming across the pale wool of my coat, a slow, horrifying crimson that seeped into the gray concrete beneath me.

Lucia screams, her hands flying to her mouth in a display of feigned horror.

Silas rushes over, the color draining from his face until it was the color of ash. He scoops me up into his arms.

"Hold on, Sienna!"

He kicks the door open, sprinting toward his truck. The pain was a white heat. Black spots bloomed at the edges of my vision, coalescing until the darkness swallowed everything.

I woke to the hum of fluorescent lights, a harsh, sterile glare that assaulted my eyes. The smell of antiseptic tells me I am in the underground syndicate clinic. A nurse checks my vitals, her face pale and drawn tight with clinical anxiety.

"The baby survived the fall, Mrs. Romano, but the situation is extremely critical. We are doing everything we can to stabilize you both."

Relief, so profound it was dizzying, washed over me.

Silas sits in the chair next to the bed. He leans forward, his face a mask of hard, unforgiving lines.

"Why did you hide the pregnancy from me?"

Before I can answer, his burner phone buzzes, shattering the silence. He answers it, his expression shifting to one of sheer panic. He stands up so quickly his chair scrapes against the floor.

"I have to go. Syndicate business."

He doesn't even look at me as he rushes out the door.

I know exactly who called him. Lucia.

I press my hand against my stomach, feeling the fragile life still clinging on inside me. The recording is still on my phone. I just need to survive long enough to use it.

Hours pass. I stare at the blank ceiling, tracing the cracks in the plaster.

The door opens.

Silas walks back in, his eyes red-rimmed and exhausted. He carries a small, steaming bowl. He sits on the edge of my bed.

"I brought you something to help you recover," he murmurs, handing me a small paper cup filled with water and a crushed, chalky pill. "It's a strong painkiller from the doctor."

Too weak to fight, I swallow the bitter liquid.

Moments later, a devastating, unnatural cramp seizes my entire body. My spine arches off the mattress. I grip Silas's arm, my nails digging deep into his skin.

"What did you give me?" I choke out.

Silas pulls me into a suffocatingly tight embrace. Tears spill from his eyes, landing hot and wet on my cheek.

"I am so sorry, Sienna," he whispers brokenly. "The fall caused catastrophic internal tearing. The doctor said the baby wouldn't survive the night, and the hemorrhaging was killing you. I had to give you the abortifacient to protect your life."

My heart seemed to stop. My lungs refused to draw air. The agony in my stomach was a distant fire compared to the tearing sensation in my chest, a violation so profound it felt as if my soul were being shredded.

He's lying.

I looked into the eyes of the man I had married. I remembered his words in the market. The inheritance. The plan. And now—the timing of this sudden "emergency" abortion, right after I had recorded his confession. His pupils did not contract, his breathing did not falter; his body registered my agony with the mechanical indifference of a clock.

Another massive cramp hits me, ripping a scream from my throat.

The edges of the room blur. I fall back against the pillows, helpless, as the darkness took me.

But before the blackness swallowed me whole, one thought burned through the pain:

He didn't just kill our child to save himself.

He killed our child because it was proof of a union he never intended to honor.

Sienna POV

I stare at the blank wall of the syndicate clinic.

Five days have passed since I lost my child.

Silas plays the role of the devoted, grieving husband flawlessly. He holds my hand when the nurses enter. He brings me fresh water and smooths my hair. The clinic staff whispers about how lucky I am to have a man who loves me so deeply.

But with every touch, my skin crawled.

On the morning of my discharge, the door swings open.

Lucia saunters in. She holds a massive bouquet of white lilies, the traditional flowers of death. Silas is down the hall filling out paperwork.

Lucia sets the flowers on the bedside table, arranging them with meticulous care.

"I am so sorry for your loss, Sienna."

Her tone drips with a saccharine venom. She leans in close, her cloying perfume suffocating me. She smiles, her lips brushing my ear.

"You recorded his confession, didn't you? You think you have leverage."

"But you're lying in this bed, and your baby is dead. Who do you think the Commission will believe—the exiled daughter, or the future wife of the Don?"

She pulls back, her eyes gleaming with a sadistic joy.

"Silas couldn't risk you running to your father with proof of his scheme. The baby was collateral damage."

"You were never his wife. You were his vault. And now he's cracked you open."

Raw, unfiltered hatred explodes in my chest. I snatch the heavy glass of water from the table. I hurl it directly at her face.

Lucia dodges smoothly. The glass shatters against the wall, raining shards onto the linoleum floor.

She smirks triumphantly and walks out of the room, her heels clicking like a metronome.

The springs of the hospital bed gave a low groan. The full scope of his betrayal did not bring tears, but a ringing in my ears that blocked out all other sound. He had not just lied about his territory; he had murdered our child to bury the evidence of his crime. In the silence, an old and dormant thing stirred in my blood: the code of Vendetta. The architecture of my memory collapsed. Every shared glance, every whispered promise, reassembled itself into a grotesque new form. The phone lay on the nightstand, its screen a single point of light in the dim room.

I dial a heavily encrypted, private number.

The line clicks open.

"Papa."

Salvatore's deep, gravelly voice comes through the speaker, laced with dark amusement.

"Have you finally learned your lesson, Sienna?"

I look at the broken glass on the floor.

"Do you have the appetite to swallow both the Falcone and Romano territories whole?"

The line went silent. I could hear the slow, heavy measure of his breathing as he calculated the weight of my offer.

"I will give you absolute supremacy, Papa."

"Then come home," he says. "And bring me the recording."

I end the call before he can say more.

Silas walks in a moment later, holding my discharge papers and a gentle smile.

"Ready to go home?"

I nod slowly, masking the thing I had just become.

We drive back to the safehouse in a suffocating silence. Silas goes straight to the kitchen the moment we arrive. He ties an apron around his waist and starts chopping vegetables, the picture of domestic bliss.

I stand in the doorway, watching his broad shoulders move with practiced rhythm.

"Do you miss our child, Silas?" I ask, my voice cutting through the quiet.

He stops chopping. His back goes rigid, the muscles bunching beneath his shirt.

"We should not dwell on the past, Sienna," he replies stiffly. He resumes his work, the knife hitting the cutting board with a faster, erratic rhythm. "We will try again when you are healthy."

I cross my arms over my chest, leaning against the doorframe.

"I had a dream last night."

I keep my voice soft and hollow, devoid of any warmth.

"There was a little girl in the dark. She was crying. She kept asking me why her father did not want her."

Silas freezes. He reaches for the kitchen knife he had just set down on the counter, but his hand shakes.

"You should go keep her company, Silas."

The blade of the knife snagged for a moment in the grain of the wooden cutting board. When he tried to pull it free, his grip failed, and the handle struck the edge of the marble countertop. The knife fell, hitting the tile floor with a clatter that echoed in the silence of the house.

I watch it land between us—a blade separating his side of the room from mine.

Soon, I think, that blade will be mine.