Nessa POV

The villa was quiet when I returned.

I stepped into the foyer, where the click of my heels against the marble floors echoed the hollow emptiness of the life I had built here.

I went straight to the guest bathroom and splashed cold water on my face.

I looked at my reflection. Pale skin, wide eyes, the face of a victim.

Not anymore.

I heard the front door open.

"Nessa! We're home!" Salvo's voice boomed.

"Babe? Where are you?" Xander called out.

I walked into the living room.

They were both there, tugging at their loosened ties, slumping their shoulders in a performance of exhaustion.

"How was the appointment?" Xander asked, rushing over to me.

He dropped to his knees in front of me, his hands reaching for my ankles. "You must be swollen. Let me rub them."

His touch made my skin crawl, as if a thousand spiders were skittering up my calves.

It took everything in me not to kick him in the face.

"The doctor said everything is fine," I said, my voice steady. "But he's worried about stress."

"Stress?" Salvo frowned, pouring himself a drink. "You don't have any stress. You live like a queen."

"I worry about the future," I said. "About the baby's security."

Xander looked up, his eyes gleaming. "That's why we need to handle the trust fund transfer, Nessa. So I can invest it for our family. For the baby."

He pulled a document from his jacket pocket. It was already folded, ready.

"I spoke to the lawyers," he said smoothly. "This just authorizes me to manage the portfolio. Standard procedure."

I took the paper.

It wasn't a management authorization.

Hidden deep within the dense legal jargon of the third paragraph was a single, devastating clause: Signatory voluntarily waives all parental rights and transfers full custody of any offspring to the legal guardian designated by the father.

He wasn't just stealing my money.

He was stealing my baby.

He wanted to take my child and raise it with Rissa.

I looked at him. He wore the face of an angel to hide the heart of a rat.

"I trust you, Xander," I said.

I walked over to the desk, picked up a pen, and signed.

But I didn't sign my name.

I scribbled a frantic loop that mimicked the visual shape of my signature but was legally unrecognizable.

"Thank you, baby," Xander breathed, snatching the paper. "This is for us."

Suddenly, both their burner phones buzzed at the exact same time.

They checked the screens, and the atmosphere in the room shifted.

"Emergency meeting," Salvo said, putting down his drink. "The Underboss needs us at the Guest House."

"Don't wait up," Xander said, kissing my forehead. His lips were dry.

They hurried out.

As Xander turned, something fell from his pocket.

A small white flower. A groom's boutonniere.

I waited until the door clicked shut, then picked it up.

It was a white rose, identical to the ones in the video I had seen.

They hadn't come from a meeting. They had come from a celebration.

I walked to the window and watched them head toward the Guest House-Building B, where Salvo's "staff" lived.

Where Rissa lived.

I pulled out my phone and dialed a number I hadn't used in years.

"Carlo," I said when the line connected.

"Principessa?" The old lawyer's voice was raspy. He had been my mother's Consigliere, loyal only to her bloodline.

"Liquidate the trust," I ordered. "Now."

"Nessa, your father..."

"My father is a thief," I cut him off. "Trigger the 'Clean Hands' clause my mother wrote. If Salvo or his associates attempt to access the funds, the assets freeze and transfer directly to me."

"Understood," Carlo said, his tone sharpening. "It will take ten days for the full transfer. Until then, you are vulnerable."

"I know," I said. "Cut off the laundering channels. Stop the flow to Xander's crew. I want them to starve."

"Done."

I hung up.

My phone pinged.

A flurry of photos arrived from a blocked number.

Xander and Rissa cutting a cake. Xander's hand on Rissa's stomach-she was barely showing, but the intent was clear.

The caption: My True Love Rissa.

Then a voice note.

I pressed play.

Rissa's voice filled the silent room. "Do you like the sheets in the honeymoon suite, Nessa? They're stained with everything he couldn't give you. He hates touching you. He says you're cold. But he burns for me."

I walked to the wedding photo of Xander and me on the mantle.

I picked it up and threw it into the fireplace.

The glass shattered.

I watched the flames curl around the edges of his smiling face, consuming the lie.

"Burn," I whispered.

Nessa POV

The next morning, the smell of bacon grease clawed me awake.

Usually, it was a comforting scent, rich and grounding. Today, however, paired with Rissa's voice still echoing in the recesses of my mind, it triggered a violent, uncontrollable wave of nausea.

I barely made it to the bathroom before I retched into the porcelain bowl, my knuckles white as I gripped the rim.

My body was rejecting everything. The food, the stress, the suffocating weight of the lie.

"Nessa?"

Xander appeared in the doorway, holding a tray with a bowl of bird's nest soup.

He looked concerned-the very picture of a doting husband. The perfect actor.

"I heard you getting sick," he said softly, setting the tray on the vanity with calculated care. "I made this for you. It's good for the baby."

He reached out, his thumbs beginning to massage my temples.

His fingers were warm.

I flinched violently.

"Don't," I said, pulling away as if burned.

He paused, a flicker of annoyance marring his features before he smoothed it over into a mask of patience.

"You're being hormonal, babe," he said, his tone dripping with condescension. "You need to relax."

He tried to pull me into a hug, forcing an intimacy I no longer wanted.

And then I smelled it on him.

Underneath the sharp tang of his expensive cologne, there was a faint, sweet scent.

Vanilla and jasmine.

Rissa's perfume.

"Did you sleep well?" I asked, my voice tight and brittle.

"Like a log," he lied without skipping a beat. "I was worried about you all night, though."

He hadn't been in bed. I had checked at 3 AM. His side was ice cold.

"Xander," I said, forcing myself to look him in the eye. "Have you ever broken your vows? The Omertà of our marriage?"

He laughed-a nervous, tinny sound that didn't reach his eyes. "What kind of question is that? You're my life, Nessa."

He leaned in to kiss me.

Outside, a sudden clap of thunder shook the house, mirroring the storm breaking inside me.

I jerked back, gasping.

Xander grabbed my shoulders, his grip suddenly painful, holding me too tight. "You're acting hysterical. You need to calm down or you'll hurt the baby."

"Let go of me," I said.

"I'm protecting you!" he snapped, his mask slipping revealing the predator beneath for a fraction of a second.

A knock at the door interrupted us.

It was the maid, Maria. She looked pale, her eyes wide with fright.

"Mr. Vane," she whispered. "Security breach at the perimeter."

Xander's face went white. He released me instantly.

"Stay here," he ordered, his voice hard. "Don't move."

He ran out of the room without a backward glance.

I sat on the edge of the bathtub, trembling in the sudden silence.

My phone buzzed again.

Rissa.

He's not checking security. He's checking on me. I told him I had a cramp.

Then, a photo loaded on the screen.

It was a close-up of Xander's bare back.

Over his heart, where he had once promised to tattoo my name, there was fresh ink.

It wasn't my name.

It was a red heart with a jagged line through it.

And underneath, in elegant, mocking script: R.

A matching photo followed. Rissa's shoulder, with an X tattooed in the same spot.

He hasn't touched you since you got pregnant because he saves himself for me, the text read. He says your skin feels like paper.

I stared at the tattoo in the photo, my vision blurring.

I remembered the night he came home with a bandage on his chest, claiming he got grazed by a bullet during a collection.

I had cried over that bandage. I had tenderly cleaned the wound.

It wasn't a bullet. It was a brand of ownership.

He belonged to her.

I sat there until the sun went down and the room turned gray, shadows swallowing the corners.

I didn't cry. I was done crying.

I picked up my phone and opened an encrypted messaging app.

I typed a message to the contact Carlo had given me. A contact that operated outside the Outfit, in the dark corners where even the Mafia didn't dare to tread.

I'm ready to cooperate.

Name your price.

Nessa POV

I woke not to an alarm, but to the swelling strain of violins.

Disoriented, I squinted at the clock on my nightstand. 7:00 PM. The heaviness in my limbs told me I had slept through the entire day, my body shutting down under the crushing weight of grief.

I dragged myself out of bed and moved to the landing of the grand staircase. The sight below stopped me cold.

The Great Hall had been transformed. Crystal chandeliers cast a prism of light over round tables draped in heavy white silk. A sea of people in tuxedos and evening gowns mingled below, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfume and imported lilies.

A birthday gala.

My birthday was next week. I hadn't celebrated it in a decade, not since Mom died. But as my eyes adjusted, I realized with a sinking heart that this wasn't for me.

Above the limestone fireplace, my mother's portrait-a breathtaking oil painting of her in her prime-was gone.

In its place hung a massive, gaudy photograph of Serena, my father's mistress-turned-wife, smiling down like a conquering queen.

I gripped the banister so hard my knuckles turned white.

Thomas, the head butler, hurried past with a tray of champagne. He kept his head low, refusing to meet my eyes.

"Thomas," I called out, my voice raspy from disuse. "Where is my mother's painting?"

He paused, his posture rigid. "Mr. Vane ordered it moved to storage, Madam," he whispered, shame coloring his tone. "Miss Rissa thought it was... gloomy."

Gloomy.

I descended the stairs, my bare feet silent on the marble. The crowd parted as I approached, whispers trailing in my wake like smoke.

"That's her," someone murmured behind a fan. "The poor thing."

"I heard the estate is already in Serena's name," another voice hissed.

Salvo spotted me first. He was swaying slightly, a champagne flute in hand, his face flushed with drink.

"Nessa!" he shouted, waving me over with exaggerated enthusiasm. "Come pay respects to your new mother."

He pointed a thick finger at Serena, who was holding court in the center of the room. She was draped in diamonds-diamonds that looked suspiciously like the set my grandmother had left to me.

"Happy Birthday, Serena," I said, my voice flat.

"It isn't today, dear," Serena smiled, her lips stretching into a thin, predatory line. "But we have so much to celebrate. The family is finally... whole."

Before I could retort, Rissa entered the room.

The air left my lungs in a painful rush.

She was clinging to Xander's arm, preening like a peacock. But it wasn't seeing my husband with her that stopped my heart.

It was the dress.

She was wearing a vintage emerald green silk gown. My mother's dress.

It wasn't just any dress. It was the one Mom had worn to her last anniversary dinner. The one I kept in a sealed, climate-controlled garment bag in my private vault. Rissa hadn't just borrowed it; she had raided my sanctuary.

Xander was beaming. He held up a hand, silencing the orchestra and the room.

"Tonight," Xander announced, his voice booming with performative pride, "I present a token of my devotion. A 'True Heart' diamond."

He snapped open a velvet box. Inside, a massive pink diamond caught the chandelier's light.

He turned to Rissa, not me.

The room fell into a stunned silence.

"For the woman who carries the future of the Lino family," he declared.

He realized his mistake a second too late. The whispers rose again, sharper this time. He turned to me, his smile faltering into something brittle. "Nessa, darling, come here. Rissa was just... modeling it for you."

I ignored the diamond. I ignored him. I walked straight up to Rissa.

"Take it off," I said. My voice was low, trembling with dangerous rage.

Rissa smirked, leaning back into Xander's chest. "What? The necklace?"

"The dress," I snarled. "Take off my mother's dress."

"You're making a scene," Xander hissed, stepping between us to shield her. "It's just a dress, Nessa. Rissa fit into it better. You're too big right now."

The cruelty of his words slapped me harder than a physical blow.

"It's an heirloom!" I shouted, my control snapping. "She is a thief!"

I lunged for her. I didn't want to hurt her; I just wanted to rip that sacred silk off her unholy body.

Xander grabbed my wrists, his grip bruisingly tight. "Stop it!" he yelled.

Rissa saw her chance.

She threw herself backward. It wasn't a stumble; it was a launch, executed with theatrical force.

"Ahhh!" she screamed, crashing onto the polished floor.

In the chaos, she reached up and yanked the shoulder strap of the dress herself. The sound of tearing silk-rip-echoed through the silent hall.

"She's attacking me!" Rissa shrieked, clutching her stomach. "Xander, help! The baby!"

The guests gasped in collective horror.

Xander shoved me. Hard.

I stumbled back, my center of gravity thrown off. My lower back slammed into the sharp edge of a heavy oak table.

Pain exploded in my spine, radiating outward in blinding waves. I crumpled to the floor, the world spinning.

"You crazy bitch!" Xander roared at me.

He dropped to his knees beside Rissa, who was sobbing tearlessly.

"Are you okay? Did she hurt you?" Salvo was there too, fussing over Rissa like a worried hen.

Nobody looked at me.

Then, I felt it. A warm, terrifying wetness trickling down my leg.

I touched my inner thigh. When I pulled my hand away, my fingers were stained crimson.

"Xander," I whispered, my voice breaking. "Blood."

He looked over his shoulder at me.

His eyes were cold. Dead. Devoid of any recognition that I was his wife, or that I carried his child.

"You did this to yourself," he spat. "Reflect on your sins, Nessa."

He scooped Rissa up into his arms, treating her like fragile porcelain, while I bled out on the cold marble floor.

"Clear the room!" Salvo shouted.

The guests hurried out, casting looks of disdain at the jealous, violent pregnant woman on the floor.

And then, silence descended. I was utterly, devastatingly alone.