My husband, Cesare Ferrante, the most feared Don of the Ferrante family, had always hated children. Yet everything changed the moment my stepsister, Bianca Moretti, moved in next door with her six-month-old baby.

Suddenly, my husband became obsessed with that child. He personally fed the baby formula, sang lullabies, and carried the baby everywhere he went. Every day, he came home exhausted at dawn, yet his face glowed with joy, as if that baby occupied his entire soul.

I became invisible to him.

Three days ago, someone forced my car off the road, and I crashed into the median. Blood streamed down my forehead, and my vision swam. I called Cesare 55 times.

He did not answer a single call. Instead, he posted a photo of the baby on his social media.

[My little angel smiled today!]

I had had enough. Tonight at the family banquet, every member of the famiglia was seated around the table. I raised my final toast, then set down my glass.

"I want a divorce."

They all froze.

"Are you insane?" My parents' voices rose in unison.

Cesare grabbed my wrist, disbelief written across his face. "Giulia, you want to divorce me just because I was busy taking care of the baby and didn't answer your calls? You're actually jealous of a six-month-old child?"

I did not meet his eyes. Instead, I stared at the glaring kiss mark behind his ear. "Since you love that child so much," I said calmly, "I'll make it easy for you. Go be that child's father."

"Giulia, what the hell are you talking about?"

Cesare Ferrante's eyes turned red as he shouted at me, like he was the one who had been wronged.

"Bianca is your sister! She's raising a child alone and is overwhelmed. Is it wrong for me to help her? I personally feed the baby and sing lullabies. I'm learning how to be a good father, preparing for our future children. You can question anything else, but you cannot question my love for you!"

I did not respond. Instead, I pulled the divorce papers from my bag and placed them in front of him. "Here are the divorce papers. Sign them."

The room fell silent. Every family member stared at me in shock.

In their eyes, Cesare and I were the last couple in the world who would ever split up.

When we were 18, a boy followed me home from school one day. The next morning, that boy's father showed up at my door with broken fingers, begging for forgiveness. It had been Cesare's doing.

When we got married, Cesare shut down half the city to hold our wedding. In front of all the guests, he kissed the ring on my finger and declared, "Giulia is mine. Anyone who touches her is a dead man."

For ten years, no matter how dangerous the negotiations he sat through during the day and no matter how bloody the deals he made, he always came home at night. He would loosen his tie and pull me into his arms as if I were the only soft thing left in his life.

People said I was his only weakness. No one believed I would be the first to leave.

Cesare's expression went blank. He clearly had not expected me to have the divorce papers ready.

Mamma snatched the papers away and scanned them, her face turning pale. "Giulia, what are you trying to do? Ten years of marriage, and you want to throw it away just like that? Bianca's life is hard enough. She's a single mother raising a child alone. It's basic decency for Cesare to help her!"

Other family members chimed in one after another.

"Madre, we understand you were scared when those bastards from the rival family ran you off the road, but you're fine, aren't you? The Don has already apologized for missing your calls. Isn't divorce a bit extreme?"

"Children are the future of our famiglia. It's right to value them. Don't be petty."

"Besides, Don Ferrante risks his life every day for the family business. You live safely under his protection. Even if he neglects you sometimes, can't you be more understanding?"

The people around me piled on, accusing me of being unreasonable. I pulled my lips into a thin smile. I pushed the divorce papers forward again. "We're getting divorced tonight. This isn't up for discussion."

Papa stormed over, fury on his face, and slapped me hard across the cheek.

My ears rang. He pointed at my nose and shouted, "Giulia, you think you're too good for this now? Cesare Ferrante is the most powerful Don in Secily. You want to throw away a man like him? Who the hell do you think you are?

"If he hadn't been protecting you all these years, you would've died a hundred times over! You can't be so ungrateful!"

Mamma quickly pulled Papa back and grabbed my hand, tears welling in her eyes. "Sweetheart, what's wrong? Why can't we talk this through? Why does it have to be a divorce? We've all seen how Cesare treats you. If you've got someone else on the side... I'll be the first to say no."

I slowly lifted my head. I tasted blood in my mouth.

Cesare walked over right at that moment. He wiped my face while positioning himself between me and Papa's glare. In everyone else's eyes, he was the flawless husband. Only I knew better.

"Giulia, are you... actually cheating on me?" His voice dropped low, filled with suppressed pain and sorrow. "We grew up together. I know you might feel bored. Maybe you want some excitement. But I don't care. As long as you come back to me, I'll pretend nothing happened."

In just a few sentences, he had turned me into the unfaithful one. Every pair of eyes in the room bore into me.

Papa was so furious that he nearly drew his gun.

"So that's it! You want a divorce because you've got someone else! You shameful disgrace! Apologize to Cesare right now, and if you mention divorce again, you're no daughter of mine!"

Everyone around me urged me to reconsider. Even Cesare begged me desperately. I looked down at his hand gripping my wrist. He was not wearing our wedding ring.

I pushed him away. My voice came out soft. "I want a divorce. I don't love you anymore."

When he left me alone every night, when 55 of my calls went unanswered, when he was busy taking photos of Bianca Moretti's baby… my heart had already died.

Cesare froze, his face drained of color. It was as if he had not heard me correctly.

"You... What did you just say?"

No one dared to speak, and the room fell into a deathly silence.

I did not repeat myself. I simply turned to leave.

Cesare grabbed me from behind, locking his arms tight around me. "Don't go, Giulia. It's my fault. I'll change. Give me one chance and I'll change everything."

His men crowded around, blocking the door.

"Madre, what are you doing? The Don has been with you since high school and through college. You have ten years of marriage between you. How could you throw that away?"

"He loves you like a madman, and this is how you treat him? You're carrying his child. You want the baby to grow up without a father?"

At those words, Mamma's eyes widened.

"What did he say?" She grabbed my arm, her nails digging deep into my skin. "Giulia, you're pregnant? And you still want a divorce? Are you insane? You think you can run off with the baby? Where do you think you'll go?"

I pried their fingers off me one by one.

"It's my child. I'll raise it myself. I'm getting this divorce."

Mamma's voice cracked. "Haven't you always wanted a child? You waited from 20 to 30. Now, you finally have one and you want to destroy your marriage?"

I did not answer her. I used to want a baby—desperately. Yet three years ago, my only pregnancy ended in a miscarriage. Now, I was finally pregnant again, and he was pouring all his fatherly love into Bianca's baby.

All I wanted now was to cut ties with Cesare completely.

Just then, the door opened. My stepsister Bianca walked in, cradling her six-month-old baby. Her eyes swept past everyone and locked directly on Cesare.

"Don Ferrante, I hope I'm not late."

The moment he saw Bianca, Cesare released me and strode over to take the baby from her arms. He looked down at the child with such tenderness as if he were gazing at his own flesh and blood.

My stomach clenched violently. I covered my mouth immediately, not letting anyone see me tremble.

"Giulia, I heard the argument just now. I didn't know having the Don help me with the baby would make you this angry." She lowered her eyes, looking fragile and pitiful. "I'll find a new place right away. I'll move out tomorrow. Please don't punish the Don because of me."

Cesare frowned, his tone disapproving. "Why would you move out? I'm just helping you watch the baby. It's nothing."

Then, he turned to me.

"Giulia, our problems are between us. Don't drag innocent people into this. You said someone ran you off the road, but the surveillance footage showed the other vehicle just driving normally next to you.

"Tell me the truth. Did you stage that accident yourself? Were you deliberately trying to miscarry? Did you want to get rid of the baby so that you could run off with your lover?"

Everyone held their breath. Even the guards went still.

Papa turned red with rage. He grabbed a glass of wine from the table and threw it at me.

"This is about the family heir and you think you can make that decision alone? You've disgraced your name! If you mention divorce one more time, don't ever call me your father again!"

Cesare's eyes flashed red as he threatened me, "Giulia, I can forgive all of this. But if we divorce, the Ferrante family won't protect you anymore!"

I slowly pushed my soaked hair back from my face. The chilled wine dripped down my neck.

My voice came out steady and firm as I said, "Even if I'm no longer Dante Rossi's daughter and no longer the Ferrante Madre… I'm still divorcing you."

I turned and walked away without looking back.

For the next three days, I stayed at a hotel. I turned off my phone and cut off all contact.

On the fourth morning, I pushed open the door to a private café. My personal lawyer, Dario Ricci, was waiting for me. I had once protected him from a lethal threat. He owed me his life. Even if every member of the Ferrante family turned their backs on me, his loyalty would never waver.

Dario finished reading the materials I handed him, then looked up. Behind his glasses, his expression was complicated. "Madre, do you know what you're doing?"

"I do," I said.

"A family tribunal," he repeated the words slowly.

"The last time someone requested this was 15 years ago. After that trial, the petitioner's mother was exiled from the family. The petitioner herself jumped into the river three months later.

"Madre, you don't have to go down this road. Once you initiate a tribunal, everything about you will be laid bare in front of everyone. The heir in your belly, your social media chat logs, even your report cards from school. All of it becomes evidence.

"Every pair of eyes will scrutinize you. Are you sure you can handle that?"

I stirred my coffee. The sweet heart in the foam gradually dissolved, transforming into an 'X' shape that screamed vengeance.

"Can the tribunal ruling apply to the Don?"

He nodded.

I smiled. "Then there's nothing I can't handle. Also, stop addressing me as 'Madre.'"

...

The afternoon the family tribunal notice went out, my phone exploded. The first message came from Mamma: [Are you trying to humiliate me in front of everyone?]

The second came from Papa: [I wish I'd never had you.]

The third came from an unknown number with only one sentence: [You'll regret this.]

Family members sent countless hateful messages. Looking at the words on the screen, a wave of bitterness washed over me. I closed my eyes and forced down every emotion. Then, I opened an encrypted folder.

Inside were hundreds of intimate videos of Cesare and Bianca. When I first installed the security system at home, Bianca took advantage of the situation and asked me to install one at her place for free. I kept the highest administrative access to that system.

Every night after Cesare put Bianca's baby to sleep, he would slip into her bedroom. All those vows he had made to me became a joke. He was not only caring for that child in front of me every day, but he was also caring for the child's mother in her bed.

A notification interrupted my thoughts. It was from Dario.

[Ms. Rossi, the tribunal is set for two days from now. I have all the materials you requested.]

…

Early the next morning, I received a text from the Underboss.

[Madre, there's a problem with the family business. That cross-border acquisition you were handling… They screwed it up. The other party is leaving tomorrow. Can you come in? Just for a bit.]

A string of crying emojis followed.

I stared at the message, my thumb hovering over the screen. I should not go. The tribunal was imminent. Any complications would be asking for trouble.

Still, that acquisition was something I had worked on while pregnant with my first child.

Back then, my morning sickness was brutal. I would run to the bathroom in the middle of meetings, vomit, wipe my mouth, and return to negotiations. I pushed through four months. I pushed until the other party agreed. I pushed until the contract was finalized. I pushed until the baby was gone.

I had poured everything into that deal.

I sighed and got up to change my clothes.