The public exposure didn't chasten Bianca. On the contrary, it seemed to fuel her ambition. She sent me a friend request on social media.

I clicked on her profile picture—a lazy Persian cat lounging in some luxurious apartment. It was cute. Lorenzo hated animals; he said they were a sign of weakness.

I once suggested we get a Persian cat to keep me company, but he flatly refused, claiming he was "allergic" to cat fur. But now, with Bianca? It seemed all his so-called principles were negotiable when it came to someone new.

I accepted the friend request. Almost immediately, she sent a private message:

[Mrs. Gallo, I never wanted to ruin your marriage. I just want what’s best for this baby. It’s an innocent life, a blessing from God.]

Wow. She couldn't wait to declare her pregnancy, even invoking God as if she were performing a sacred duty. I left her on read. A few minutes later, another message came:

[Mrs. Gallo, please believe me! I truly love Lorenzo!]

By then, I had already screenshotted everything. Evidence.

Finally, I replied:

[What are you talking about? You're pregnant? With Lorenzo's child?]

The typing bubble popped up and flickered a few times, as if she were composing and deleting. Then:

[I'm sorry, I thought you knew. Lorenzo said he would be acknowledging the child soon.]

I retorted: [Don't play these pathetic games with me. Having the baby is your business. Whether the child is acknowledged is a matter for the family to decide. It has nothing to do with me.]

She didn't reply, probably assuming I would swallow my pride for Lorenzo's sake.

I scheduled an abortion. Then I called Eithne and told her to start preparing the divorce papers.

Lorenzo and I had always been the model couple of the Chicago underworld—the perfect union between the Irish and Italian outfits. No clingy mistresses, no gold-digging dancers. I had truly thought our alliance could become real love, not just a power play. I never imagined he would betray me so cruelly, a betrayal that had seeded a new life.

Eithne Bianchi, my best friend, my father's goddaughter, and the Consigliere of the O'Connell family, almost dropped her wine glass when she heard the news.

"Aoife, are you insane, or have you lost your mind?"

"He has someone else," I said flatly. "She's four months pregnant. It's a boy."

Eithne was furious, her hand immediately dropping to the holster at her waist. "Where's my gun? That bastard has some nerve, humiliating an O'Connell Principessa. I'll kill him myself."

I raised a hand to stop her. "Forget it. That would mean war, and he isn't worth it. What I want is power. And he's the one who broke our vows."

She stared at me for a long moment, then pulled me into a hug. "Aoife, you don't have to hold it in. If you want to cry, just cry. I'm here for you."

But the tears wouldn't come. My chest ached, a hollow space where something vital had been ripped out. When the pain is that deep, you don't cry—you just feel the wound scabbing over, hardening, becoming your armor.

"Eithne, I want a divorce. And I'm going to make him pay."

"No problem. I'll handle it. I'll make the Gallo family bleed."

An hour later, I arrived at my father's estate, resolute.

When I told them about Lorenzo and his child, the face of my father, the Don of the O'Connell family, turned to thunder.

"Aoife, do whatever you want. If Lorenzo has a death wish, I can grant it," he said, his voice firm.

"As for… the child, that's your decision," my mother added softly, her eyes full of heartache.

I placed a hand on my stomach. A life had begun to grow here, but it had come at the wrong time and chosen the wrong father.

If Lorenzo hadn't hidden his lies, we might be celebrating this moment right now, and the entire city of Chicago would be buzzing with the news of the alliance's heir.

But my mind was made up. The O'Connell family does not tolerate betrayal.

My family respected my decision. They would let me handle the divorce myself but made it clear: if the Gallo family dared to cause any trouble, the Soldati were on standby, ready for war.

After leaving the estate, I headed to a private clinic for a pre-op checkup. But there were a few things I had to handle first.

In the waiting area, I saw Isabella leading Bianca into a VIP room. My stomach churned, and before I could think twice, I followed them.

"Bianca, I've told you, Lorenzo cares about you. Stop overthinking things," Isabella's voice drifted from inside the room. "He's keeping quiet for now to keep Aoife calm. We still have business with the O'Connells; we need that alliance."

Her words made me sick. I turned and walked away.

At the end of the hallway, I ran straight into Lorenzo.

The moment he saw me, he froze, panic flashing across his face. "Aoife? What are you doing here? Are you not feeling well?"

He tried to feign concern, shifting from panic to false solicitude in a split second.

I said nothing, merely glancing at the pregnancy report in his hand. Lorenzo's eyes darted to the paper, realizing how it must look. "This is for the wife of one of my Soldati," he blurted out, the lie coming easily. "She had a fall and almost miscarried. You know, as an Underboss, I have to earn my men's loyalty, so I brought her for a checkup."

His voice softened as he studied me. "And you?" he asked cautiously. "Why are you here?"