After the chandelier incident, Enrico warned Silvia that the tendon damage meant she couldn't let the wound get wet for at least half a month. Weapons training was off-limits as well.

The former Don had passed early. Dante now held the reins of the family, though several long-standing consigliere and branch elders remained.

Days later, the family gathered once again at Valenti Estate for the annual dinner.

Dante spent the whole dinner angled to the left, leaning in now and then to ask Lucia if everything tasted right, and left Silvia to herself.

"Lucia, try the spiny lobster that was flown in."

Lucia was dressed in a light pink off-the-shoulder dress, the Heart of the Sea still around her neck. She knitted her brows and shifted her gaze to the crawfish boil, its red shells glossy under the lights.

Her voice came out soft. "Dante, I'm in the mood for something spicy. But I've been drawing nonstop for the exhibition. My wrist's aching, and I can't peel the shells."

The senior members at the table watched nothing and said nothing. No one there was unaware of where Dante's favor now lay.

Dante nodded when he heard her. "An artist's hands exist to create beauty. They shouldn't be wasted on rough work. It risks damaging their sensitivity. That was my oversight."

When he raised his eyes again, his expression had settled into the familiar distance of the Don. "Silvia, peel the crawfish for Lucia."

Silvia raised her hands. Bandages wrapped them tightly, darkened by seeping medication. "My stitches haven't been removed. I can't do it."

"It's only crawfish. How much force could it possibly take?" Dante asked, displeased.

Being contradicted by a subordinate in front of the senior members struck at his authority.

"You used to set your own bones and keep fighting. Now you're fragile? Don't forget. The family doesn't keep deadweight."

"I…"

"That's an order."

Silvia recognized the signs of his anger at once, his brow tightening and the corners of his mouth dipping.

Rosetta's last words surfaced again.

Silvia finally put the spoon down and said, "Si."

The sharp edge of the crawfish shell pierced the bandage. Spice soaked into split skin, and pain washed over her until her vision dimmed.

Eventually, one whole crawfish was peeled and placed before Lucia. The meat was white and tender, streaked with the faintest red.

It was Silvia's blood.

Lucia yelped, clapped a hand over her mouth, and retched.

Dante slammed his cutlery down. "Silvia! Was this intentional?"

He pointed at the plate of crawfish, his stare dark and vicious.

"I told you to peel crawfish, and this is the scene you put on. Blood all over your hands. Who are you trying to show this to? Are you trying to tell everyone here I've been mistreating you?"

He was convinced she'd done it deliberately. A bloody display meant to disgust Lucia, ruin the dinner, and stage a silent protest against him.

Lucia hurried to soothe him. "Dante, don't be angry. Silvia might've just wanted your sympathy. I'll just skip it."

"You're not skipping it. I'll peel it for you myself."

Silvia watched Dante, the man she had once stood beside under gunfire, and his face suddenly felt terrifyingly unfamiliar.

She remembered taking a bullet for him and ending up with an infected wound, bedridden for a month. Back then, he never left her side.

The Don, who had been raised in comfort, learned to do a caretaker's job. His eyes were bloodshot from sleepless nights, his hand locked around hers as if letting go would let death take her.

In those days, he cried every time he bent to kiss her wound.

Now, to please Lucia, Dante forced Silvia into a maid's role and recoiled from her blood as if it were filth.

"Sorry for the interruption."

Silvia turned and walked straight out of the dining room. She didn't look back.

Dante watched the thin line of blood on the floor and felt an unexpected weight press against his chest. At some point, she'd grown into a weapon that rarely spoke.

Protecting him had become her entire design. She'd erased every trace of emotion, and the rigid discipline that replaced it was enough to choke the air out of him.

The woman who slept beside him felt like a weapon that couldn't feel pain, cold and unyielding as iron. Even now, she showed no temper. She even stood up and apologized, polite to the end.

Dante followed the bloodstains into the hall, hoping to catch a last glimpse of Silvia, but she was already gone. The emptiness unsettled him for no reason.

That day marked the anniversary of Rosetta's death. She was Silvia's mother and also the person who saved Dante's life.

Years ago, she shielded him from a car crash explosion that would've killed him outright. Without her, the man known as the Don wouldn't exist.

On that day every year, regardless of where his arms business took him, he cleared his schedule. He wore a dark, formal suit and accompanied Silvia to the cemetery, where they knelt in silence.

Dante had spoken of it plainly. His biological mother died in childbirth. Rosetta, his nanny, raised him as her own and gave him the care he'd otherwise never known. She later died protecting him.

That exchange of lives became a burden he carried with him always, and he'd never dare forget it.

By 6:00 am, Silvia was already kneeling before the grave. She remained there through the slow hours, from early light to noon, until dusk settled in.

Cold had worked its way into her bones. Rain weighed down the bandage, soaked through and pulled at her skin, while the wound beneath it throbbed with a bloated, stinging ache that had gone nearly numb.

She took out her phone and placed the 33rd call.

"Sorry. The number you have dialed…"

It was the first time Dante was absent.

She was just about to text him when Lucia's update appeared without warning. The caption was all hearts, followed by a single sentence.

"Thank you, Dante, for helping me find my childhood again. This is the happiest day of my life!"

A carousel of nine photos showed none of the cold cemetery or the rain. They showed a carousel, cotton candy, and a fireworks display.

Dante wasn't wearing his usual suit. He had on a casual matching outfit that leaned almost juvenile, a pink balloon in his hand.

His eyes held no menace now. All that remained was his open affection for Lucia.

The photo in the center was taken at the highest point of the Ferris wheel. Fireworks burst across the sky behind them.

Inside the narrow car, Dante, the man everyone feared, cupped Lucia's face and kissed her deeply.

It was Rosetta's death anniversary. Silvia knelt in mud and rain for 12 hours waiting for him, and he spent the day with Lucia at an amusement park, kissing her high above the ground.

This was what "never dare forget" looked like in practice.

…

It was late at night when Silvia returned home.

Dante was seated with ointment in hand, gently working it into Lucia's ankle. "You must've had too much fun today. Your skin's rubbed raw."

The tone carried reproach, but his touch remained gentle.

Silvia entered at that moment. She brought the cold in with her and dropped her phone hard onto the coffee table.

"Do you even remember what day it is?"

Dante kept his focus on Lucia's ankle. His face stayed calm. "I do. It's Rosetta's death anniversary."

Silvia pointed at the rain streaking down the window. For the first time, she lost control and shouted at him, "Then, why weren't you there? I waited for you at the cemetery the entire day!

"My mother died saving you. She was blown to pieces for it! And on her death anniversary, you were kissing another woman on a Ferris wheel?"

Lucia looked startled. "Mi dispiace, Silvia. I wasn't feeling well today. I started thinking about my parents who passed away—"

Silvia cut her off, eyes cold, "Zitta! This isn't your place to speak!"

Dante moved Lucia behind him and finally lost his temper.

"Silvia Serra! Are you out of your mind? Lucia broke down today. She almost had a depressive episode. If I didn't stay with her, was I supposed to let her spiral?"

Silvia answered with a bleak smile, "What kind of illness gets cured by kissing someone else's husband? If you're so clear on priorities, why didn't you die in my mom's place back then?"

"Living people matter more than the dead!"

The blunt reply struck hard, breaking through everything Silvia had been holding together.

"Try to think rationally, Silvia. Rosetta's been gone for years. Whether I visit her or not, she can't feel it. That's something the living do for themselves. But Lucia's here. She's sensitive.

"She needs someone to protect her. You expect me to abandon her for some ritual meant for the dead?"

Silvia trembled, her chest rising and falling out of rhythm.

"If my mom hadn't shielded you with her own body, you'd be the one lying in the mud right now, waiting for people to perform empty rituals, Dante Valenti!"

Dante snapped like he'd heard it too many times already. "Enough! The Valenti family took you in and gave you the title of Donna Valenti. That settled that debt long ago! Stop guilt-tripping me with Rosetta's death!

"If Rosetta were alive and knew what Lucia's going through, she'd understand. She was loyal and kind. She wouldn't cling to old scores the way you do!"

Rosetta's life, and the last words she left Silvia with, the charge to protect Dante at all costs, were reduced to nothing but guilt-tripping.

He had broken their marriage vows, and he'd abandoned the very sense of honor the family held sacred, all for Lucia.

Silvia chose not to argue further. She studied him for a long time before saying, "You make me sick."

Dante turned a little, avoided her gaze, and said through clenched teeth, "Think whatever you want."

Silvia was pregnant. It felt like a cruel twist of fate.

The doctor gestured to the test results, his expression grave. "Donna Valenti, this isn't an optimistic case. You've been taking neuropathic pain medication long-term.

"You've also suffered multiple serious injuries during missions. I need to be clear that, given your physical condition, trying to carry the pregnancy could lead to severe bleeding.

"The risk of maternal death is extremely high."

Silvia rested a hand over her belly. It was still flat beneath her palm.

"I'm going to have the baby."

She folded the ultrasound report with care. Her eyes held a stubbornness she'd never had before.

In a world full of betrayal and killing, she only wanted something truly hers, her own flesh and blood.

Before the good news could be shared, Silvia was hit with a stack of photographs that left her stunned.

The pictures showed her in a dark alley in the slums, caught mid-struggle with several heavily tattooed men. The shots were taken from carefully chosen angles, intimate enough to suggest a hookup.

"Explain."

Silvia's expression shifted as she answered cautiously, "Those men were just—"

Dante interrupted with a sneer, "Just your affairs? I thought you were cold by nature, Silvia. I didn't realize you were this filthy underneath. You're that desperate for excitement now that even street punks will do?"

Silvia snapped her head up. "I didn't! You know exactly what kind of person I am."

Dante tossed a crumpled piece of paper at her. "I used to. Not anymore. Lucia found this ultrasound report in your trash."

He read the line aloud, his smile crooked. "Eight weeks pregnant. I was busy expanding territory then. We slept together once, and you ended up pregnant. You really expect me to believe that?"

He'd already believed Lucia's whispers and decided Silvia was sleeping around.

"This is your child! You were drunk that night—"

Dante cut her off, closing his hand around her wrist, "If it's mine, we'll confirm it. We're going to the hospital!"

"No! The fetus isn't stable. An invasive test right now could cause serious harm. Do you want the baby dead?"

Dante moved in, his presence pressing down on her. "You won't agree? Then, I'll treat it like a bastard."

"Dante, are you insane? Even animals don't kill their own young!"

His reply was flat. "If it can't make it through something this basic, then it doesn't deserve my name."

"You—"

"Take her away."

Silvia could've fought them off without breaking a sweat. But with the child inside her, she didn't risk it, and they forced her into the car.

…

"Don Valenti, there's a very high chance this test could cause a miscarriage."

"Proceed."

Dante sat on the couch at St. Marelle's Private Hospital, his legs crossed as he lit a cigar. Smoke drifted between him and the scene, and he watched without emotion.

"But…"

The doctor started to protest, then fell silent when the gun appeared.

Silvia was bound to the bed, her limbs pinned and useless.

To Dante, only his dignity mattered. He'd rather make a fatal mistake than allow even the smallest stain to remain.

Silvia turned her head, a tear slipping from the corner of her eye. "Dante, you'll get what's coming to you! If the baby's hurt, you'll get what's coming to you!"

The doctor said helplessly, "Please try to relax. The more you struggle, the greater the risk—"

"Get away!"

Maternal instinct drowned out what little reason she had left.

She was Silvia Serra, with that man's blood in her veins, and she knew how to claw her way out of a dead end.

She broke free of the straps, snatched the tray, and caught the scalpel in a reverse grip. Several people went down in quick succession.

Dante heard the commotion and came back. He stopped short at the mess, his face darkening. "This is how you're protecting that bastard?"

Silvia retreated until her back hit the wall. Her voice came out hoarse. "Dante, you won't claim this baby, but I will. If you want to hurt my baby, you'll have to kill me first!"

Dante stubbed out the cigar, his mood tangled. "You think you're getting out? The whole building is locked down."

"Then try me!"

Silvia seized the fire extinguisher at her side and smashed it into the window. The glass shattered instantly.

Cries rang out, and she leapt from the third floor without a second thought.

"Silvia!"

Dante stared, then ran to the window.

Below, a lone figure cut across the grass before disappearing into the trees. For reasons he couldn't explain, the sight of her resolute escape sent a heavy pain through his chest.

Something was slipping out of his control.