The Don of the Vito family, Damiano Vito, has broken his wedding vows by cheating on me with the daughter of the rival mafia family, Bianca Sorace, while I'm still pregnant with his heir.

He ends up executing Bianca with his own hands in order to reassure me as well as provide my family, the Cappas, with a satisfactory answer.

My parents advise me, "Now that Damiano has returned to your side, you mustn't kick up a fuss for the sake of both families' interests."

But since then, I've developed an obsession over cleanliness. Any form of physical contact is capable of making me dry-heave out of discomfort.

Since I can't take any medication at all, I can only spend my days venting my stress by demanding that everything be disinfected before touching me.

Damiano, who's known for having a violent temperament, is willing to keep disinfecting himself repeatedly for my sake. If he needs to make physical contact with me, he'll wear gloves.

Whenever he enters my room, he has to change into a biohazard suit. No matter how hot and stuffy it gets under the suit, he doesn't utter a word of complaint.

"It's fine. I was the one who broke the wedding vows first, anyway."

Finally, the moment I command Damiano to wash his hands yet again, he loses control of himself before me. He even goes so far as to shatter the ashtray right before my eyes.

"That's enough! All I did was make the mistake every man is capable of making! Must you humiliate me to this degree? How does that make me a filthy man?"

Damiano deliberately allows his subordinates, who are drenched in blood, to throw a party in the estate, thinking that it serves as a punishment for my obsession over cleanliness. He intends to force me to yield to him by threatening the baby in my belly.

Thanks to the nonstop aggravation, I feel intense pain flaring from my abdomen. Soon, blood keeps oozing down my inner thighs beneath my skirt.

But at the same time, I feel a sense of relief that I've never felt before.

"Let's get a divorce, Damiano."

I lay curled on the ground, the damp warmth beneath my skirt slowly leeching the heat from my body. With every second, inhaling Damiano Vito's scent and the metallic tang of blood churned my stomach.

I still remembered the pouring rain on the night I found out I was pregnant. Elated, I pushed open the study door, only to find Damiano making love to Bianca Sorace—one was my husband, and the other the daughter of a rival mafia family.

The sight of their intertwined bodies was sickening.

From then on, any contact from the outside world made me feel physically nauseated. I would scrub my hands obsessively, shower frantically, and refuse to touch anything that hadn't been sterilized at high temperature.

Damiano blamed it on my hormones. He humored me, participating in that charade of atonement—until tonight, when he finally grew tired of the act.

"Look at you—you're no different than a madwoman!" he bellowed through the living room, urging his men into a frenzy of revelry. Then, he grabbed a chunk of rotten meat and hurled it at me.

"I want you to see that this world has always been filthy!"

At that moment, I could feel the pain tearing through my abdomen. Damiano watched as I dropped to the ground, wailing in agony, my white-laced skirt now tainted red, but he showed no sign of panic.

"Quit the act, Isabella," he said coldly. "The baby's not that fragile."

He bypassed the pool of blood, pushed the door open, and strode off nonchalantly. The door shut with a loud thud. The clamoring men soon scattered, leaving the room in complete disarray.

With trembling hands, I dialed the emergency hotline of our private doctor instead of Damiano's number. "Save me… No, it's too late…"

I sobbed into the phone, my voice shaking.

While waiting for help, my thoughts began to blur. In a daze, I found myself back on my wedding day. Inside that five-century-old cathedral, Damiano was down on one knee, pressing a kiss to my fingertip.

Before the priest, before God, he swore he would be faithful to me and our vows. The veil had blurred my vision, and I couldn't tell if it had been love or just a family arrangement.

By the time the doctor arrived, the blood on the floor had already clotted. He looked at the shocking red and shook his head regretfully. "My condolences, Signora… The heir is gone."

"I know."

I closed my eyes, a cold tear slipping down my cheek.

Due to my condition, I couldn't undergo full anesthesia. I stayed awake, feeling the cold instruments probe inside me. That said, the physical pain was only a fraction of the heartbreak I was drowning in.

A five-month-old fetus—already a little life—was gone from me. His heart no longer beat, nor could he listen to my heartbeat again. He didn't even have a chance to open his eyes.

"Should we send him to the Vito cemetery?" the doctor asked carefully.

"No," I said, staying silent for some time. "That place belongs to Damiano. It's filthy."

I didn't want my child lying beside a traitor. In a small chapel tucked away at the edge of the estate, I held a funeral only I knew about. There was no priest nor flowers, just endless silence.

All the while, Damiano's right-hand man, the underboss, kept calling his phone, but no one answered. He had cut off all contact and vanished as if he had dropped off the face of the earth.

I imagined him somewhere wrapped in comfort and warmth, pleased with himself and convinced this was my punishment.

He thought I would come crawling back, crying and begging, but some things, once shattered, could never be put back together. That was a lesson he had yet to learn.

When the first shovelful of earth covered that tiny coffin, it hit me that my obsessive-compulsive disorder was a form of defense mechanism.

It was the only thing I had in this world of lies, violence, betrayal, and mafia family—the only net that let me feel even a shred of safety.

I stood up and brushed the dust from my skirt. This time, I didn't rush to wash my hands.

Pulling out my phone, I bypassed the family lawyers, the ones who always tried to smooth things over, and went straight to a top attorney from the neutral territory.

"Draft me an agreement."

The phone rang sharply in the empty hospital room, slicing through the silence. It was my father, calling all the way from the family territory. He wasted no time unloading a storm of scolding.

"You're being reckless, Isabella!" his authoritative voice boomed through the receiver. "Damiano is the Don! A little attitude is normal. You're weakening our hand!"

In his eyes, my dignity and life were nothing more than dust in the face of family interests. I leaned against the pale hospital pillow, staring at the gray, smothered sky outside the window.

"Dad…" I interrupted him calmly. "The child you were counting on—the one meant to seal a century-old alliance between our families—has now turned into ashes."

Silence fell on the other end of the line, with just the faint buzz of electricity, as if it were mourning this quiet tragedy.

Not long after, a few of my uncles barged into the room. Their faces wore fake sympathy, but their eyes were glued to my stomach.

"What a shame… It was a boy."

"How could you be so careless, Isabella?"

"Damiano may be at fault, but how could you fail to protect your child as a mother?"

Every word was an accusation, every sentence a judgment. To them, I hadn't lost a child but the family's bargaining chip.

"Don't worry," said the eldest uncle, patting my shoulder in a forced show of comfort. "We'll make him answer for this. Besides, you're still young. There will be more babies in the future."

I looked coldly at these old men, soaked in greed. "No answering needed."

I straightened slowly, scanning every face in the room. "I'm ending this marriage."

The words hit them like a bullet. My mother-in-law, Elena Gallo, stood in the corner and muttered under her breath, "What a disgrace! She can't even give birth to a child, and now she wants to talk about divorce?"

Giuseppe Vito, my father-in-law, wasn't that happy either. He dialed Damiano's satellite phone, which connected this time. The background was noisy and chaotic.

"What now?" Damiano snapped angrily, like someone had ruined his mood.

Giuseppe switched the call to speaker mode and shoved the phone toward me. "Talk to him yourself."

I stared at the glowing screen. "The baby is gone."

There was a pause on the other end of the line, but Damiano's roar soon cut through. "Enough already, Isabella! To make me bow, you're going as far as to make up a lie like this? I already dealt with Bianca!

"To prove my loyalty to you, my hands are bloody. So, why are you still holding onto the past? Do you have any idea how frustrating it is, dealing with all this crap outside? Can't you just be more understanding?"

Not once did he ask about my condition or—if it was true—where the baby had been buried.

I remembered every day and night of the past five months—how I struggled through depression yet was unable to take sleeping pills because of the pregnancy and had to stare at the ceiling until dawn.

Meanwhile, he slept soundly in the next room, sometimes I could hear other women's laughter.

Tears welled up in my eyes. By then, Dad and Mom had arrived at the hospital. Not only did they not offer me a simple hug, but they also sided with the uncles.

"You want a divorce? Don't even dream about it!" Mom scolded me. "If you dare to leave him, I'll cast you out of the Cappa family!"

This was my family, the clan I had fought so hard to protect.

Rage ignited in my chest. I grabbed the water pitcher and hurled it at the wall, creating a loud bang. Shards exploded everywhere, water splashing across the floor.

A few of my uncles stumbled back, startled, staring at me in shock.

Standing in the wreckage, eyes blazing, I roared, "Then cast me out! From today on, my life will finally belong to me! No one gets to pull my strings anymore—no one!"

Once my strength had returned enough, I yanked the IV from the back of my hand. I slipped into a black, form-fitting gown and tucked the agreement into my clutch bag.

I made my way to Damiano's office building in the heart of the city—Dominion Tower. The elevator shot upward, and with a sharp chime, I arrived at the top floor.

The moment the doors opened, a familiar scent hit me. It was a sickeningly sweet and cheap perfume, Bianca's favorite brand. My stomach clenched violently, nausea rolling over me like old waves.

I shoved the heavy door open without hesitation. The office was dim, shadows stretching across the floor, with only the massive floor-to-ceiling windows letting in a sliver of daylight.

On the leather couch was the very woman who should've been dead. She sat on Damiano's lap, smiling as she drew a circle on his chest. "Amore mio, you're so tricky…"

The moment Damiano saw me, he stiffened like he had been electrocuted, shoving Bianca behind him in a panic. I instinctively stepped back and covered my mouth and nose.

So, this was the real truth. All that talk about killing the traitor for me, about proving loyalty, had all been a lie. Not only had he not harmed her, but he had even kept her in the most conspicuous place, laughing at my stupidity.

"I-Isabella, what are you doing here?" he stuttered, fumbling with his rumpled shirt collar and trying to look composed.

I stared at him quietly, then hurled the agreement I had pulled out from my bag at him. "Sign it."

He frowned and picked it up before his gaze fell on my stomach. The curve that should've carried his heir was now flat. His eyes widened in shock.

"Is the baby really… gone?" Damiano asked, his voice shaking with disbelief.

I didn't answer him and stayed silent.

"Let me explain!"

He rushed toward me, desperate, trying to grab my hand. "Keeping Bianca was to control the rival family! It's politics! You know how tense things are right now… You cannot let their lies blind you. I only ever care about you!"

Bianca cowered behind him, her eyes instantly brimming with tears, playing the helpless victim. "Don't blame him, Isabella. It's all my fault…"

She trembled, staggering backward, only to crash into the bookcase behind her. The old shelf was unstable, and with her weight, it toppled with a deafening crash.

"Watch out!"

Damiano reacted instinctively, lunging forward and using his own back to shield Bianca. The noise was thunderous, with dust filling the air. I stood frozen, coughing as the particles stung my throat.

Yet, despite everything, Damiano only had eyes for Bianca.

"Are you hurt?" he asked warily.

Then, following the commotion, a private ledger slipped from the top of the fallen bookcase. It hit the floor, and out came a used condom package.

That was Damiano's way of ending things with Bianca, wasn't it?

A violent surge of nausea took hold of me. He seemed to notice something and turned around, intending to hold me steady.

"Get away from me!" I yelled, slapping his outstretched hand away and bolting into the restroom.