For the next seven days, Alessandro didn’t come home.

Instead, he was seen everywhere else.

Bianca stood beside him at a charity auction hosted by the De Luca foundation. She attended Sunday Mass at Palermo Cathedral with him. She was present at a private dinner with two capos from the western coast.

It wasn’t public news. They didn’t need to be. In Sicily, word traveled through people, not headlines.

My mother called me first.

“She was standing next to him,” she said carefully. “Not behind him.”

On the eighth day, I went to the De Luca palazzo.

No one tried to stop me.

The office was quiet when I walked in. Bianca was at the large table near the windows, going through paperwork.

She froze when she saw me.

“Seraphina,” she said softly.

I didn’t let her finish.

The slap was clean. Sharp.

No screaming. Just silence.

“If Alessandro wants to protect you,” I said calmly, “that’s his decision. But understand your position. As long as this marrige stands, you are nothing more than his employee.”

Her eyes filled, but she didn’t argue.

“Enough.”

Alessandro’s voice cut through the room.

He crossed the space between us and stopped beside her.

“You’ve made your point.”

“She shouldn’t be here,” I replied.

“She works for me,” he said calmly.

“I’m not asking about her job,” I said. “I’m asking about us.”

His gaze sharpened.

“This isn’t about us.”

“Then what is it about?”

He looked decided.

“Last year,” he said, “before we made our engagement public, Bianca was pregnant.”

“She miscarried,” he continued. “I wasn’t told until after it happened. By the time I knew, it was already done.”

“You never told me.”

“It was over,” he said. “There was no point bringing it up.”

“That’s your answer?”

“Yes.”

He didn’t hesitate.

“It happened while she was under De Luca protection,” he said. “If it involves me, it involves the De Luca name. I’ll handel it.”

What stayed with me wasn’t that Bianca had been pregnant, and it wasn’t that she had once been his first love.

It was the way he spoke about it.

There was no guilt. No regret. No hesitation.

He wasn’t defending her because he loved her.

He wasn’t protecting her because he felt guilty.

He was protecting the De Luca name.

All those things he had done to win me back — standing outside my gates, making promises in front of our families, announcing our engagement to the whole city — I used to think that meant he chose me. Now I wasn’t so sure what he had chosen.

“You think this is about resiponsibility?” I asked.

“It’s about what I owe,” he said. “None of this would have happened if you hadn’t broken up with me back then.”

“So this is my fault?” I said quietly. “And what do you owe me?”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he said, “The slap was unnecessary.”

I let out a small, breathless laugh. “She’s been standing next to you for a week.”

“She collapsed after you hit her,” he said. “The doctor says she’s unstable.”

I looked at him.

“So am I.”

He didn’t argue.

He just looked at me.

Like he believed he was doing the right thing.

And that was when it became clear.

He would always protect what carried the De Luca name.

Even if that meant pushing me aside.

For the first time, a thought crossed my mind—

If he ever found out about the baby,

would he care because it was ours…

or because it was his heir?

“You need time away from this,” he said.

“I’m not a child.”

“No,” he replied. “You’re not.”

He stepped closer.

“There’s too much noise around this marrige right now. Too many eyes.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’ve arranged for you to stay at the countryside house for a few days.”

I stared at him.

“You’re sending me away.”

“It’s temporary.”

“To hide me?”

“To let things cool down.”

He said it like it was reasonable.

Two men were already waiting outside the office.

Loyal to the De Luca family. Not to me.

“If I refuse?” I said. “I can file for an annulment. It won’t damage your reputation. We can say this marriage never happened.”

He held my gaze.

“Forget the annulment,” he said. “You’re not walking away from this unless I say so. Without my approval, the annulment doesn’t move forward.”

That was the reality.

The lawyers worked for his family. The agreements went through his office. Nothing happened without his signature.

He stepped back.

“I’ll send someone to pick you up.”

He turned and walked toward the door.

Bianca stood behind him, quiet, composed, as if everything had settled into place. For a moment, I found myself wondering whether this was love, or just what he called responsibility.

He said it was about the De Luca name, about what he owed. But men do not stand that firmly for something that means nothing.

But if he didn’t love me anymore, why keep the marriage at all?

The two men escorted me to the car.

I looked out the window as Alessandro’s figure grew smaller and smaller.

The gates closed behind us.

Only then did the tears come.

I rested a hand over my belly.

He still didn’t know.

And now, I wasn’t sure he ever would.

The countryside house sat far from the city, surrounded by olive trees and stone walls that felt older than memory.

My days were structured from the moment I arrived.

At five in the morning, a housekeeper knocked on my door.

By six fifteen, I was expected in the private family oratory — a narrow room lined with dark wood and old portraits of De Luca ancestors. A single candle burned at the altar.

I was told to kneel.

No conversation. No argument.

The butler, an older man who had served the De Luca family for decades, stood near the doorway during morning devotions.

Meals were simple and sparse. Bread, broth, vegetables. I slept on a narrow bed with a thin blanket. The stone floors held the night’s cold well into the morning.

By the third night, my body began to fail.

The fever came first — slow, then sudden.

My skin burned while my hands trembled with cold. A ache spread through my lower abdomen, tightening in waves that forced me to curl up.

I pressed a hand against my stomach.

“Just hold on,” I whispered. “Please.”

The pain sharpened.

I forced myself out of bed and made it to the door, knocking weakly.

“Please,” I said. “I need a doctor.”

“Madam, Boss has told us you can’t leave here. You must stay inside”

“I’m not trying to leave,” I said, struggling to stay upright. “I’m sick.”

There was a pause.

Then the door opened.

Two guards stepped inside.

“Take her back to bed,” the butler said calmly.

They lifted me without warning and put me down again.

“You can’t do this,” I said, breath shaking. “I’m pregnant. If something happens—”

The butler’s expression didn’t change.

“Boss warned us you might say that.”

His words cut deeper than the pain in her body.

I was left alone again.

The door locked.

The room felt smaller.

The pain in my abdomen tightened until I could barely breathe.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, tears slipping down my temples. “I’m trying.”

The last thing I remember was the moonlight cutting across the floor.

When I opened my eyes again, the sharp smell of antiseptic filled the air.

White ceiling.

IV line in my arm.

A monitor beeped steadily beside me.

“You’re awake.”

Alessandro sat beside the hospital bed.

His hair was a mess. His jaw shadowed with stubble. His eyes red-rimmed, but not from crying — from lack of sleep.

“The doctor said your fever reached forty degrees,” he said. “You were dehydrated.”

He reached for my face.

I turned away.

“You should have told me sooner,” he said.

“I did.”

He ignored that.

“Bianca lost a child,” he continued. “We already carry that weight.”

I stared at him.

“You still don’t believe me.”

His jaw tightened.

“If you were pregnant,” he said, “you wouldn’t risk it like this.”

A hollow laugh escaped me.

I didn’t volunteer to go to that countryside house.

He rubbed a hand over his forehead.

“We owe her a life,” he said quietly. “You know that.”

“Do we?” I asked.

Before he could answer, his phone rang.

He glanced at the screen.

Bianca.

He answered.

Her voice trembled through the phone. Something about a negotiation gone wrong. A shipping partner losing his temper. She sounded afraid.

“I’ll handle it,” Alessandro said immediately. “Stay where you are.”

He stood.

“There’s an issue at the docks,” he said. “The nurse will take care of you.”

He left before I could respond.

Not even a second of hesitation.

A nurse came in shortly after to adjust the IV.

“You’re lucky,” she said gently. “He brought you in himself. Didn’t wait for an ambulance. Everyone in Palermo knows it.”

“They said he wasn’t calm about it,” she went on, lowering her voice. “When the estate called and told him you’d collapsed, he drove out there right away. Since then, no one has seen the butler who was in charge that night.”

A chill ran through me.

To everyone else, it would sound like devotion.

A man who removed anyone who failed his wife.

I closed my eyes. This marriage, his man, this name make me suffocating.This man.

They wrapped around me like walls.

I rested my hand over my belly.

If I stayed, this child would grow up inside those walls.

I couldn’t allow that.

But before I left—

I needed his signature to end this marriage.

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When I was discharged, the villa felt hollow.

The marble floors echoed when I walked in. The staff greeted me quietly, eyes lowered. No one asked how I felt.

“Where is Alessandro?” I asked.

The housekeeper hesitated.

“Boss hasn't been home for several days, Madam.”

I didn’t need to hear the rest. I already knew.

After the incident at the docks — after Bianca called him in tears — Alessandro had barely left her side. He drove her to and from the office himself. He had her moved out of her old apartment “for security reasons.” And then he bought her a five-million-dollar house. Guards at the gate. Cameras everywhere.

No one said it was a gift.

It was protection.

And in our world, protection meant ownership.

I stood at the living room and felt the cold settle into my bones.

Once, I had walked toward him without hesitation.

Once, I had believed his kneeling meant devotion.

I called him.

It rang for a long time before he answered.

The background was loud — men talking, glasses clinking, music faint in the distance.

“Yes?” His tone was distracted.

“Come home,” I said.

“Not now!”

I closed my eyes for a moment.

“Alessandro,” I said evenly, “do you remember what today is?”

Silence.

Then his voice shifted, just slightly.

“…I’ll be there.”

I waited.

Dusk bled into night. Night slipped into early morning.

At nearly 3 a.m., the front doors finally opened.

Bianca was there, one arm around him.

Alessandro rarely drank. He prided himself on control. I had never seen him allow himself to be unsteady.

Tonight, he was.

Looser than he should have been. His jacket hung open. His tie undone. His weight leaned heavier than usual against Bianca’s shoulder.

She looked up when she saw me.

“Mrs. De Luca …” she said softly. “It was my birthday. He insisted on staying. He doesn’t usually drink like this.”

Of course he didn’t.

He didn’t allow himself to lose control.

Unless he chose to.

I let out a sigh.

“So which role are you playing right now?” I asked. “Assistant—or mistress?”

Her eyes filled with tears.

“I never meant to—”

Alessandro shifted slightly.

Even half drunk, his instincts were still there.

He lifted his arm in front of without him even looking, as if to protect her.

“Seraphina…” he muttered. “… this isn’t her fault.”

That small, unconscious gesture took whatever was left in me. After that, I stopped feeling anything.

I called for the staff.

“Take him upstairs.”

They carried him to our bedroom.

Bianca was still standing in the foyer.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then I walked to the table and picked up a folder I had prepared earlier.

“I know what you want,” I said, handing it over.

Her eyes flickered down.

It was the annulment agreement.

“If you can have him sign this without him realizing what it is,” I continued calmly, “I will step aside. You will become the Boss’s Lady of the De Luca Family.”

She stared at me, surprised.

“You’re serious?”

“Yes.”

Her fingers paused over the folder before she finally picked it up.

“He wouldn’t sign something like this if he knew what it was,” she said.

“I’m not asking you to be honest,” I replied.

The next morning, Alessandro opened his eyes with a frown, rubbing his temple.

He was already dressed when I entered the sitting room.

“You didn’t make trouble for her last night, did you?” he asked immediately.

Not, How are you feeling?

I sat across from him.

“You once told me I would never spend our anniversary alone,” I said.

He went still.

For a second, something changed in his face.

“Yesterday wad Bianca’s birthday, I must be there for her, she .alrady lost a child” he said shortly. “Tell me what you want. I’ll make it right.”

“If I want an annulment?”

His expression turned dark in a second.

“Enough,” he said. “We are not having this conversation again.”

He reached for his coat.

“You’re not walking away from this marriage.”

“Do you love me?” I asked.

He didn’t answer.

His phone buzzed, cutting through the silence.

He looked down at it, annoyed.

“Shipment issue,” he said, barely glancing at me. “One of the harbor routes was flagged. It can’t wait.”

He left without another word. Smuggling routes did not pause for anything.

By the time he returned to the palazzo, his schedule was already stacked. Meetings with senior capos. A sit-down with the family consigliere. Two internal reviews regarding territory disputes.

Bianca had barely finished listing the agenda before the first group was shown in.

He moved through them efficiently. No wasted words.

Bianca waited until the last meeting cleared.

She knocked once and stepped inside.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said. She adjusted the folder slightly, then placed it on his desk.

“These need your signature before the Commission meets this afternoon.”

She set down a stack of documents.

Asset confirmations. Estate restructuring. Internal approvals.

Routine paperwork that crossed his desk every week.

Alessandro didn’t read them.

He rarely did when it came to internal matters.

He signed the first page.

Then the next.

Bianca kept her hands together, watching the pen move.

When he finished, he closed the folder and handed it back.

“Make sure it’s filed before five.”

Their fingers brushed as she took it.

She lowered her eyes quickly.

“Yes.”

She left the office without looking back, but once the door closed behind her, her steps slowed.

Her grip tightened around the folder.

She let out a quiet breath—not relief, but close. More like victory.

She came to the villa that evening.

I was in the sitting room when the maid told me she was here.

Bianca stepped inside alone.

She held the folder carefully.

“He signed,” she said.

She placed it on the table between us.

“You should stop standing between Alessandro and me,” she continued. “Being Boss’s Lady never suited you.”

I looked at her and said nothing.

“I was there before you,” she went on. “Before your engagement. Before the marriage.”

Her chin lifted.

“I’m not the mistress. You were.”

She didn’t bother looking fragile anymore. The girl who had cried about her miscarriage had disappeared. What stood in front of me now was the truth. Calculating. Done playing innocent.

“You said you wanted to leave,” she said. “Now you can. Don’t come back and complicate things.”

“Alessandro and I have history,” she added. “That doesn’t disappear because of a marriage contract.”

“You think this makes you his wife?” I asked quietly.

“It was always meant to be me.”

I reached for the folder, opened it, turned straight to the last page, and saw his signature — Alessandro De Luca.

Bianca watched me closely.

“You got what you wanted,” she said. “Pack your things and go.”

I closed the folder slowly.

“You should hope,” I said softly, “that he chooses you the way you think he does.”

“I’ll pack tonight,” I continued. “You won’t see me again.”

She left without another word.

I stood there for a long moment, staring at the document in my hands.

Then I rested my other hand against my belly.

For the first time since all of this began, I felt free.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you, my baby” I whispered.

And then I went upstairs to pack.