I got pregnant by Alessio Moretti—my brother's best friend, and the youngest, most handsome Don in New York. Then his old flame, Bianca, the one who ghosted him, came back.

I thought he’d drop me for her.

But he just smirked. "She left without a word. There's no going back."

My brother, Gianni, was even colder. "She's not a Ricci anymore. My only sister is you."

I believed them. For three years, they'd shown me a warmth and love I'd never known.

Then a video of my drunk foster father beating me went viral.

The world mocked the noble Ricci princess, once tortured like a beggar.

I shattered. I ran to find the only two men I trusted.

But I stopped cold at their study door, frozen by Bianca's sickly sweet voice.

"Gianni, Alessio... leaking that video? Wasn't it too cruel? Marcella's pregnant."

My brother's reply was instant. "That's the point. Pregnancy is supposed to soften her. But she's been running around like she owns the place, keeping you out."

Alessio just laughed. "Don't worry about Marcella. She can't touch us. And she's too soft-hearted to ever hurt our child."

Tears streamed down my face. A sharp pain shot through my heart.

He's right. The baby is my treasure. I'd never hurt him.

But Alessio... I won't let you control me.

I walked away, numb. I booked a flight.

I will slip through their fingers, take my baby, and disappear from their world forever.

After I found out Alessio and my brother Gianni were the ones who leaked my humiliating video, I touched my stomach. It was just starting to show. I decided to take my child and disappear for good.

I'd just booked the ticket when my phone buzzed like crazy.

Alessio's name flashed on the screen.

Usually, I'd answer in a heartbeat. This time, I just watched until the screen went dark.

Then, Gianni called.

They took turns, one after the other, more than a dozen calls. They sounded like a real family, worried sick.

Who would've guessed they were the ones who broke me?

On the twentieth call, I finally wiped my tears, calmed myself, and answered.

"Marcella!" Alessio's voice was tight with panic. "Where the hell are you? I've looked all over the estate!"

"Just out for a walk," I said, my voice flat.

"I'm handling the video," he said, his voice urgent. "It's being wiped from every site. You don't have to worry—"

Hearing the concern from the man I loved, my nose started to burn again.

I almost lost control. I almost screamed at him.

If you love me so much, why did you do it?

If you love Bianca more, why are you still playing this game with me?

But the words wouldn't come out.

I swallowed the questions and just mumbled, "I know."

Alessio sensed something was wrong. "What is it?"

When I didn't answer, my brother's voice cut in, sharp with blame.

"Marcella! You answer me right now!" Gianni sounded furious. "How could you just disappear? We were worried sick!"

Before I could reply, his tone got harsher.

"You shouldn't have left like that. We promised Dad we'd take care of you! And you're pregnant!"

Take care of me. The words felt like a knife twisting in my gut.

Gianni, you're my own brother. You call this taking care of me?

I gave a non-answer and hung up.

In the back of the car, I closed my eyes. The past came rushing back, a tidal wave of betrayal.

Twenty-one years ago, the wife of a low-level Ricci family soldier made a crazy decision. Her husband had been caught skimming at the casino. My father, the Don back then, had made an example of him. He took his pinky finger.

So, the night I was born, she stole me from my cradle and put her own daughter in my place.

Bianca got the life of a princess. My life.

And I was thrown into the slums to rot. Eighteen years of hell. Fists, belts, bottles. Hunger, cold, fear.

Three years ago, on her deathbed, the woman confessed. The truth came out.

By then, my real mother, the kind Donna, was already gone. My goddamn foster father vanished the second he heard the news. My real father, drowning in grief, brought me home. He gave me everything, loved me fiercely, but he died of a sickness a year later.

And Bianca?

She threw a few tantrums, realized she couldn't stop me from taking her place. Then, she broke Alessio's heart, ditched him, and ran off with some French painter who'd been chasing her.

That night, Alessio got drunk off his ass.

I walked into his room with a cup of tea.

He looked up, his normally cool eyes filled with pain and desperation.

I put the tea down to comfort him, but he pulled me down onto the bed.

He devoured me with his kisses. A storm of pure desperation.

The moment he was inside me, I closed my eyes and let myself drown with him.

I thought he felt it too. That we were two broken souls finding comfort.

How naive. Now I know the truth.

I was the only one who drowned.

The car stopped at the gate of the Ricci estate.

The butler came to the door. "Miss Hanson, you've returned."

Miss Hanson.

I stopped. I looked at the old butler who had served the Ricci family for thirty years.

What a fucking joke.

I'm the true daughter of the Ricci family, but he calls me Miss Hanson.

Three years ago, when I first came home, Gianni said, "You've been Marcella Hanson for so long. It's just a name, no need to change it."

Alessio nodded. "Right. You're used to it."

Now I get it.

They didn't want me to change my name back to Ricci. It wasn't about what I was "used to."

It was an unspoken message to everyone: Bianca was the only Miss Ricci in their hearts.

And I would always be the outsider, the replacement with the Hanson name.

But I don't care anymore.

I knew that to disappear from under the noses of two mafia families, I needed three things: money, an identity, and the right moment.

I just needed to get my escape fund.

In my bedroom, hidden behind three years of my life poured onto a canvas, was a safe.

Inside were bearer bonds I’d secretly bought with my father’s inheritance, and a flawless new identity.

I pushed open the living room door and froze.

Alessio and Gianni were on the sofa. Bianca was curled up in Alessio's arms. The three of them were laughing.

Bianca was wearing a pale pink silk nightgown. It used to be my favorite.

She was pressed against Alessio's chest, just like she used to. "Alessio," she purred, "you don't think Marcella will kick me out, do you? I'm so scared..."

"Of course not," Gianni promised, his voice so gentle I barely recognized it. "This will always be your home, Bianca."

Always your home.

The words stabbed me in the heart.

I remembered my third day back in the Ricci family, three years ago.

In public, Bianca smiled sweetly at me. "Sister, welcome home."

In private, she slipped our grandfather's antique pocket watch into my suitcase.

Then, at a family dinner, she pointed at me in front of everyone. "Marcella stole Grandpa's watch!"

Gianni's face went rigid. "Marcella! How could you!"

He locked me in my room for three days without a second thought.

Alessio was even colder. "Disinfect everywhere she's touched," he ordered the maids. "Everything." His voice dripped with disgust, like I was a plague.

For three days, I cried in that dark room until my throat was raw.

It was only when my sick father came home and checked the security footage that my name was cleared.

But the damage was done.

Bianca cried and apologized. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean it. I was just… I was just afraid of losing my home."

Gianni hugged her, his heart aching for her. "It's okay. We understand."

Alessio nodded. "You'll always be family."

And me?

I got a dismissive, "The misunderstanding is cleared up now."

"Marcella?"

Alessio's voice pulled me back to the present.

He saw me and immediately, awkwardly, pushed Bianca away. He stood up to walk toward me.

"You're back. We were worried—"

I flinched back, avoiding his outstretched hand.

Alessio froze.

Bianca stood up, a flash of triumph in her eyes before she put on a pitiful face.

"Marcella, I'm sorry. It's my fault. I shouldn't have come back."

Tears started rolling down her cheeks.

Instantly, Alessio and Gianni were in front of her, like bodyguards.

"Bianca, don't say that," Gianni said urgently.

Alessio just repeated his line from three years ago. "This will always be Bianca's home. She can come back whenever she wants."

Always Bianca's home.

Such a familiar line.

Three years, and nothing has changed.

In their hearts, Bianca is the one who needs protecting.

And I'm always the outsider. The threat.

"Marcella, say something," Gianni said, frowning at me. "Bianca already apologized."

"Yes," Bianca sobbed. "I know I shouldn't have come back and bothered you, but... but I really have nowhere else to go."

Her tears flowed faster, making her look helpless.

Alessio's expression softened. He went to her, stroking her hair.

"Don't cry. You're not bothering anyone by staying here."

Bothering anyone.

He meant I wouldn't be bothered.

But did they ever ask me?

Did they ever care how I felt?

I watched them, and the last flicker of warmth in my heart died.

They were waiting for me to cry, to scream, to have a hysterical fit like I used to.

But I'm not that desperate girl from three years ago.

I just looked at them, my heart a block of ice. "Oh," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

Then I turned and walked upstairs.

Behind me, the world went silent.

"Oh?" Gianni's voice was filled with disbelief. "That's it?"

I didn't look back. I just kept climbing the stairs.

I heard Bianca's panicked voice behind me. "What's… what's with her?"

"Something's wrong," Alessio's voice was tense. "She's never this calm."

I pushed open my bedroom door, ready to pack.

Footsteps followed me.

Alessio stared at me for a second, shook off Bianca who was trying to cling to him, and followed me into the room.

The moment the door closed, Alessio wrapped his arms around me from behind, holding me tight.

"Marcella, listen to me." His voice, trembling slightly, was right by my ear. "It's impossible for me and Bianca. You know that."

I didn't move.

His embrace once felt like a safe harbor. Now it was a cage, suffocating me.

"It was over the day she left three years ago," Alessio pleaded. "All I want now is a life with you. With our child."

I broke free from his hold and walked to my vanity.

A row of prenatal vitamins lined the vanity—folic acid, calcium, iron. Everything a mother-to-be needed. For three months, Alessio had made sure I took them. Every. Single. Day.

Now they just sat there, mocking me.

I walked right past them, over to the bed.

"Marcella?" Alessio sounded confused. "You haven't taken your vitamins."

I ignored him, laid down, and pulled the covers over my head.

"Marcella!" His voice rose. "What are you doing?"

I closed my eyes.

"Damn it!" He strode to the bed and ripped the covers off me. "Are you going to risk the baby just to get rid of Bianca?"

The baby.

How ironic.

He never cared about me. Only the baby in my belly.

"Marcella, get up!" Alessio's anger exploded. "You think this will make me kick Bianca out? You manipulative woman!"

Manipulative.

I laughed silently.

The truly manipulative ones were him and Gianni.

I rolled over, turning my back to him.

"You!" Alessio was shaking with rage, but he didn't drag me out of bed.

The room fell silent.

A long time later, I heard the door open. He was gone.

Later that night, I woke up thirsty.

I tiptoed downstairs. The kitchen was dark.

I poured a glass of water, about to head back up, when I heard voices from the garden.

Through the glass door, I saw Alessio and Bianca standing in the moonlight.

"Why can't I have my old room back?" Bianca's voice was laced with hurt. "All my memories are in there."

Alessio sighed. "I promised her there would be no trace of you in this house."

"But I'm back now," Bianca stepped closer. "She should understand."

"Bianca," Alessio's voice was tired. "She's pregnant."

"So what if she's pregnant?" Bianca's tone turned sharp. "Didn't you say you never wanted a child with her?"

My hand, holding the glass, froze.

Alessio was silent for a few seconds, then gave a bitter laugh. "I was drunk that night. I got careless."

"Careless?"

"I forgot to make sure the doctor gave her the shot," Alessio admitted, his voice low. "Three years, I never missed it. Just that one time..."

Three years.

A birth control shot.

I thought back. I remembered how he'd stiffen every time I held him after we slept together and said I wanted a baby with him.

I remembered wondering why I never got pregnant, even though we were together so often.

I thought it was because I grew up poor, that my body wasn't strong enough. I choked down bitter supplements every day, just for the chance of a future with him.

It turns out the "love" he was feeding me every day was poison, meant to keep me from ever having his child.

"So what now?" Bianca's voice was panicked. "You're not really going to keep this baby, are you?"

"The baby is Moretti blood," Alessio's voice became firm. "It stays."

Bianca went silent.

"I've already bought a penthouse in Manhattan," Alessio continued. "You can move in in a couple of days."

"What?" Bianca's voice shot up. "You're kicking me out?"

"I'm not kicking you out," Alessio explained. "I just don't want to upset Marcella. She's pregnant. She can't be emotional."

Don't want to upset me?

What a beautiful lie.

If he really didn't want to upset me, why did he have me injected with birth control behind my back?

Why did he leak that humiliating video?

"Alessio..." Bianca's voice broke into a sob. "Don't you love me anymore?"

No answer.

Then I saw Bianca throw herself at Alessio, stand on her toes, and kiss him.

Alessio froze for a second but didn't push her away.

Bianca grabbed his hand and slowly placed it on her waist.

Under the moonlight, their shadows tangled together.

Alessio's hand began to stroke her back.

She let out a soft sigh.

"I missed you, Alessio," she whispered in his ear. "I've been going crazy thinking about you."

"Bianca..." Alessio's voice was hoarse.

"You missed me too, didn't you?" Her hands started unbuttoning his shirt. "She could never love you like I do."

Alessio didn't stop her.

They kissed more deeply. Bianca's dress slipped to the ground.

And watching it all, a wave of nausea rolled through my stomach.

I couldn't hold it back. I spun around, ran to the sink, and threw up the water I’d just drunk.

I gripped the counter, dry-heaving until there was nothing left.

When I looked up, I saw my reflection in the dark window. Pale face, empty eyes.

I smiled at my dead-eyed reflection. Oh, Alessio, I thought. You are going to burn for this.