I was bleeding out in a corner after a hit from a rival family. My husband, Dante—the Torrino family’s underboss—was in his car, holding his best friend's little sister.

He gave me one cold look and said, "Leave her. She's a nobody."

Later, after someone else saved me, I walked home, soaked in my own blood.

I found Dante cradling Seraphina, fussing over her.

All she had was a scraped knee.

The blood covering my clothes? He didn't even see it.

I just watched. Said nothing.

Then I pulled out my phone and called my mother.

"Mom, I need to come home."

I was bleeding out from a stab wound when Dante and his "little sister," Seraphina, happened to drive by. I screamed for help, but he just looked at me and said, "Leave her. She's a nobody."

In that second, something inside me died. I knew I had to get away from him, away from the Torrino family.

"Help! Dante!"

Blood poured from the gash in my shoulder, my voice tearing through the rainy alley. Three masked men had just vanished into the dark, leaving me on the cold asphalt. The pain was so sharp I could barely breathe.

Then I heard the familiar growl of an engine.

Dante’s black Maserati slowed as it passed the alley, the window half-down. I used my last bit of strength to wave.

"Dante! It's me! Isabella!"

The car stopped for a few seconds.

I could see a head of long, blonde hair in the passenger seat—Seraphina Gallo. She was clutching Dante’s arm, practically melting into the leather seat.

"I thought I heard someone calling for help..." I heard her say.

"Dante, I'm so scared," she whispered, her voice trembling. "What if they're still around?"

Dante glanced in my direction, then his eyes snapped back to her.

"Just some nobody. Don't be scared, I've got you." He squeezed her hand. "I won't let anyone hurt you."

The engine roared back to life, and the taillights disappeared around the corner.

I closed my eyes, letting the rain wash over my wounds.

Fifteen minutes later, Marco found me. He was an old friend from college, now an ER doctor.

"Jesus, Isabella! Who did this to you?" Marco quickly checked my injuries. "We have to get you to a hospital, now."

"No," I said through gritted teeth. "Take me home. The family doctor will handle it."

Two hours later, I pushed open the door to our apartment.

The crystal chandelier in the living room cast a warm glow. On the couch, Dante was holding Seraphina tight. She was in a thin dress, her soft curves pressed against him, but neither of them seemed to think anything of it.

"Isabella?" Dante looked up, his brow furrowed. "Why are you back so late? And why are you soaked?"

I looked down at myself—my coat stained with a mix of rain and blood, my face pale as a ghost.

"Hit a little trouble," I said flatly, walking straight to the security room.

"What trouble?"

I didn't answer. Instead, I pulled up the security footage from the street. The screen clearly showed the entire attack, including the moment Dante's car drove right past me.

"Isabella, what are you doing?" Dante’s voice was sharp with impatience. "Seraphina almost got herself killed, and you're screwing around with security tapes instead of checking on her?"

I turned to face them. Seraphina was looking at me with those innocent blue eyes, tears welling up.

"I'm so sorry, Isabella," she said softly. "I'm the one who caused trouble for the family. Those men... from the Costello family... they were after me."

"It's fine," I said, my voice unnervingly calm. "As long as you're safe."

Dante let out a breath, pulling her even closer. "Isabella, Seraphina can't be alone tonight. Those guys might come back for her."

"You want her to stay over?"

"Yes." Dante looked at me, a strange hope in his eyes. "She'll take the master bedroom. It's bigger, safer. We'll take the guest room."

In three years, no one had ever set foot in our master bedroom. It was our space.

"Of course," I nodded. "I'll go get fresh sheets."

Dante was clearly surprised I agreed so easily. His surprise quickly turned to satisfaction.

"You're so understanding, Isabella."

I walked into the bedroom and started packing. Every piece of clothing, every photograph, I carefully placed into a suitcase.

"Need a hand?" Dante appeared at the door.

"No," I said without looking up, continuing to gather my jewelry from the vanity.

"Isabella," he said, not noticing I was packing more than just a nightgown. "You know her brother left her in my care. He was my best friend. I have to protect her."

My hand paused for a second.

"I trust you, Dante," I said, my voice as neutral as if I were discussing the weather. "After all, you said the Gallo family would always be your responsibility, right?"

Dante's face tightened. He didn't seem pleased by my generosity.

After a long moment, he finally nodded, pulling Seraphina closer as if to spite me. "Of course. I promised Marco Gallo I'd protect her like she was my own sister."

I picked up my nightgown and walked toward the guest room.

"Goodnight."

That night, Dante never came to bed.

And I sent my mother a text: Mom, I need to come home.

At four in the morning, a sharp pain dragged me from a light sleep.

The wound in my shoulder burned like fire, every breath tearing at the muscle. I curled up on the single bed in the guest room, my pillow soaked with cold sweat. My body was weak from blood loss, and old wounds ached in sympathy.

I fumbled for the intercom on the nightstand and dialed the family doctor.

"Dr. Martinez? It's Isabella... Yes, I need you to come over. Now."

"My God, Isabella! You sound terrible. What happened?"

"Stab wound. Wasn't cleaned properly. I think it's infected."

"I'm on my way."

After hanging up, I struggled to my feet to get a glass of water. From the hallway, I heard hurried footsteps and Dante's anxious voice.

"When can Dr. Romano get here? I don't care where you have to pull him from, just get him here now!"

I pushed open the guest room door. Dante was on the phone, and Seraphina was sitting on the living room couch, pale, with one hand on her forehead.

"Dante..." she called out weakly. "I feel dizzy, and my chest feels... tight."

"Don't worry, baby," Dante hung up instantly and rushed to her side. "The best heart specialist in New York is on his way. And a neurologist. I had him cancel all his surgeries for today."

He gently lifted Seraphina, letting her lean against his chest. "The shock from last night probably got to her. We need to get you checked out, make sure you're okay."

I leaned against the wall, shuffling toward the kitchen. The pull on my wound made a soft groan escape my lips.

"Isabella?" Dante turned his head. "What's wrong with you? You're walking funny."

"Old injury acting up," I said simply. "Dr. Martinez is on his way."

"Dr. Martinez?" Dante frowned. "You called the family doctor? Isabella, the entire medical team is on standby for Seraphina. You can't be so selfish."

I stopped and looked at him. "Selfish?"

"Yes," Dante said, his tone thick with blame. "Seraphina almost died. She needs the best care possible. You probably just pulled something. It can wait."

In his arms, Seraphina coughed softly, her eyes on me, full of pity. "Isabella, I can wait if you need... I don't want to take up..."

"No," Dante cut her off, his voice firm. "Your health comes first. Isabella, you'll wait until Dr. Romano is done with Seraphina."

I stared at the man who once swore to protect me for life, now demanding I step aside for another woman.

The doorbell rang. Dr. Romano and his team had arrived.

For the next two hours, the apartment became Seraphina's private hospital wing. ECGs, MRIs, blood tests—they brought in everything.

Meanwhile, my doctor, Dr. Martinez, was held at the door by security for a full hour, the excuse being "to prevent cross-contamination."

By the time I finally got treated in the guest room, Seraphina was resting in the master bedroom, with Dante watching over her, refusing to leave her side.

"The wound is definitely infected," Dr. Martinez said as he cleaned it. "Isabella, you should have called me last night. Waiting this long was dangerous."

"I know."

"You need to rest for at least a week. No strenuous activity. If this gets worse, you might need surgery to clean it out."

I nodded, my gaze drifting through the half-open door. Dr. Romano was giving Dante the results.

"Miss Gallo's vitals are all normal. It's a mild stress reaction. I recommend a week of recovery in Switzerland. Their facilities are world-class."

"Switzerland?" Dante thought for a moment. "If it's what's best for her, we'll do it. I'll arrange the best care team."

"Dante," Seraphina's voice, sickly sweet, drifted from the master bedroom. "I'd be so scared to go alone... Will you come with me?"

I watched Dante walk toward the master bedroom, and then I heard his gentle reply, "Of course, baby. I'm not letting you go through this alone."

Dr. Martinez packed his medical kit, looking at my pale face. "Isabella, you need complete rest. It would be best if you had someone looking after you."

"I'll arrange it," I said.

But I knew there would be no one to look after me.

The next morning, when I woke up in the guest room, I could hear suitcases being packed in the master.

I saw Dante packing Seraphina’s clothes into a Louis Vuitton trunk.

"When are you leaving?" I asked.

"This afternoon," he said without looking up. "The private jet is ready."

Seraphina walked out of the master bedroom wearing my white cashmere coat. She saw my expression and gave a small, sheepish smile.

"I'm sorry, Isabella. All my clothes are at the dry cleaner's. Dante said you wouldn't mind."

I didn't. I would never wear that coat again.

"Dante," Seraphina went to his side, tucking herself against his arm. "I really don't want to be a bother to Isabella... Maybe I should just go alone?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Dante immediately tightened his grip on her. "Those men almost killed you. You think I'd let you go anywhere by yourself?"

A flash of triumph crossed Seraphina's eyes before being replaced by gratitude. She looked at me, her voice syrupy sweet.

"Isabella, you agree, right? With Dante around, I'm not afraid of anything. He'll handle any trouble for me, won't he?"

Her blue eyes held a glint of challenge as she waited for my answer.

Dante looked at me too, his gaze full of a softness and adoration—none of which was for me.

I looked at the man who once said he'd die for me, now ready to abandon me, wounded and alone, for another woman.

"Of course," I said, my voice as still as a frozen lake.

On the third day after Dante left, I knew something was seriously wrong.

The dull ache in my abdomen had turned into a sharp, tearing agony. Every breath felt like a knife twisting inside me. Worse, I had started bleeding intermittently.

At three in the morning, I was curled up on the guest room bed, the sheets soaked with sweat. Waves of pain crashed over me, making it hard to stay conscious.

I fumbled for my phone and dialed Dante's emergency line—the number he swore he would always answer, no matter what.

It rang for a long time before he picked up.

"Isabella?" His voice was annoyed. The sound of soft classical music and a woman's light laugh echoed in the background. "It's three in the morning in New York. What is it?"

"Dante..." My voice was so weak it startled me. "Something's wrong. The wound... I'm bleeding a lot, and the pain..."

"Isabella, listen to me," he cut me off, his voice sharp. "I'm in the middle of a critical negotiation. Can you just..."

"Dante, I think I need to go to the hospital," I said through gritted teeth, trying not to sound desperate. "The pain isn't normal, and..."

"Isabella!" he snapped. "The second I'm not there, you fall apart. I need a partner, Isabella, not some fragile thing that breaks."

In the background, I heard Seraphina's sweet voice. "Dante, Dr. Hoffman is waiting for us..."

"I'll be right there," he said to her, then his voice to me turned cold again. "Isabella, if it's a real problem, call an ambulance. I'll have a driver sent. But I can't leave right now. What I'm dealing with here is more important."

The line went dead.

I stared at the screen as another wave of pain hit me. More important? More important than his wife's life?

I struggled to get out of bed, trying to make it to the living room for painkillers. But as soon as I stood, a violent spasm of pain sent me crashing to the floor.

The floor was cold. My vision started to blur.

With my last bit of strength, I dialed 911.

Everything after that is a haze. The wail of sirens, a stretcher, the blinding white lights of a hospital.

"Nurse, get the ultrasound ready."

I was on a gurney in the ER. A young female doctor was moving a probe over my stomach.

"Mrs. Torrino?" She looked from the screen to me, her expression turning serious. "We need to talk."

"What?"

"You're pregnant. About six or seven weeks. But..." she paused. "Due to the infection and blood loss, the fetus is unstable. We need to operate immediately to deal with the infection, but the surgery carries a major risk to the pregnancy."

Pregnant?

I stared blankly at the ceiling. Six or seven weeks ago... That was the last time Dante and I were truly together. Before Seraphina. Before everything fell apart.

"Mrs. Torrino? Did you hear me?" The doctor's voice pulled me back. "This is an emergency. We need you or your husband to sign the consent forms for surgery. If we don't operate now, both you and the baby could die."

"I... I need to call my husband."

The doctor nodded and handed me my phone.

I dialed Dante's number again. He answered quickly this time.

"Isabella, I'm in the middle of—"

"Dante," I cut him off. "I'm at the hospital. The doctors say I need emergency surgery. They need your signature."

There was silence on the other end for a few seconds.

"Surgery? What kind of surgery? Is it serious?"

"The infection is worse than we thought, and..." I took a deep breath. "I'm preg—"

Before I could finish, Dante's voice was firm. "I'm coming back. Cancel everything, get the jet ready—"

Just as a sliver of hope sparked in me, I heard her voice.

"Dante?" Seraphina sounded concerned. "What's wrong? You look so stressed..."

His voice instantly softened. "Seraphina, something's come up. I might have to—"

"Is it Isabella?" Her tone was laced with annoyance. "What is it now? Dante, you can't let her lead you around by the nose. The doctor said my recovery depends on a stable, supportive environment. If you leave now..."

Her voice broke. "I had that nightmare again last night... with the gunshots. If you're not here with me, I don't know what I'll do..."

"Baby, don't cry..." Dante's voice was full of heartache.

I heard a rustling sound, like he was pulling her into an embrace.

A few moments later, he was back on the phone, his voice cold and distant.

"Isabella, I'm having my lawyer send the authorization to the hospital. You're strong, Isabella. You can handle this."

"Right now, Seraphina needs me more," he said, without a trace of hesitation. And just like that, he chose.

The line went dead.

I clutched the phone as another spasm of pain seized me. The doctor returned with the consent form.

"Mrs. Torrino? When will your husband arrive? We can't delay the surgery any longer."

I looked at her concerned face and thought of Dante's gentle voice comforting Seraphina.

I bit down hard on my lip and looked the doctor straight in the eye. "I'll sign it myself."