Valentina's POV
The private dining room of the Mafia club was dimly lit. The air was thick with the rich aroma of truffles, mixed with the faint scent of old money that carried a touch of corrupt sweetness.
Today was my birthday.
Dante had booked the entire VIP section, promising me that tonight would involve absolutely no "family business."
He sat across from me, wearing a dark suit, looking breathtakingly handsome.
He reached across the pristine white tablecloth, gently took my hand, and fastened a heavy, cold bracelet around my wrist.
I looked down. It was a string of priceless "blood diamonds," tied to violence and exploitation.
"Valentina, I'm sorry I haven't been around much lately. I know this period has been very hard for you."
I forced a smile and looked up at him. "It's fine."
Right at that moment, the heavy mahogany door was pushed open silently.
Isabella stood in the doorway, pulling a visibly reluctant Leo. Her hair was a mess, and she looked perfectly panicked.
"Dante!" she gasped for air, as if she had just run a long distance. "Leo is sick, and his special medicine is missing from the estate!"
The string quartet in the corner immediately stopped playing.
The accompanying "family members" and their wives in the hall turned their heads, and whispers spread outward like ripples.
They gossiped, their voices clearly audible, saying that the head of the family had actually abandoned his sick heir to have dinner with his mistress.
Leo broke free from his mother's hand and ran straight to Dante.
"Dad, my chest hurts so much!" Leo cried, throwing himself into Dante's arms.
Suddenly, he pointed a trembling finger at me.
"It's her! She's stealing you away!" he screamed, his face full of resentment.
In the next second, Leo grabbed a glass of expensive red wine from the table and threw it fiercely at me.
The dark red liquid splashed all over my chest, slowly dripping down my skin.
The muscles in Dante's jaw twitched slightly.
He stood up abruptly. The chair made a loud bang against the hardwood floor before tipping over.
"Apologize to Valentina immediately!" Dante commanded, his voice carrying a chilling authority.
Leo stubbornly crossed his arms and glared at me fiercely, refusing to apologize.
Isabella immediately stepped forward, her posture slightly bent as if bearing immense pressure.
She lowered her head and began to sob.
"Don't yell at him, Dante," she said between sobs. "It's all my fault. I didn't raise him right. I'm a terrible mother."
I looked around, feeling the critical gazes of the family wives darting through the open door.
I waved my hand, my tone calm and composed.
"Go take care of your family, Dante," I said peacefully.
Dante looked hesitant. He looked at my stained dress, then at his crying ex-wife and sick child.
Ultimately, he yielded to duty. He picked up the boy and hurriedly left the restaurant, with Isabella following closely behind.
I sat alone at the dining table.
Picking up a napkin, I calmly wiped the wine stains from my skin, refusing to let a single tear fall.
I looked over at the musicians, who stood frozen in the corner.
"Keep playing," I ordered.
After dinner, I used my own black card to pay the exorbitant bill.
A waiter approached me nervously.
"Miss Rossi, would you still like your birthday cake?" he asked cautiously.
"Bring it," I replied.
They brought out a small, delicate cake, and I lit the single candle.
I made a silent wish in my heart.
I wished for complete freedom, to be rid of all chains.
After blowing out the candle, I took a picture of the cake and uploaded it to the family's secure network.
I didn't add any caption.
As I walked out of the club, my phone vibrated.
Dante had sent a long text message, desperately apologizing for what just happened.
Immediately following that was a bank transfer notification. He had wired another three million dollars into my account.
That night, I sat on the couch in the new safehouse.
The room was completely silent. What broke the quiet was not a sound, but a subtle shift in air pressure.
Then, the hinges let out a faint friction sound.
My hand instinctively reached into the crevice of the sofa cushion, my fingertips touching the cold, hard grip of a gun.
The dim yellow light from the hallway spilled through the crack in the door as the lock turned and the door slowly pushed open.
Dante walked in, holding a brown paper bag containing my favorite takeout.
He placed the food on the coffee table, sat down next to me, and tried to pull me into his arms.
"Leo's heart rate spiked suddenly, and I had to take him to the clinic. You have to understand me, Valentina."
I calmly placed my hand on his chest and pushed him away.
"No explanation needed," I said.
Dante frowned, a flash of obvious panic in his eyes.
He sensed a fundamental shift in my attitude.
"You are too quiet," he said. "Why aren't you arguing with me?"
"Because I don't care anymore," I replied coldly.
Dante stared at me, clenching his jaw, his expression turning dangerous.
Before he could probe further, I quickly appeased his ego, reaching out to gently touch his cheek.
"You are a good father, Dante. I admire that about you."
Dante let out a long breath, leaning into my palm.
"I swear on my life, once the boy recovers, we will have a grand wedding, and you will become my wife."
Right then, his burner phone rang, the harsh ringtone shattering the brief, fragile moment.
He glanced at the screen. It was Leo.
He answered the phone and pressed it to his ear.
"Dad, I want to hear a bedtime story!" the child's voice came through the phone, thick with tears.
In the background, Isabella's voice could be heard softly humming a lullaby, with that kind of softness that carried a manipulative undertone.
Dante showed a hesitant expression again, turning to look at me with pleading eyes.
I stood up and waved toward the door. "Go."
Dante stood up, dropped a kiss on my cheek, grabbed his coat, and hurried out of the room.
He left in such a rush that the phone remained connected.
I stood in the center of the empty living room, listening to his footsteps gradually fade in the hallway, eventually completely cut off by the muffled thud of the heavy fire door.
A moment later, a low-frequency vibration came up from the floorboards. It was the sound of an engine starting on the street below.
On the other end of the line, the woman's lullaby still hadn't stopped.
I picked up the phone, pressed the end-call button, the screen went black, and the entire apartment was left with only the low hum of the refrigerator.
