Avery’s POV

It was meant to mark our ninth year together—nine years sworn under candlelight and blood oaths, nine years of loyalty I had believed was unbreakable.

Instead, the doors of the penthouse palazzo swung open and Don Zachary Moretti walked in with another woman at his side.

His arm was locked around her waist in a way that was unmistakably possessive, the kind of hold men used when they wanted the room to understand ownership. Her silk dress clung to the curve of her stomach, stretched tight over a child that was undeniably his.

For almost a decade, he had made me feel untouchable.

I had been the Don’s wife—the woman whose presence silenced rooms, whose name made capos straighten their backs. He had sent black roses flown straight from Sicily, kissed my knuckles in front of rival families, and vowed in front of witnesses that there would never be another woman beside him.

And now?

Now he stood in our home—my home—displaying another woman like proof of conquest, as if betrayal were something to celebrate.

“She doesn’t handle disruption well,” Zachary said calmly, as if we were discussing business logistics instead of my life. His hand tightened around her waist while she leaned into him, chin lifted, eyes smug. “She needs stability. No repeated meals, no sleeping alone. You’ll relocate to the guest wing.”

For a moment, the world went still.

“Relocate?” My voice fractured despite my effort to hold it steady. “You betray me, put a baby in her, drag her into my home on our anniversary—and you expect me to quietly move aside? Like I was never your wife?”

His expression sharpened, the warmth vanishing instantly. “This isn’t a negotiation, Avery. You will comply.”

“No.” My hands shook as I pointed toward her. “You parade your mistress into the Don’s residence and think I’ll bow my head? Do you hear yourself? The arrogance alone should choke you.”

“I said move.”

The air shifted when he stepped closer. Don Moretti didn’t need to raise his voice—his authority crushed without effort. Years of marriage, of shared power, of silent obedience pressed down on me, trying to force my knees to bend.

But I refused to kneel for a man who had already buried our vows.

“I’m leaving,” I said, my tone hardening. “We’re done. Congratulations, Don Moretti. Enjoy your new life.”

Did he really think I would submit to her? That I would smile and make space for the woman carrying his heir?

Never.

I had packed weeks ago—after a video found its way onto my phone. A recording of him and her. I had already mourned this marriage long before tonight.

Zachary’s lips curved into a mocking smile as he advanced, pointing at me once, casually, as if dismissing an inconvenience.

“Go ahead,” he said. “Storm out. Make a scene. You’ll be back within days, begging like you always do.”

Behind me, quiet laughter rippled through the room.

Soldiers. Associates. Family friends. People who once lowered their heads when I entered now whispered openly, savoring my fall from grace.

Unfortunate for them—I wasn’t staying to be humiliated.

The car my cousin arranged was already waiting downstairs.

Zachary thought I’d crawl back?

I didn’t even pause as I retrieved my suitcase from the bedroom.

But just as I reached the door, his voice sliced through the air.

“Leave the Moonstone bracelet,” he ordered. “Give it to her.”

My chest tightened painfully.

That bracelet had been my grandmother’s—passed down through blood and loyalty, the last thing tethering me to myself through weeks of betrayal. And now he wanted to strip even that from me?

“No,” I whispered, tears breaking free. “Not that. Anything but that.”

He scoffed, pulling her closer to his chest. “Stop being difficult. She needs it.”

I could have screamed. I could have thrown it across the room.

Instead, my legs trembled as I walked toward her.

Slowly, deliberately, I unclasped the bracelet and fastened it around her wrist.

“May your child live long and safely,” I said quietly.

The instant the clasp snapped shut, a thin line of red bloomed across her skin.

She gasped, collapsing to her knees, clutching her wrist. “What did you do?” she sobbed. “Did you hurt me on purpose?”

“I didn’t—” My breath caught as I stared at her arm in horror.

Zachary moved instantly.

He lifted her into his arms as if she were made of porcelain, his eyes blazing as they locked onto mine.

“What did you do?” he demanded. “Are you so consumed with jealousy that you’d harm the woman carrying my heir?”

“I swear, I don’t know,” I said, hands frozen in the air.

“Get a doctor,” he barked. Then his gaze turned cold. “You—clean it up. Every piece. Now.”

I looked down at the shattered bracelet scattered across the marble.

Glass bit into my palms as I knelt, metal slicing skin. I welcomed the pain. It reminded me I was still standing.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

Once.

Twice.

Again.

Blood smeared the floor as I pushed myself upright, forcing my spine straight despite the sting.

“Is that sufficient, Don Moretti?”

His eyes held nothing—no memory, no regret.

“The man who protected you no longer exists,” he said coldly. “Who are you performing for now?”

I stared at him. “If you hate me this much, end it. Reject me. Cut the bond.”

He laughed, low and cruel. “Why bother? You’ll return. You always do. And rejection hurts more than you deserve.”

I gathered the remaining fragments, dumped them into the trash, washed the blood from my hands, and lifted my bag.

This time, when I walked out of the palazzo—

I didn’t look back.

Avery’s POV

I truly believed I had escaped.

For one delicate, foolish heartbeat, I thought I was finally free.

I didn’t even make it past the outer gates of the Moretti estate before fate laughed in my face.

Two men stepped out from the shadows as if they’d been waiting all along. Black suits. Stone expressions. Don Moretti’s personal security—soldiers who answered only to him. I barely registered their faces before they seized me, one iron grip on each arm, hauling me backward like a criminal instead of the woman who once ruled this house beside him.

“Mrs. Moretti,” one of them said flatly, already dragging me toward the main villa, “you’re required inside. The Don wants you now. He needs your blood.”

My lungs locked.

“What—no—let go of me!” I thrashed violently, panic flooding my body—not for myself, but for the fragile life hidden beneath my ribs. My heart hammered so hard it felt like a warning siren. A plea. “Why would he need my blood?”

Why him?

Why this marriage?

Why was my punishment always disguised as loyalty?

I had given him everything.

My body. My name. My future. I stood beside him through indictments, rival families circling like wolves, whispers that could’ve torn his empire apart. I shielded him when bullets flew—literal and political. I was his wife in every way that mattered.

Was that still not enough?

What kind of twisted joke was it that I ended up bound to a man who saw me as a resource? A tool? Something to be used and discarded when convenient?

And yet—he wanted more.

He always wanted more.

I couldn’t decide what terrified me more: the possibility that he might discover my pregnancy… or the possibility that he already knew and simply didn’t care.

Cold metal slammed into my spine.

The next thing I knew, I was strapped into a reinforced medical chair inside the famiglia’s private infirmary. Steel restraints bit into my wrists. I lifted my head just enough to see Don Zachary Moretti standing across from me, arms folded, expression distant—like I wasn’t worth the effort of emotion.

“So this is it?” I let out a hollow laugh. “You drag me back to bleed me like contraband?”

He didn’t even flinch.

“Stop being dramatic,” he said coldly. “You’re contributing. Make yourself useful.”

Something inside my chest cracked clean in half.

“Useful?” I scoffed. “Is that what I was? A walking blood bank with a marriage contract?”

“You’re emotional,” he replied instantly. “You always were. You confuse hysteria with loyalty.”

“That’s rich,” I shot back. “Coming from the man draining his wife while his mistress rests like a queen.”

He crossed the distance in two strides.

His hand snapped around my jaw, fingers pressing hard enough to bruise.

“Watch your mouth,” he warned.

“Or what?” I whispered, fury burning through fear. “You’ll humiliate me again? Strip whatever dignity I have left?”

His lips curved into a cruel, amused smile.

“You’re breathing,” he said softly. “Be grateful.”

“You already have her,” I snapped. “You got the heir you wanted. So why am I still chained to this chair?”

The irony nearly crushed me.

She lay in another room—guarded, pampered, surrounded by doctors and silk sheets—while I bled for her survival. For her child.

While my own baby stayed hidden, clinging to me in silence.

I said nothing.

I couldn’t.

He would weaponize it. He would turn my child into leverage, the same way he turned love into ownership.

So I swallowed the truth and stared at the ceiling, letting the sterile lights blur as I refused to cry.

“This is what loving you cost me,” I said quietly. “Defending your name in every council meeting. Standing between you and every enemy. Acting like a partner instead of property. I should’ve left the moment I realized you never loved me—you claimed me.”

“Then why didn’t you?” he snapped. “Because you needed me. You always did.”

“And you,” I whispered, “were too much of a coward to ever let me go.”

His smirk deepened.

“Why would I?” he said calmly. “You never stay gone.”

That was when the needle pierced my skin.

It was thick—too thick—more like a blade than a medical instrument. The pain hit instantly, sharp and searing as it slid into my vein. I didn’t scream. I wouldn’t give him that pleasure. But sweat soaked my neck, and my fingers trembled violently against the restraints.

As the blood drained, memories went with it.

Our first appearance as Don and Donna.

The night I stepped into gunfire meant for him.

Every lonely hour spent convincing myself that waiting was love.

He watched the entire time—silent, detached—as if I were nothing more than a container being emptied.

“Don Moretti,” a doctor said cautiously, “her vitals are destabilizing. If we continue—”

“Proceed,” Zachary cut in. “She’s resilient.”

My vision dimmed.

I bit my cheek until I tasted blood just to stay conscious.

Eight hundred milliliters.

That was how much they took.

I thought it was finished.

Then someone cleared their throat behind the privacy curtain.

Zachary straightened immediately.

“Double it,” he said. “She requires more.”

My breath stuttered.

“So this is for her,” I whispered weakly. “You’re bleeding your own wife to save the woman who shattered us?”

“She needs it,” he replied flatly.

I laughed—broken, hollow.

“And me?” I murmured. “You’d drain me dry without hesitation.”

His face didn’t change.

From behind the curtain, her voice drifted out—fragile, perfectly timed.

“Zachary…”

He moved at once.

I was fading, restrained, slipping into darkness—and he was already gone.

The doctor hesitated. “Sir… continuing may endanger the pregnancy—”

“Do it,” Zachary barked. “Or find employment elsewhere.”

I tried to scream.

The darkness swallowed me first.

---

When I woke, the world felt wrong—distant, muffled.

I lay on a narrow cot beneath a thin blanket. A doctor sat beside me, eyes rimmed with guilt.

“You’re stable,” he said quietly. “Physically.”

“That doesn’t sound like good news,” I whispered. “So what aren’t you saying?”

He swallowed hard.

“There was… a complication.”

My hand flew to my stomach.

“No,” I breathed. “Please—no—”

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “When the extraction increased… the pregnancy could not be sustained.”

The scream tore out of me.

I thrashed violently, knocking equipment aside, sobbing so hard I couldn’t breathe. I forced myself upright, dizziness crashing over me as I staggered toward the door.

“ZACHARY!” I screamed. “YOU KILLED MY BABY!”

He wasn’t there.

Of course he wasn’t.

I collapsed to the floor, grief hollowing me out—until something colder took its place.

Focused.

Sharp.

No more pleading.

No more hope.

I looked up at the doctor.

“Prepare my discharge,” I said hoarsely. “And copy every medical record. Every detail.”

Because I was done surviving.

Now, I was planning my revenge.

Avery’s POV

I was still confined to a hospital bed owned by the famiglia, my body sluggish and unreliable, like it hadn’t yet realized how much had been taken from it. My arms ached constantly, deep and hollow pain from the blood loss, and sitting upright for more than a few minutes sent the room tilting. But none of that compared to the weight crushing my chest—a grief so heavy no sedative could dull it.

I was grieving my child.

While I lay there beneath stark white sheets, surrounded by the quiet beeping of machines that measured survival but not loss, the world seemed eager to remind me just how insignificant my suffering was.

News of Don Zachary Moretti and Nina reached me without warning or mercy.

A former social acquaintance forwarded a video first—a glittering charity gala attended by political allies and rival families alike. Zachary stood at the center of it all in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, relaxed, amused, one arm draped possessively around Nina’s waist. She leaned into him with practiced ease, radiant, victorious.

Another clip followed soon after.

A private dinner gathering. Low lighting. Crystal glasses. Zachary lifting a fork to Nina’s lips, bending close to murmur something only she could hear. She laughed freely, tipping her head back, utterly shameless.

He looked… light.

Unburdened.

Like a man who hadn’t lost a single thing.

When the doctors finally cleared me for discharge, I left alone.

No driver sent by the estate. No bodyguard. No assistant hovering with instructions. Not even a courtesy call. I walked out carrying a thin hospital bag, the realization settling in with brutal clarity—I had been erased completely.

The thought of returning to the Moretti estate twisted my stomach. Every corridor, every room, was soaked in memory. But my passports, legal documents, and personal files were still there. Everything I needed to disappear.

I had no choice.

And then—because cruelty apparently wasn’t finished with me—I saw them.

They stood just outside the maternity wing.

Nina looked luminous, already basking in attention like a woman stepping into her rightful place. Zachary hovered close, one hand resting at her lower back, guiding her with proprietary ease, as though she were already the Donna of the family.

A nurse passed by, smiling warmly. “Don Moretti, your wife looks radiant today.”

My throat tightened, but I didn’t correct her.

I didn’t have the strength.

I turned away, intent on slipping out unseen.

“Avery.”

Zachary’s voice cut through the corridor.

I stopped mid-step. My shoulders stiffened, but I didn’t turn right away. Of course he noticed me. Of course he couldn’t allow me to vanish quietly.

I finally faced him across the polished floor. “I wasn’t trailing you,” I said evenly. “I was discharged today. I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Before he could respond, Nina looped her arm through his, clinging to him as though she’d always belonged there.

“Love,” she said gently, false concern dripping from every syllable, “maybe she should ride with us. I feel a little guilty, you know. She gave blood for me. The least we could do is make sure she gets home.”

The audacity nearly made me laugh.

Zachary brushed his thumb along Nina’s cheek. “You’re too kind,” he murmured, then looked at me. “Fine.”

So I got into the car.

Not because I wanted to—but because I needed my documents before I disappeared for good.

I slid into the backseat and fixed my gaze forward.

That was when I saw it.

A pair of women’s underwear lay crumpled beside me, unmistakably stained white.

The sight knocked the air from my lungs.

Nina twisted around in her seat, lips curling into a smug smile. “Oh my God,” she giggled, “I can’t believe I forgot those. Remember, babe? After what we did back here last week?”

Zachary chuckled, eyes still on the road. “You almost ruined the leather.”

She hummed. “You didn’t seem bothered when I was on your lap outside the estate. Or when I kept you busy during that long drive.”

“Traffic’s easier with you,” he replied casually.

“And that time you had to pull over because I wouldn’t stop?” she added brightly. “You were shaking.”

My stomach twisted violently.

I turned toward the window, jaw clenched so tight it hurt. My hands curled into fists in my lap, nails biting into my skin.

While they carried on as if I didn’t exist, I quietly opened my phone and pulled up an email from my cousin, Sebastian.

My heart stuttered when I saw the flight confirmation.

Beneath it, he’d added a note:

I booked another option. It departs tonight at 9 PM. Please—make this one.

A faint smile touched my lips.

I typed back quickly:

Thank you. I’m sorry I missed the last flight.

His reply came almost instantly:

What really happened that day? You don’t have to protect me.

My fingers hovered.

Sebastian had always been my shield. If he knew the truth, he’d launch a legal war—and I didn’t want more blood on my conscience.

So I answered:

I’ll explain later. I just need to leave first.

Leaving was all that mattered now.

Up front, Zachary laughed softly, apologizing to Nina over something trivial, playing the attentive partner. Yet I felt his gaze flick toward me, waiting for a reaction.

I gave him nothing.

Irritation flashed in his eyes. He hated being ignored.

“You’ve been glued to your phone since we got in,” he snapped. “Who are you talking to?”

“Just catching up on the news,” I replied calmly, eyes on my boarding pass.

He didn’t believe me.

Without warning, he reached back and yanked the phone from my hands.

Anger surged—hot, clean, undeniable.

“What’s the passcode?” he demanded.

I smiled faintly. “The day we met. The day I made the worst mistake of my life. You were charming for about five minutes. After that? Pure arrogance.”

He scowled and tried.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Locked.

Nina leaned over, her voice syrupy with mock pity. “Let it go, babe. It’s not like she has anyone left to talk to. Or any pride. Who would even bother responding to her now?”

She winked at me.

I stared back, silent.

And in that moment, something settled into place with absolute clarity.

They thought I was broken.

They had no idea I was already planning my escape—and what would come after.