His 18-Year-Old Mistress Cost Him His Bride, His Heir, and His Mafia Empire

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After the final fitting for my wedding gown, Salvatore Corleone reached across the seat with familiar tenderness and pulled the seat belt over me, clicking it into place.

Tesoro, I've already seen you in the dress. I won't be at the ceremony.

I went still.

For a moment, I thought I'd misheard him.

"What do you mean?"

Salvatore smiled as if he were telling me something harmless, then leaned over and pressed a kiss to my forehead.

"There's a girl I've taken a liking to. She's young, proud, and too stubborn to accept being kept in the shadows. So this morning, I made things official with her."

His voice remained maddeningly gentle.

"From today on, she's the woman who stands beside me."

My mind went blank. Even the low hum of the engine seemed to disappear.

"The ceremony is in a week," I said. My voice trembled despite my effort to steady it. "Salvatore, our ceremony is in one week."

"I know."

There was even a trace of apology in his eyes, as though he were the one being forced into an impossible position.

"Tesoro, you're still the woman I love most. But you know what men in our world are like. Sometimes a young woman comes along and makes a man lose his head."

He paused, then added softly, "She's only eighteen. She doesn't understand our ways yet. If I stood beside you at the altar now, she'd take it as a humiliation."

I stared at him.

Salvatore brushed his thumb over my cheek.

"If the ceremony matters that much to you, find someone else to stand beside you that day. Don't deny yourself a wedding just because I can't be there."

His smile was almost tender.

"I'd hate to see you disappointed."

My wedding gown was still lying across the back seat, carefully wrapped after the fitting.

An hour ago, I'd looked at it and imagined myself walking toward Salvatore in white.

Now the sight of it only made me cold.

My fingers tightened around the folded medical report hidden inside my coat pocket.

I had planned to show it to him in the car.

Planned to tell him that after all these years, I was finally carrying his child.

Instead, I slowly pushed the report deeper into my pocket.

Salvatore was right about one thing.

I shouldn't deny myself anything.

Especially not a wedding.

...

Salvatore ran his fingers through my hair out of old habit, wearing the easy expression of a man who believed he'd done nothing wrong before God or the Family.

But every word that left his mouth was poison.

"You know how girls are these days. She wouldn't let me touch her unless I gave her a proper place beside me."

His smile deepened.

"I spent nearly six months winning her over. She finally gave herself to me yesterday."

It felt as if an invisible hand had closed around my throat.

My hands and feet turned cold as I stared at him.

Salvatore didn't seem to notice.

"Right where you're sitting, actually." His gaze drifted over the passenger seat with unmistakable fondness. "She fought me every step of the way at first. Stubborn little thing."

His eyes lingered on the windshield.

Against my better judgment, I followed his gaze.

There were still faint smudges on the glass, traces someone had neglected to wipe away.

My stomach lurched.

Nausea surged into my throat so violently that I nearly gagged.

I gripped the seat belt until my knuckles turned white, my eyes burning.

Salvatore finally seemed to notice something was wrong.

He cupped my bloodless face between his hands, his brows drawing together in genuine confusion.

"Why are you crying? You'll still carry the Corleone name."

There was affection in his dark eyes.

Deep, familiar affection.

That was what made it unbearable.

He looked at me exactly as he always had, as though the man who had just calmly told me he'd given another woman my place, then reminisced about having her in the very seat beneath me, couldn't possibly be him.

The absurdity of it hollowed me out.

For several seconds, I couldn't breathe.

Salvatore sighed, sounding almost inconvenienced by my silence.

"I know you're upset, but she's sensitive. If I show up at your ceremony after making things official with her, she'll cry."

His thumb brushed beneath my eye.

"She's different from the women we're used to. Innocent. Sheltered. She doesn't understand how this life works. All she wants is a man who belongs completely to her."

He paused.

"I pursued her for six months before she finally trusted me. I can't turn around and humiliate her now."

Then he looked at me with the calm certainty of a man who had already decided I would forgive him.

"You've always been sensible, tesoro. You understand our world better than she does. You understand me."

Six months.

I almost laughed.

Our ceremony had taken six months to arrange too.

For six months, Salvatore had sat beside me choosing the church, the reception hall, the flowers, the wine, even the guest list filled with capos, soldiers, their wives, and every allied Family expected to witness me finally take my place beside him.

And during those same six months, somewhere beyond my sight, he'd been pursuing another woman with just as much determination.

Perhaps more.

My fingers curled slowly into my palms.

I closed my eyes.

Without thinking, my thumb rubbed the bare base of my ring finger.

"Then let's end it."

Silence.

Salvatore stared at me for two full seconds.

Then he laughed softly.

"Don't say things you don't mean."

I opened my eyes.

His expression hadn't changed.

"You came to me when you were eighteen," he said. "You've spent ten years beside me. You've lost two of my children."

His gaze settled on my face, almost pitying.

"If you leave me now, what man in this territory do you think would dare take you?"

I stared at him.

Something scorching seemed to roll through my chest, leaving everything it touched raw.

Ten years.

We'd slept beneath bridges together.

We'd split a single cup of instant noodles and pretended neither of us was still hungry.

There had been nights when we didn't even have that, when all we could do was drink water until our stomachs stopped aching.

Back then, Salvatore had been nobody.

And I had been eighteen years old and foolish enough to believe that as long as I stayed beside him, we could survive anything.

We had been so poor that every unexpected expense felt like a death sentence.

When I first discovered I was pregnant, we could barely afford food, much less the medicine and care I needed.

I remembered standing outside in the freezing cold until my entire body went numb.

I remembered climbing those stairs afterward, one slow step at a time.

And I remembered the fall.

The blood.

Salvatore carrying me through the snow with shaking hands.

That was the first child we'd lost.

And now, ten years later, the man I'd once sacrificed everything for was sitting beside me, calmly telling me that no one else would want what remained.

I endured the pain, cried until there was nothing left in me, and buried two children before I'd ever had the chance to hold them.

Both times, Salvatore knelt beside my hospital bed.

The second time, he drew a knife and drove the blade through his own palm.

Blood ran down his wrist as he covered my eyes with that same trembling hand, refusing to let me look at what the doctors carried away.

"Gilly, I swear on the Family, I'll give you a good life. If I ever betray you, may God make me pay for it in blood."

It wasn't an empty promise.

Men like Salvatore didn't swear on the Family lightly.

Blood for blood. A vow made that way was supposed to follow a man into his grave.

I believed him.

For ten years, I believed him.

And now he'd broken that vow without hesitation for a woman he'd known six months.

I couldn't understand it.

How could a man who had once loved me enough to bleed for me become someone I barely recognized?

A phone suddenly rang.

The ringtone was familiar.

I'd heard it countless times late at night. Whenever I asked, Salvatore would tell me it was one of his business contacts, a man who handled shipments through the docks.

I'd never questioned him.

Why would I?

I'd trusted him more than I'd trusted myself.

Only now did I realize how stupid that trust had made me.

Salvatore glanced at the screen but didn't answer immediately.

Instead, he looked at me with the patient expression of a man soothing a child in the middle of a tantrum.

"Why are you making this bigger than it needs to be?"

His voice remained calm.

"We've had ten years together, Gilly. Ten years. And you're ready to throw all of that away because I gave another woman a place beside me?"

My fingers went cold.

He leaned back against the seat.

"You're not eighteen anymore. You have no blood family left, no name of your own, no crew behind you. Outside my protection, you have no one."

His eyes hardened slightly.

"So stop saying things you'll regret."

Then he pulled the Bentley over to the curb.

The engine idled beneath us.

"Take a cab home. I have to pick her up."

He unlocked the doors.

"Think carefully about what I said."

A second later, I was standing alone on the roadside.

The door slammed shut behind me.

Salvatore drove away without looking back.

I watched the Bentley disappear into traffic until I couldn't see it anymore.

Then I bent over and retched.

Nothing came up.

My stomach was empty, but my body kept convulsing until tears blurred my vision and ran down my face.

Salvatore was wrong about one thing.

A man didn't give a woman a place beside him before the entire Family because she meant nothing.

He didn't give her the recognition another woman had waited ten years to receive because he'd simply lost his head for a night.

That place was something I'd waited for through ten years of hunger, blood, miscarriages, bullets, funerals, and war.

He had never given it to me.

He'd given it to Bianca after six months.

Maybe a man's heart didn't disappear.

Maybe it simply moved somewhere else.

I lifted my head.

The sky was heavy and gray, and the wind cut through my clothes, straight into the hollow place inside my chest.

For a long time, I stood there without moving.

Then my thumb brushed over the bare base of my ring finger.

I could almost feel the weight of the ring that should have been there.

Almost.

I took out my phone and made a call.

By the time I returned to the estate, I had stopped crying.

Not long after, the familiar growl of Salvatore's Bentley sounded outside.

I looked through the window.

One of his soldiers got out first and moved several paces away, deliberately turning his back to the car.

Salvatore remained inside.

So did Bianca.

The windows were dark, but one of them had been left open barely an inch.

Through that narrow gap came a woman's breathless voice.

Then Salvatore's.

"Say it."

A soft laugh.

"Say what?"

"You know what."

There was a pause.

Then Bianca whispered, almost shyly, "Husband."

Salvatore laughed under his breath.

"Again."

"Husband."

"Good girl."

Another silence followed, filled with sounds I didn't need explained.

Then I heard him murmur, "I'd give you my life."

I stood behind the curtain, unable to move.

The summer sun burned against the windows, fierce enough to bleach the stone courtyard white.

But I felt as if I'd been dropped naked into snow.

Nearly an hour passed before the front door finally opened.

Salvatore walked in with Bianca tucked against his side.

She was small and delicate, almost fragile beside him.

The moment she saw me sitting in the living room, her steps stopped.

Her eyes immediately filled with tears.

"Why is she here?"

Salvatore frowned.

Bianca pulled away from him.

"You told me this was our home."

Her voice trembled.

"Were you lying to me? You still can't let her go, can you?"

"Bianca."

"I love you, Salvatore, but I won't live under the same roof as another woman and pretend I have no dignity."

She turned toward the door.

"I'm leaving."

Salvatore caught her before she'd taken two steps.

He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her firmly back against his chest.

"What are you talking about?"

Bianca struggled weakly in his arms.

"The Family witnessed my claim. Everyone knows the place I've given you."

He lowered his voice, coaxing her.

"You're the woman who stands beside me now. This is your home."

Only after saying that did he finally look at me.

There was no guilt in his face.

No apology.

As though what he was about to say was the most reasonable arrangement in the world.

"Gilly, there's a safe house outside the territory. It's quiet, and the men know not to bother you there."

He paused.

"Go stay there for a while."

For a moment, I thought I'd heard him wrong.

My mind emptied before the pain arrived.

Then came the dull ache beneath my ribs, slow and physical, as if something inside my chest were being crushed by hand.

My gaze moved around the room.

Three years ago, when we'd first walked through these doors, the estate had still smelled of fresh paint and new wood.

Salvatore had stood behind me and wrapped both arms around my waist.

His eyes had been red.

"Gilly, look."

He'd kissed my temple.

"We finally have a home."

I'd laughed at him for getting emotional.

But he'd only held me tighter.

"You, me, and our children. This is where we're going to grow old."

I'd believed that too.

Now, three years later, he was standing in the same room with another woman in his arms, telling me to leave.

Not asking.

Telling.

I looked at him.

"You're throwing me out?"

Something shifted in Salvatore's expression.

Not guilt.

Impatience.

"Gilly."

Bianca's fingers tightened around his shirt.

That tiny movement was enough.

Salvatore's gaze cooled.

"My wife is upset."

The word hit harder than I expected.

My wife.

He said it naturally.

Effortlessly.

A title I'd waited ten years to hear had become Bianca's after six months.

"I don't want to say it twice."

Salvatore was still smiling.

But his voice had dropped into that quiet, measured register every man under him knew.

The voice that came before an order became a threat.

For the first time, I realized he wasn't speaking to me as the woman who had slept beneath bridges beside him.

He wasn't speaking to the girl who had starved with him, bled for him, buried his children, and stayed when there had been nothing worth staying for.

He was speaking to me as the Boss.

And he expected obedience.

My throat tightened until swallowing hurt.

Salvatore watched me with complete certainty.

He thought he knew how this would end.

I would cry.

I would rage.

Then I would give in, just as I always had.

After a long silence, I lowered my eyes.

"All right."

The words came out almost soundless.

"I'll go."

"All right."

Salvatore watched me rise and turn toward the door.

Something flickered behind his eyes.

Before I could take more than two steps, he crossed the room and caught my arm.

"There's a Family banquet this afternoon. Come with me."

I looked at him.

"No."

"It's Bianca's first time being presented to everyone as the woman beside me."

His grip tightened slightly.

"She doesn't know the people, the rules, or how these gatherings work. Stay with her. Make sure she doesn't embarrass herself."

I stared at him, thinking surely that was the end of it.

It wasn't.

"And help her with the dress."

For a second, the sheer absurdity of it almost made me laugh.

He had taken my place and given it to another woman.

Now he wanted me to teach her how to stand in it.

But then I remembered how little time I had left.

There was no point fighting over something I would soon leave behind.

"Fine."

Before we left, Bianca complained that she had nothing suitable to wear in front of the Family.

Then she walked straight into my dressing room.

Of all the dresses hanging there, she chose the most expensive one.

The gown Salvatore had given me three years ago.

Custom-made. One of a kind. Hand-finished in Milan, with a set of diamonds he'd bought to go with it.

I looked at Salvatore.

He didn't even hesitate.

"Let her wear it."

Bianca smiled.

"Thank you, Sal."

Then she turned to me.

"Adriana, would you mind helping me with the train? It's so long, and I'm afraid I'll trip."

She asked sweetly.

As though she hadn't just taken the dress from my closet.

As though she hadn't taken everything else with it.

At the banquet, Bianca walked into the room with her hand tucked through Salvatore's arm.

I followed several steps behind, carrying the train of the gown that had once been mine.

Conversations quieted as we passed.

Then the whispers began.

They followed me from table to table beneath the clink of crystal and the low murmur of conversation.

"Jesus. Salvatore really knows how to break a woman."

"Ten years beside him, and now she's carrying the new girl's dress?"

"New girl? Look around. She's the one on Salvatore's arm. Everyone knows what that means."

A low laugh followed.

"And Adriana?"

"What about her? No ring. No marriage. No name. She gave him ten years for nothing."

Another voice joined in.

"Ten years and this is where she ends up. I'd rather be dead."

I kept walking.

My fingers remained wrapped around Bianca's train.

I didn't look at anyone.

Not until I reached the powder room off the main hall and shut the door behind me.

The marble walls dulled the noise of the banquet.

For the first time all afternoon, I could breathe.

Then voices drifted in from the corridor outside.

Men.

One of them laughed.

"Sal, I've got to ask. Adriana stood beside you for ten years. You really gave Bianca her place just like that?"

Salvatore answered without hesitation.

"Bianca needed security."

"That's one hell of a way to give it."

"It's a title."

My hand stopped beneath the running water.

Salvatore laughed.

"Nothing more."

Another man lowered his voice.

"And if Adriana leaves?"

There was a brief silence.

My fingers tightened against the edge of the basin.

Then Salvatore laughed again.

Careless.

Certain.

"Adriana?"

The way he said my name made the men outside chuckle.

"Her whole world is me."

My chest tightened.

"Ten years, boys. Ten years she spent following me through hell. Where exactly is she going to go now?"

Someone muttered something I couldn't hear.

Salvatore continued.

"I know her better than she knows herself."

His voice carried easily through the door.

"I could throw her out tonight, and when I decide I want her back, she'll come."

A pause.

Then, almost lazily, he added, "She's like an old rag. Worn out, maybe. But familiar. You don't throw something away when you know it'll still be there whenever you reach for it."

The men laughed.

I couldn't hear anything after that.

I walked to the basin and turned on the faucet.

Cold water.

Again.

Again.

Again.

I splashed it over my face until my skin went numb.

Still, the tears kept coming.

I bit down hard on the side of my hand to keep myself from making a sound.

The faucet seemed deafening in the empty room.

Ten years.

Apparently that was all I was worth to him.

An old rag.

Something he could toss aside and pick up again whenever he pleased.

I stared at my reflection.

My eyes were red.

My face was pale.

But slowly, I stopped crying.

Salvatore.

This time, you bet wrong.

The woman you think will spend the rest of her life waiting for you won't be there when you finally turn around.

I shut off the faucet and walked out.

I had barely stepped into the corridor when something struck my face.

Hard.

My head snapped sideways.

For several seconds, I couldn't hear anything except the ringing in my ears.

I slowly raised a hand to my burning cheek.

Bianca stood in front of me.

Gone was the shy, fragile girl who had spent the afternoon clinging to Salvatore's arm.

She flexed the fingers of the hand she'd slapped me with.

Then she smiled.

"So you heard him."

I stared at her.

Bianca stepped closer.

"Sal gave me the place beside him, and you're still hanging around."

Her gaze moved over me with open disgust.

"Have you really got that little dignity?"

I said nothing.

Her smile sharpened.

"Ten years."

She almost laughed.

"You gave a man ten years of your life without a ring, without a name, without anything that made you his in the eyes of the Family."

She leaned toward me.

"And you still think you're better than me?"

My fingers curled.

Bianca's eyes flicked toward them.

Then back to my face.

"If being used is all you're good for, there are streets full of men who'd be happy to oblige."

Something inside me snapped.

I laughed.

It was quiet.

But Bianca's expression changed.

I took one step toward her.

She immediately stepped back.

Then, before I could say a word, her eyes darted past my shoulder toward the ballroom.

Her expression transformed.

The cruelty vanished.

Fear took its place.

Bianca grabbed the neckline of her gown with both hands.

Rip.

Silk tore beneath her fingers.

I froze.

She ripped it again, harder this time, tearing the bodice open at the seam.

Then she staggered backward and screamed.

"Adriana!"

The name tore through the banquet like a gunshot.

I heard chairs scrape against the floor.

Footsteps.

Then Salvatore's voice came from behind me.

"Adriana."

Low.

Cold.

Dangerous.

The entire hall seemed to go silent.

I turned.

Salvatore was already moving past me.

He caught Bianca before she could collapse and pulled her against his chest.

She immediately buried her face against him.

"Sal..."

Her body shook violently.

"I shouldn't have come."

Salvatore looked down at the torn gown.

Then at the red mark beginning to rise on Bianca's cheek.

His face changed.

Bianca clutched his shirt.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

She could barely get the words out between sobs.

"I'm the one who came between you. I'm the one who took what belonged to Miss Marchetti."

Her voice broke.

"I shouldn't have accepted any of it."

Before anyone could react, she raised her hand and slapped herself.

Once.

Then again.

Salvatore caught her wrist before she could do it a third time.

"Enough."

His voice shook with fury.

Bianca struggled weakly.

"No. She's right. I'm shameless. I'm disgusting. I ruined ten years between you."

"Who said that to you?"

Salvatore's voice dropped.

Bianca went still.

"Who?"

She bit her lip and shook her head.

"Please, Sal. Don't ask."

His jaw tightened.

Bianca's eyes lifted.

For only a second, they met mine.

Then she flinched violently and buried herself deeper in Salvatore's arms.

"No."

She shook her head again, as if terrified even to look at me.

"Please don't ask me."

"Women like me can't afford to cross someone like Miss Marchetti."

Bianca's voice trembled as she clung to Salvatore's shirt.

"She has money. Connections. Everyone in this city knows what she means to you. Salvatore, I'm not good enough for this life."

She looked up at him through tear-filled eyes.

"Just let me go. I don't want to wake up one morning and find my parents dead because I took something that used to belong to her."

Salvatore's expression changed.

The private room had gone completely silent.

His soldiers stood along the walls, their faces carefully blank.

Salvatore looked at me.

"Explain."

I slowly lowered the hand covering my face.

The mark from Bianca's slap was still bright across my cheek.

"You should ask her what happened."

Bianca's face went white.

"Miss Marchetti!"

Her voice cracked.

"Yes, I slapped you. I admit it. But only because you threatened my parents."

I stared at her.

Bianca twisted the fabric of her sleeve between trembling fingers.

"They're ordinary people. They have nothing to do with any of this. If you're angry with me, then hit me. Do whatever you want to me."

Her tears spilled over.

"I'm begging you. Just leave my family alone."

My blood went hot.

"You're lying. You were the one who slapped me, and then you tore your own dress. You..."

"Enough."

Salvatore's voice cut through mine.

I stopped.

He was looking at me with something worse than anger.

Disappointment.

"Adriana."

His voice was quiet.

"I spoiled you too much."

For a second, I couldn't understand what he'd said.

Then his eyes hardened.

"Did you think that because you have no father, no mother, no famiglia left to answer for you, you could do whatever you wanted and I'd always clean up after you?"

Something inside me went very still.

Maybe I'd known this was coming.

Maybe there simply wasn't enough warmth left in my heart for him to freeze.

I laughed.

My eyes burned so badly it hurt.

"All right."

I looked at Bianca in his arms.

"How are you planning to defend your wife?"

Salvatore didn't answer immediately.

He walked toward me.

Then he reached for my hand.

My fingers instinctively curled, but he caught them and slowly pulled off the ring I'd worn for nearly ten years.

I stopped breathing.

It wasn't worth much.

Not compared with the diamonds Salvatore could buy now.

He had made it himself after earning his first real cut working the docks, back when he was still a street soldier with blood on his knuckles and holes in his shoes.

The edges had been uneven then.

I'd laughed when he slipped it onto my finger.

Salvatore had turned red with embarrassment and threatened to throw it into the river.

I'd held my hand behind my back and refused to let him take it.

That ring had stayed on my finger through everything that came afterward.

Until now.

Salvatore turned it slowly between his fingers.

Then he looked toward his consigliere.

"Make the call."

The man hesitated.

Salvatore's eyes sharpened.

"My wife's jewelry was stolen. We caught the thief with it."

The room went dead silent.

I stared at him.

For the first time that night, even Bianca looked surprised.

Salvatore had spent years building relationships with men who wore badges by day and answered his calls at night.

I knew exactly what "make the call" meant.

There would be a report.

A statement.

Enough paperwork to make the accusation look legitimate.

And if Salvatore wanted me held for a few days, no one at the precinct would be eager to ask questions.

I looked at the ring in his hand.

Then at him.

Salvatore Corleone hadn't become Boss by being merciful.

He had climbed out of the gutter one body, one deal, one betrayal at a time.

I'd simply never been on the receiving end of that ruthlessness.

I had always been his exception.

His one weakness.

The woman he defended first and questioned later.

For ten years, no one in his territory had dared lay a hand on me because everyone knew what Salvatore would do in return.

And now the man putting the knife in my back was Salvatore himself.

He stepped closer.

"Adriana."

His tone softened again.

"Go cool your head for a few days."

My eyes lifted to his.

"Don't worry. I won't let them keep you long."

He raised the ring between us.

"When you come home, I'll put this back on your finger myself."

For some reason, that almost made me laugh.

Home.

He had already given my home to Bianca.

What exactly did he think I was coming back to?

Not long afterward, two officers arrived.

Neither looked Salvatore directly in the eye.

That told me everything I needed to know.

One of them took out a pair of handcuffs.

Salvatore reached for me as they stepped closer.

I pulled my hand from his.

His fingers closed on empty air.

For the first time that evening, something uncertain crossed his face.

I looked down at my bare finger.

My thumb brushed once over the pale mark the ring had left behind.

Then I turned away.

Behind me, Salvatore said my name.

I didn't stop.

He took one step after me.

"Salvatore."

Bianca caught his arm.

He looked back.

She pressed herself against him, still shaken.

"Thank you for believing me."

Her voice trembled.

"I was so scared."

The hesitation in Salvatore's face disappeared.

He touched her cheek.

"What do you want?"

Bianca blinked.

"To make it up to you."

She finally smiled.

Then her eyes dropped to the ring still resting in his palm.

Before Salvatore could react, Bianca plucked it from his hand.

And dropped it into the trash.

His expression changed instantly.

"Bianca."

Her smile vanished.

Her eyes filled with tears almost as quickly.

"Does it matter that much?"

She immediately bent toward the trash.

"I'm sorry. I'll get it back."

Her voice grew smaller.

"Ten years is ten years, after all. Even if she hates me, I don't want to make things difficult between you because of some old ring."

Salvatore caught her around the waist and pulled her upright.

"Leave it."

"But..."

"Don't put your hands in there."

The last trace of anger left his face.

He took a card from his wallet and held it out to her.

"Buy whatever you want."

Bianca shook her head.

"I don't want your money."

"Take it."

"No."

She wrapped both arms around him.

"The only thing I want is you."

Salvatore laughed helplessly.

"Yes, yes. I know."

He pushed the card into her hand.

"But you're my wife. Let me spoil you."

Only then did Bianca reluctantly curl her fingers around it.

Three days later, I was released.

No charges had been formally filed.

Of course they hadn't.

The accusation had never been about justice.

It had been a lesson.

Salvatore wanted to frighten me, punish me, and then bring me home once I'd learned to behave.

One of his men was waiting outside the precinct.

He drove me directly to the Corleone social club.

By then, I was exhausted.

Three sleepless nights had left my face pale and my body weak.

When I pushed open the door to the private lounge, laughter hit me first.

Then applause.

Salvatore was sitting in the center of the long leather sofa.

Bianca was practically in his lap.

She held a grape between her lips, laughing as Salvatore leaned toward her to take it.

The grape slipped between them.

Neither seemed to care.

Bianca caught his face and kissed him instead.

The men and women gathered around them erupted in cheers.

Someone whistled.

Someone else shouted something that made Bianca hide her face against Salvatore's shoulder, laughing.

I stood in the doorway.

No one noticed me at first.

Not even him.

Three days ago, Salvatore had watched me leave in handcuffs.

Now he was celebrating with the woman who'd put me there.

I didn't know how long I stood watching.

Eventually, Salvatore looked toward the door.

His smile disappeared.

His eyes moved over my face.

The dark circles beneath my eyes.

My bloodless lips.

The weight I'd seemed to lose in only three days.

His expression darkened immediately.

Salvatore pushed Bianca aside and stood.

"What happened to you?"

I said nothing.

He crossed the room, his brows pulling together.

"Adriana."

For the first time since I'd walked in, something close to genuine anger entered his voice.

"Did someone in there mistreat you?"

Before I could answer, Bianca gave a soft little laugh.

The private lounge fell quiet around us.

Not completely. Ice still shifted in glasses. Somewhere near the bar, a bottle touched wood with a muted click. But the men closest to Salvatore's table had all stopped talking.

Bianca tilted her head.

"She really does know how to play you."

Her eyes swept over my pale face.

"With everyone in this city knowing she's your weakness, who would dare touch her? That sickly makeup is convincing, though. Must've taken some time."

Salvatore had already started to rise.

At Bianca's words, he stopped.

For one brief second, his eyes remained on me.

I saw the doubt there.

Then Bianca leaned against him, and whatever had almost made him come toward me disappeared.

Salvatore sat back down.

He tapped a cigarette from the pack on the table. Bianca immediately picked up the lighter and held the flame beneath it for him.

He lowered his head.

The tip glowed red.

Smoke curled between us, blurring his face but not his eyes.

"Since you've had three days to think about what you did," he said, "apologize to Bianca."

I looked at him.

Then at her.

Bianca was dressed entirely in white, curled prettily against Salvatore's side with a crystal glass resting between her fingers.

"I never wanted to make things difficult for you, Miss Marchetti."

Her voice was soft.

"But you threatened my parents. They're ordinary people. They don't know anything about this world."

She lowered her eyes.

"If someone threatened your family, you'd be angry too, wouldn't you?"

Then she paused.

Her lips curved.

"Oh."

She looked back at me with exaggerated realization.

"I forgot."

Her voice grew sweeter.

"You don't have a family."

The room seemed to grow quieter.

Bianca smiled.

"Your parents abandoned you when you were little, didn't they?"

Her fingers traced the rim of her glass.

"No wonder you don't understand what it feels like to be afraid for people you love."

I said nothing.

Bianca placed her glass on the table.

Click.

"Apologize."

My gaze stayed on her for several seconds.

Then I lowered my head.

"I'm sorry."

Bianca blinked.

"That's it?"

I raised my eyes.

She reached for a bottle on the table and poured a clear spirit into a fresh glass.

Almost to the rim.

"Words are cheap."

She pushed it toward me.

"Drink."

I looked at the glass.

Then, without meaning to, I looked at Salvatore.

He knew.

Of everyone in this room, he knew best what alcohol had once done to me.

Back when Salvatore had been fighting his way up from the streets, there had been deals he couldn't attend himself and tables where no one respected a young soldier with no name.

So I had gone in his place.

I'd smiled at men I hated.

I'd raised glass after glass with capos who wouldn't talk business until everyone at the table was half-dead drunk.

I'd swallowed enough liquor to buy Salvatore time, alliances, introductions, and eventually territory.

Twice, I'd ended up unconscious afterward.

The second time, I'd woken in the back room of a safe house with Salvatore sitting beside the bed, his eyes bloodshot from not sleeping.

He had grabbed my hand so tightly it hurt.

"Never again."

His voice had cracked.

"I don't care what deal is on the table. You don't drink for me again."

After that, Salvatore wouldn't even let anyone pour wine into my glass.

He remembered all of it.

He had to.

But now he only exhaled a slow stream of smoke.

"Adriana."

His voice was almost indifferent.

"It's one glass."

I stared at him.

"Your tolerance was always better than that."

Something in my chest gave a dull, familiar ache.

Ridiculous.

After everything he'd done, some part of me had still expected him to remember.

My thumb rubbed unconsciously over the bare base of my ring finger.

There was nothing there anymore.

I picked up the glass.

And drank.

The liquor burned the moment it touched my tongue.

By the time it reached my stomach, the heat had become pain.

Sharp.

Violent.

My empty stomach twisted.

I caught the edge of the table and stumbled back half a step.

Bianca laughed.

"See? You're fine."

She pointed toward the row of bottles and glasses spread across the table.

"Since Miss Marchetti can drink so well, she can finish those too."

I looked at her.

My face had gone cold.

Bianca immediately turned toward Salvatore.

"Sal."

Her eyes reddened.

"She called me your mistress. She threatened my parents. I haven't slept properly since."

She twisted the fabric of her white sleeve around one finger.

"I know she matters to you. I know ten years means something."

Her voice trembled.

"All I want is for her to understand how badly she hurt me. Is that really too much?"

Salvatore's jaw tightened.

For a moment, he didn't answer.

His eyes moved to me again.

I could almost see the memory passing through them.

A hospital room.

My hand in his.

His voice telling me never to drink again.

Then Bianca quietly sniffed beside him.

Salvatore looked away from me.

"No."

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"It's not too much."

The last little piece of hope inside me went silent.

Salvatore crushed his cigarette into the ashtray.

"Adriana, I'm trying to put an end to this."

He sounded tired now, as though I were the one exhausting him.

"You crossed a line. Do what Bianca asks, let her get this out of her system, and then we can put the whole thing behind us."

Put it behind us.

As though there were still an "us" left.

I nodded.

"All right."

I pressed one hand against my stomach.

The pain was getting worse.

Not the familiar burn of liquor.

Something deeper.

A heavy cramp twisted low in my abdomen, sharp enough to make cold sweat gather at my temples.

I looked at the glasses.

Then at Bianca.

"A few drinks won't be enough."

She frowned.

I reached for the bottle.

"If I owe you an apology, I should make it count."

I raised it.

"I'll finish the bottle."

Something flickered across Salvatore's face.

"Adriana..."

But I was already drinking.

The liquor poured down my throat.

Once.

Twice.

I forced myself to swallow.

My stomach cramped so violently that my vision went white.

The bottle slipped from my hand.

Glass shattered across the floor.

For half a second, no one moved.

Then I doubled over.

Something hot surged up my throat.

I coughed.

Red splattered across the broken glass.

The room went silent.

Bianca recoiled.

"God."

She covered her nose and took several steps back.

Then her expression changed.

Disgust became suspicion.

"It's fake."

She stared at the blood.

"She must've hidden a blood packet somewhere."

Salvatore was already half out of his seat.

He stopped again.

His eyes went from the blood to my face.

"Adriana."

I couldn't answer.

Pain ripped through my lower abdomen.

My knees gave out.

I hit the floor.

Salvatore's face hardened, as though anger could force reality back into the shape he wanted.

"Enough."

His voice came out low.

"Stop this."

I slowly lifted my head.

He was looking at me with impatience.

Not fear.

Not yet.

"Bianca has been more than patient with you. You apologized. It's over."

He stood.

"Get up."

I didn't move.

"Adriana."

His voice sharpened.

"Get up. Now."

Then someone screamed.

A woman sitting near the end of the sofa shot to her feet so quickly that her glass overturned.

"Oh my God."

Every head turned.

Her face had gone white.

"Salvatore..."

She was staring at me.

No.

Lower.

I followed her gaze.

Blood was spreading beneath me.

Not from my mouth.

Not from broken glass.

A dark stain had begun to soak through my clothes, widening slowly between my legs.

The woman covered her mouth.

"She's bleeding."

No one spoke.

Then she whispered the words that stopped the entire room cold.

"She's pregnant."

Her voice shook.

"Salvatore, I think she's losing the baby."

The cigarette slipped from his fingers.

For the first time that day, all the arrogance vanished from his face.

The blood drained from his skin so quickly that he looked almost gray.

He stared at me.

Then at the blood beneath me.

His lips moved.

"Baby?"

I looked into his eyes.

Three days ago, I'd still had the medical report hidden in my pocket.

I'd once imagined handing it to him and watching his face light up.

I'd imagined his hands shaking.

I'd imagined him dropping to his knees in front of me, pressing his forehead to my stomach, terrified to believe that after everything we'd lost, we'd finally been given another chance.

Now I was on the floor at his feet.

And our child was leaving me in blood.

Strangely, I didn't want to cry anymore.

I smiled.

It was the first genuine smile I'd given him all day.

"You wanted me to make it up to your wife, didn't you?"

Salvatore's face went completely still.

I pressed one trembling hand against my stomach.

"Then give her this too."

His pupils contracted.

I looked at Bianca.

Then back at him.

"Your child."

My smile widened through the pain.

"I've paid her with that too."

Salvatore stopped breathing.