Chapter 3

Hearing Dominic's words, a flicker of unease crossed Bianca's delicate face. She shrank her neck slightly, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as she fell silent.

Bitterness welled inside Adriana, familiar enough now to feel almost like an old companion. Half a year ago, Bianca had suddenly returned after years spent somewhere across the water. Dominic told Adriana she was all alone, with nowhere to go, no Family left to answer for her. Without even a word to her, he brought her inside the walls of the Moretti compound, past men who lowered their eyes when she passed, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

At first, Adriana did not object. In their world, a woman accepted beneath a Don's protection became untouchable inside his gates; insulting her meant insulting the protection itself. Adriana made sure Bianca had a place at Sunday dinner, a guarded car when she left the compound, and the courtesy owed to a guest sheltered by the Moretti name. She wanted to be gracious. She wanted to be the Donna the Family expected beside its Don.

Until the night everything changed. Bianca lifted a glass of red wine, poured it over herself, then dropped to her knees on the marble in front of Adriana, trembling and pleading for mercy. Her voice was so soft, so pitiful, that any soldier standing at the door would have sworn Adriana had been tormenting her for days.

From that moment on, the way Dominic looked at her shifted. That night, he didn't even give her a chance to explain. His fury came without a raised voice, which in a man like him was worse than any shout, and before she understood what was happening, she was dragged to the attic above the old wing and locked inside. He left her there, hungry and freezing, for three full days. When he finally came back, his voice was colder than she'd ever heard it.

"Adriana, you've really disappointed me," he said, his gaze filled with disgust. "You have no idea what Bianca means to me. If you dare lay a hand on her again, wife or not, I'll make you pay the debt in full."

After that, incidents like that kept happening—small, carefully staged moments where Bianca was the victim and Adriana was the cruel villain. Each one chipped away at Dominic's patience, until his eyes held nothing but icy contempt whenever he looked at Adriana.

Adriana had planned to endure it, at least until the baby was born. Once their child arrived safely, she was going to ask him to end the union and slip away quietly. But before she could, Bianca threw herself from a rooftop.

The reason for it? Hateful messages and vicious voice recordings—supposedly from her.

The words were brutal, cruel enough to drive anyone to the edge. But they were not Adriana's. No matter how desperately she pleaded, Dominic did not believe her. All he could see was Bianca's pale, trembling form lying in a hospital bed, her tears falling one after another. His heart ached so much for her, his eyes turned red with rage.

Even with their baby almost ready to be born, his only thought was avenging his beloved.

"Don Moretti... the Donna, she... She seems... You should go see for yourself."

Dominic's fingers froze around the pen in his hand. His brow furrowed, his expression a mix of irritation and indifference. "She's still throwing a tantrum after all this time?"

The young soldier hesitated, his hands nervously clasped together. After several seconds of silence, he finally forced it out. "No, sir... It's not that. It's just... the Donna, she seems to have stopped breathing."

Dominic's large hands, the ones that had been tenderly holding Bianca only moments ago, stiffened. For a moment there was silence—too long to be casual, too short to mean anything real. Then a cold, careless laugh escaped his throat.

"She's really going that far to get out of an apology? Playing dead, just to avoid facing Bianca?"

His voice sharpened. "Tell her—even if she's dying, she apologizes first. If she refuses, don't let her say I didn't warn her."

The young soldier's forehead glistened with sweat. He wanted to say something more, but the fury on Dominic's face nailed the words in his throat. In the end, all he could do was back away, quiet as a man leaving a wake.

In Dominic's arms, Bianca tilted her head, her innocent eyes wide with concern. A tear slipped free almost before the worry finished crossing her face, and her gaze flicked once to the side, checking, before it fell.

"Dominic, maybe you should let it go," she whispered. "Even if Adriana doesn't like me and makes things hard, she's still your wife. As long as I can stay at your side, I can bear it."

Dominic's arm tightened around her slender waist, pulling her closer, the gesture of a man marking what was his.

"Bianca, you don't need to fear that petty woman. Adriana's not even worth your concern." His voice softened into something almost gentle. "This time, I'll see that she learns her lesson. Only then will she understand her place."

"But..."

"No buts. Just trust me."

A teardrop landed on the back of her hand, cold and weightless, yet cutting deeper than any blade. That was when she realized—she was already crying.

So even souls can feel pain.

Dominic said nothing more after that, but for the rest of the afternoon his mind was elsewhere. His fingers drummed restlessly against the desk, and every few minutes his eyes flicked toward the door. By the time an hour had passed, he had glanced over more than ten times.

Finally, with a frustrated breath, he shut his laptop with a snap. He dragged a hand through his hair, then forced a gentle smile onto his face and stroked Bianca's hair.

"I don't know what game Adriana's playing this time," he said softly, "but I'll go drag her back to apologize myself."

At the gates of the abandoned amusement grounds, Dominic's long strides carried him forward, impatience radiating off him like heat. Even from a distance, his sharp gaze locked onto the old water tower ride.

Its frame gleamed coldly in the sunlight—but the ground beneath it was soaked in red.