Chapter 2

“We were promised to each other before we could walk. Ten years bound by the oath—and you’d tear it all apart over something so petty?”

Salvatore’s voice rang out through the gathering, thick with disbelief.

“I don’t care about any other woman. As long as you’re willing to come back, I won’t hold anything against you.”

Just a few carefully chosen words, and suddenly the blame shifted. The air in the room turned hostile, the way it does at a sit-down when the wind changes and everyone senses who is about to bleed.

All eyes fell on me, sharp and accusing.

And then my father’s fist connected with my shoulder. Hard.

“So that’s it,” he shouted. “You’re renouncing the union because you’ve betrayed the bloodline! I raised a disgrace like you?”

“Ungrateful girl! Stop this nonsense before you send your father to an early grave,” my mother cried, gripping my arm. “Go home. Be a decent wife. Stay with Salvatore.”

Kin, capos, the men who’d sworn beside us at the altar—they all tried to pull me back.

Even Salvatore, now in tears, fell to his knees and begged.

But my heart had long gone cold. I shoved him away, my voice firm and steady.

“Let go. I don’t love you anymore.”

He stared at me as if I’d stabbed him.

“What… what did you say?” he whispered, his voice cracking.

The entire room went silent. Not a glass moved. Not one soldier along the wall shifted his weight.

Salvatore broke down sobbing, louder this time, desperate and messy. I turned to leave.

But he scrambled up and grabbed me again, crushing me in his arms.

“Don’t go, Adriana, please don’t. It’s all my fault, I’ll change, I swear. Just give me another chance. Don’t leave me.”

Then his older brother stepped into my path, blocking the door the way an enforcer blocks a debtor.

“Adriana, are you out of your mind?” he snapped. “Apologize to Salvatore!”

“You’ve been bound together for over a decade. How can you be so heartless? From the schoolyard to the blood-union—it took eight years to build this life. Have you forgotten all of it?”

“And what about the child? You’re really willing to let your own blood grow up without a father?”

The room exploded again as the news of my pregnancy hit them.

My parents rushed to stop me, their faces pale.

“You’re carrying and still want to sever the oath? Where’s your conscience?”

I wrestled free from their grip, my jaw clenched, my tone defiant.

“I’ll raise the child myself. The union is already broken.”

My mother recoiled like I’d slapped her.

“You’ve wanted a child for years! And now, when you’re finally carrying one, this is how you act?”

Her words struck something deep.

Yes, I had wanted a child. Desperately. From twenty to thirty, I dreamed of a family—of hearing a small voice call me “Mamma.”

But every time I brought it up, Salvatore shut me down. Or worse, pretended to try, only to sabotage things behind my back.

We lost two before they ever drew breath. Both in “accidents.”

And I finally understood: he never wanted a child with me.

Now I just wanted out. For good.

The noise must have carried through the walls of the estate—because Bianca Vitale, the widow living under the Family’s protection next door, walked in holding her baby.

She didn’t say a word about the chaos around us. She went straight to Salvatore and handed him the child.

He took the baby automatically, gently, like it was his own.

The way he looked at her daughter… it was a softness I had never seen in his eyes when he looked at me.

My chest tightened. I staggered slightly, dizzy with pain.

We had once had children—twice. But they never made it.

Bianca turned to me politely, her sympathetic smile holding a moment longer than it should have.

“Adriana, I didn’t mean to cause trouble. I heard everything just now.”

“If it’s awkward, I can find a new place today and take my daughter with me. I don’t want to come between you two.”

Salvatore frowned, glancing at her in panic. He smoothed the front of his jacket with both palms, that small vanity dressed up as composure.

“No—there’s no need for that. I’m just helping you out. It’s nothing serious.”

Then he turned to me, his voice laced with irritation and guilt.

“Adriana, stop projecting your anger onto other people. You just got out of the hospital—can you stop overreacting?”