Chapter 3

The procedure took forty-five minutes.

The aftermath would last forever.

I woke up in the recovery room alone, the pain in my abdomen nothing compared to the hollowness in my chest.

It's done.

The baby is gone.

Lorenzo's child—our child—erased like it never existed.

The nurse came in with medication and discharge papers, her eyes carefully avoiding mine.

"You'll need to rest for at least two weeks," she said mechanically. "No strenuous activity. Follow up in—"

"I know the drill." I signed the papers with a shaking hand.

She left without another word, and I was grateful.

I didn't want sympathy from strangers.

I didn't want anything except to leave this place and never come back.

My phone buzzed as I dressed—seventeen missed calls from my mother, three from my father, and nothing from Lorenzo.

Of course he hasn't called.

He's probably too busy playing father-to-be with Giulia.

I opened my social media out of masochistic curiosity.

The first post on my feed made me stop breathing.

Lorenzo and Giulia, photographed in front of the Benedetti family crest, his hand on her stomach, both of them smiling like they'd won the lottery.

The caption: "The next generation of Benedetti power. #BlessedFamily #MafiaHeir"

Ten thousand likes in two hours.

Comments flooded in from family associates, rival families, even politicians in our pocket.

"Congratulations to the future Don!"

"The Benedetti bloodline continues strong!"

"What about his wife?"

That last comment had been deleted, but not before I'd seen it.

I scrolled further and found more posts—Giulia being welcomed to family gatherings, Giulia trying on designer maternity clothes gifted by Lorenzo's mother, Giulia touring the Benedetti mansion.

The mansion where I'm supposed to live.

My home.

My phone rang—my mother-in-law, Donatella Benedetti.

I almost didn't answer, but refusing a call from her was political suicide.

"Alessia." Her voice was cold, formal. "We're having a family dinner tonight. Eight o'clock. Don't be late."

"Donatella, I'm not feeling well—"

"I didn't ask how you felt." The steel in her voice cut through my excuses. "You're still a Benedetti wife. You will attend. Wear something appropriate."

She hung up before I could respond.

A summons, not an invitation.

I looked down at my hospital gown, at the medication bag the nurse had given me, at the discharge instructions warning against stress.

Two hours post-procedure, and I'm being ordered to a family dinner.

But I knew what this was.

This wasn't dinner.

This was an execution.

---

I arrived at the Benedetti mansion at 7:55 PM, dressed in a black Valentino dress that hid the pain I was in.

The foyer was filled with family members I recognized—underbosses, consiglieri, Lorenzo's cousins who circled power like sharks.

And in the center of it all, holding court like a queen, was Giulia.

She wore cream silk that draped over her belly, diamonds at her throat—Benedetti family diamonds that I'd never been offered.

Lorenzo stood beside her, his hand possessively on her waist.

He saw me enter and his expression hardened.

No guilt. No shame. Just cold dismissal.

"Alessia," Donatella appeared at my elbow, her grip on my arm tight enough to bruise. "Come. Dinner is about to start."

She led me to the dining room, and I saw it immediately.

My usual seat—at Lorenzo's right hand, the position of honor for the Don's wife—was occupied.

By Giulia.

"There's been a rearrangement," Donatella said smoothly, guiding me to a seat at the far end of the table, between Lorenzo's youngest cousin and an accountant I'd never met.

The message is clear.

I've been demoted.

Lorenzo took his place at the head of the table, Giulia radiant beside him, and raised his glass.

"Thank you all for coming," he said, his voice carrying the authority of the future Don. "We have important news to share."

Giulia placed her hand over his, her smile triumphant.

"As you all know," Lorenzo continued, "the Benedetti family is entering a new Chapter. Giulia is carrying my son—"

"You don't know it's a boy yet," I said quietly.

The table went silent.

Lorenzo's eyes found mine, cold as winter.

"The doctors confirmed it this afternoon," he said. "A son. A Benedetti heir."

The table erupted in congratulations, glasses clinking, voices raised in celebration.

I sat frozen, watching this pantomime of family unity.

Donatella stood, commanding silence with just her presence.

"The Benedetti family has always valued one thing above all else," she announced, her eyes sweeping the table. "Legacy. Bloodline. Power."

She turned to Giulia, her expression warming.

"Giulia carries the future of this family in her womb. She has given us what we need most—continuity."

She's not even trying to hide it.

"Therefore," Donatella continued, "I'm inviting Giulia to take her rightful place in the Benedetti household. She will move into the family wing next week."

Applause rippled through the room.

I looked at Lorenzo, waiting for him to object, to remember that he was still married to me.

But he was smiling at Giulia, his expression soft in a way it hadn't been with me in years.

"Alessia." Donatella's voice snapped my attention back. "Do you have any objections?"

Every eye in the room turned to me.

This was the test.

Object, and I'd be branded as the bitter, jealous wife trying to harm the family's future.

Accept, and I'd be signing my own death warrant as Lorenzo's wife.

Either way, I lose.

Unless I changed the game entirely.

I stood, my movements deliberate and calm despite the screaming pain in my abdomen.

"I have no objections," I said clearly.

Shocked murmurs ran through the crowd.

Lorenzo's eyes narrowed, suspicious of my compliance.

Giulia's smile faltered, as if she'd been expecting a fight.

"In fact," I continued, my voice steady, "I think it's a wonderful idea. Giulia should absolutely be close to the family. She'll need all the support she can get."

I picked up my wine glass—untouched, because I couldn't drink with the medication in my system.

"To the future of the Benedetti family," I said, raising it high. "May you all get exactly what you deserve."

I drank, the wine bitter on my tongue, and set the glass down with a sharp click.

Then I walked out of the dining room, my head high, my spine straight.

Behind me, confused whispers erupted.

Let them wonder.

Let them worry.

I'd just declared war in the most polite way possible.

And none of them even realized it yet.