Chapter 3

That night, Vincent didn’t come home. I didn’t call to ask where he was. I didn’t need to. The answer was on Serafina’s Instagram.

She had posted a photo. After they left that private clinic in the afternoon, they had gone directly to the Rosi family estate at Forest Lake to announce the pregnancy to her family.

In the photo, the godfather of the Rosi family—a man whose name alone struck fear throughout Chicago’s underworld—was holding Vincent’s hand warmly, saying something to him. Vincent’s other hand rested gently on Serafina’s still-flat stomach, his face lit up with a genuine smile I had never seen before.

In the five years we had been together, Vincent had only accompanied me to my family’s home once, and that was after we got engaged. Even though it was less than a thirty-minute drive between our homes, he had never gone voluntarily. He said he didn’t like being around “ordinary” families; it made him uncomfortable.

Even that one time, he had been polite but distant, like a king surveying his territory. In the photo, however, he was the complete opposite: warm, at ease, fully immersed with the Rosi family. It was a side of him I had never been allowed to see.

I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat and turned off my phone.

The next day, I met a few friends from college at a café in Lincoln Park to tell them the wedding was off.

Vincent hadn’t wanted a wedding in the first place. He thought it was nothing more than a meaningless show, a performance staged for the public eye. But I had insisted, and he had reluctantly agreed to a grand ceremony at Holy Name Cathedral, inviting all the “necessary” people.

Everyone knew how much I loved Vincent, so when I told my friends the wedding was canceled, they were stunned.

“Are you crazy, Eleanor? Haven’t you loved Vincent Moretti for years? You’re finally about to become the mistress of the Moretti family, and now you’re just letting it go?” My best friend Chloe grabbed my hand, disbelief written all over her face.

A tangle of bitter emotions churned inside me. Let go? Of course, I didn’t want to let go.

I had spent twenty years chasing after Vincent, waiting for the day he would finally agree to let me stand beside him.

How could I possibly walk away from a love that had defined my entire youth?

But the truth was, this relationship had never been equal. From the very beginning, it was always me chasing after Vincent. He had never stopped for me, not even once.

I used to think it didn’t matter. I believed that since I had managed to spend twenty years getting him to agree to marry me, surely I could eventually win his heart. It was just a matter of time.

After marriage, we’d have a lifetime together. I could wait—for the day he would finally open his heart to me.

But everything changed six months ago when Serafina appeared.

That was when I realized Vincent wasn’t a block of unyielding ice to everyone. Around Serafina, his eyes were always gentle, his smiles genuine, something he had never offered me.

At first, I comforted myself by thinking that he was only kind to her because she had saved his life. It was just the mafia’s code of honor, a debt to be repaid.

But then I learned about her cancer diagnosis. And when Vincent agreed to have a child with her—a Moretti heir—I could no longer lie to myself. He had even pretended to seek my approval, though Serafina was already pregnant by then.

In that moment, I knew there was no future for us. No matter how deeply these twenty years of love were etched into my heart, I had to cut it out like a festering wound.

I didn’t tell my friends the real reason. I simply said I was about to join a confidential project and wouldn’t be able to stay in touch for a long time. To make up for it, I stayed with them, chatting until late into the night before heading home.

When I returned to our penthouse at the top of the Hancock Center, Vincent had just arrived as well.

He caught a whiff of the alcohol on me and immediately frowned, stepping back to put distance between us. His hand lifted instinctively, and his voice carried undisguised disgust.

“Stay away from me. Don’t get that smell on me.”

I let out a bitter laugh. He was probably worried about carrying the scent back to Serafina. After all, she was pregnant now—precious beyond words. He couldn’t even be bothered to hide it anymore.

Still, since he hadn’t openly confronted me, I wasn’t going to bring it up either. I said nothing and walked straight into the bathroom to take a shower.

When I came out, Vincent was sitting on the couch, smiling at something on his tablet. I glanced at him briefly, then turned to go to the bedroom, but he suddenly called out to me.

“Eleanor,” he said, his voice calm and commanding, as always. “We need to talk.”

I stopped in my tracks. The last time he had said those words was a month ago, when he first brought up the idea of having a child with Serafina. We had fought about it for weeks.

Now that she was already pregnant, what else was there left to talk about?