Chapter 3

I lowered my eyes, ended the call, and turned to face him.

“A friend is getting married,” I lied smoothly, my voice completely dead.

Maxim stared at me for a few seconds.

The suspicion faded.

He walked into the room, a mocking smile on his lips.

“You always did love a grand affair,” he remarked.

My heart plunged into ice water.

Yes, I did.

And he never gave me one.

Three years ago, he proposed in a messy bed after sex.

I said yes, overjoyed.

He promised me a proper proposal.

Our wedding was in a tiny, remote chapel.

No guests. No flowers.

He promised me a grand wedding later.

I’d asked him why he kept me a secret from the family.

He’d held me, his voice full of regret.

He said he’d just taken over as Don. His position was weak.

He was afraid putting me in the spotlight would make me a target for his enemies.

All of it was a lie. All of it was to clear the way for Isla.

He promised that after our child was born, he would introduce me as his Donna at the family banquet in three days.

The banquet is in three days.

My child is a corpse.

I looked away.

If I looked at his face one second longer, I might grab the scissors on the table and jam them into his throat.

“What do you want?” I asked.

Maxim stopped in front of me.

“The family banquet in three days is still on,” he ordered. “I want you to prepare the house. We’re throwing a party for Isla. As my wife, you should be the one to arrange it.”

So cruel.

He was making a mother who just lost her child throw a party for the woman who had him killed for his organs.

I closed my eyes. I said nothing.

Maxim thought I was resisting.

His voice softened. He reached out and touched my cheek.

I fought the urge to vomit. I didn’t pull away.

“Sera, I know you’re hurting.” His voice was a hypocrite’s comfort, but his eyes held a look of what he thought was deep love. “But Isla is very sick. She’s dying. I’m just lending her the title of Donna, even giving her a child, to repay the debt I owe her for taking that bullet.”

“When she’s gone, Leo will be ours.” Maxim stroked my cheek, his eyes burning with a twisted sincerity. “Seraphina, you’re the one I’ve always loved. We’ll have our own children later. Everything will go back to the way it was. We’ll be happy again.”

What a performance.

I looked at him.

I forced a smile. The gentle, understanding smile he knew so well.

“Okay,” I said softly. “I’ll throw her the most unforgettable party.”

Maxim looked surprised.

He’d expected a fight. Tears. Hysterics he would have to patiently put down.

But he smiled, satisfied.

He accepted my obedience without question.

“You’re always so reasonable.” He placed a light kiss on my forehead. “I’m going upstairs to be with Isla. You get some rest.”

The door closed again.

His footsteps faded away.

I raised my hand and scrubbed at my forehead.

Scrubbed until the skin was raw and red.

I changed out of the blood-stained gown and checked myself out of the hospital.

Outside, the cold Chicago wind hit me.

The stitches in my abdomen ached. I touched my empty belly.

No more fluttering kicks.

My eyes were cold.

I hailed a cab and gave the address of a private club downtown.

Not Volkov territory.

Ricci territory.

In a top-floor cigar lounge, Matteo Vitale, the Ricci family’s Consigliere, was waiting.

He wore a perfect three-piece suit, his temples gray, his eyes sharp.

He stood as I entered, bowing his head slightly.

“Signorina.”

I pulled out a chair and sat.

“Matteo, I need you to prepare several documents. Today.” I got straight to the point.

“As you wish.”

“First, draw up the divorce papers. Second, dissolve every joint asset. Liquidate everything under my name. I don’t want the Volkovs getting a single dime.”

Matteo didn’t ask why. He just nodded. “Understood. It will be ready by tonight.”

“And one last thing.”

I leaned back, my fingers tapping the table.

“Start the legal process immediately. I want the identity of ‘Seraphina Volkov’ legally erased.”

Matteo looked up, a flicker of awe and excitement in his eyes.

“Reinstate my legal name,” I said, each word deliberate. “I am Seraphina Ricci.”

Three years.

I hid my claws. I hid my fangs. I played the part of a ghost wife to a mafia don.

And in return, they bled me dry and sacrificed my child.

“It will all be done as you wish, Signorina,” Matteo said, closing his notebook. “And the party in three days…?”

I turned to the window.

The Chicago skyline was dark and heavy. A storm was coming.

A three-year marriage. I would bury it myself in three days.

“Prepare the party as planned.”

My voice was a whisper.

In three days, Seraphina Volkov will disappear.

And their perfect little world will get its first crack.