Chapter 2

When I was about to fall asleep that night, I heard the soft click of the door lock.

The thought that Rafael might be back surprised me a little.

Standing by the bedroom door, I listened to the soft sounds coming from the kitchen.

Lately, he'd started doing this. He'd suddenly return home, fuss around in the kitchen, and hurriedly slip out with some deliciously cooked food.

Once, I caught the sweet aroma drifting from the oven and thought he had a surprise for me.

"What are you making?" I asked and curiously peered.

He didn't even look up as his hands swiftly packed the lemon tarts straight out of the oven into a box. "Natalia said she was craving this."

He assembled the box carefully and even tied a perfect bow with a ribbon.

"I'm hungry too." I stared at the golden crust and gulped.

He paused and then remembered my love for lemon tarts too. "Shall I get Susan to make you something? Or could you order in?"

After he left, Susan Barlowe made me a plate of over-salted pasta.

And now, I was no longer curious about what the midnight treats were and who they were for.

My throat felt a little dry, so I got up and headed to the kitchen to get a glass of water.

In the kitchen, the air was heavy with the rich sweetness of coffee, cocoa, and mascarpone. He was making tiramisu.

He layered biscuits, soaked them in a coffee liqueur mixture, spread the cream, and dusted cocoa powder on top. He was so focused that he didn't even notice me standing at the door until I fetched a glass.

"Gianna?" He spun around and instinctively shielded the counter with his body. "Aren't you asleep yet?"

"Just thirsty," I said flatly.

"This…" He glanced at the tiramisu and panicked as if I might rush over and shove it into my mouth. "You can't eat this! There's coffee liqueur and raw egg in here. It's bad for the baby!"

Sensing his panic, I almost laughed. Three months ago, when I had terrible morning sickness, he hadn't poured me so much as a glass of water. And now, he was fussing over Natalia's dessert.

"Relax. I'm not interested in your sweets," I commented as I dried my hands.

He opened his mouth to explain, but his phone rang with a call, and Natalia's name blinked on the screen.

"Rafael, I think I have a fever…" her weak voice came through.

Rafael's expression twisted with an annoyed frown on his brows, yet his gaze softened. "You took those random pills again, didn't you? Hang in there. I'm coming."

After hanging up, he packed the tiramisu in a box with practiced ease. When tying the ribbon, he went the extra mile to fix the curve of the bow.

"Do you remember tonight's supposed to be our wedding night?" I suddenly asked, my heart tight with the last shred of hope.

"Don't start," he said without looking up. "It's Natalia's birthday, and someone has to keep her company."

"This is the 17th time." I could hear a tremor in my voice.

He finally looked up at me with the same tired conflict in his eyes. "Please, Gianna. You know Antonio…"

"...asked you to protect her." I finished for him and smiled. "Go. Don't keep her waiting."

When his car pulled away, I checked my phone and noticed that Natalia had posted five minutes ago.

"Running a fever at 103 degrees Fahrenheit, but Rafael promised me a surprise!"

The picture showed a thermometer at 98 degrees Fahrenheit.

As I set the phone down, my mind drifted back to three years ago when I met Rafael for the first time.

Mafias from the North and South gathered in Montrava to negotiate, and I was there as the Northern financial advisor.

When Rafael burst in with his Southern men, all the bodyguards drew guns.

He walked straight to me, dropped to one knee under their watchful stares, and pressed a golden revolver into my hands.

Looking up at me, his emerald-green eyes were alight with a love-at-first-sight awe. "Gianna Rossetti, there's a bullet in here. If I ever cheat on you, use it."

The room erupted in gasps. Father smashed a glass in fury, while the Southern elders called him reckless and insane.

But I understand the weight of that gesture. It meant placing the Don of Southern Silenzio's life in the hands of the enemy.

Later, he told me Antonio nearly lost his mind over it and raged that he'd handed the symbol of Southern Silenzio's power to the heir of their Northern rivals. But he just shrugged and dismissively said, "We'll be family anyway."

Back then, Natalia was just an inconvenience to him. Whenever she was brought up, he'd always seem annoyed. "Antonio's daughter is a dead weight I can't shake off."

The first time I saw her was at our engagement party. Standing in the corner, she was dressed in a white chiffon dress, looking pale and demure.

"That's Natalia?" I nudged Rafael's elbow.

He didn't even glance her way. "Yeah. Should've stayed home if she's so sickly and fragile. Annoying as hell."

Then, he snapped his fingers for an attendant. "Bring that lady in the corner a blanket and some warm milk."

Later, I noticed that their dynamic was a contradictory mix of annoyance and devotion.

"Natalia's too needy," he'd complain, but memorize every allergy she had.

"She's such a pain," he'd grumble, but he was the first to arrive whenever she was hospitalized.

"Can't you be independent and thoughtful of others for once?" That was the sentence he'd always say before leaving our wedding and running to her side.

My phone rang sharply and yanked me back to the present. It was Bianca Spade, one of my few friends who knew everything, and the Principessa of a family in the North.

Her voice was sharp with rage. "Gianna, did you see that bitch's new post? Why is Rafael there when you're having your wedding today? Has he gone off to that sick bitch's birthday when he's supposed to be with you for your wedding night!

"And he made tiramisu for her! Did he ever make you anything?"

I stayed silent and could feel my fingers go cold.

"Gianna? Say something! Don't tell me you let it slide again!" Bianca panicked.

"There's no wedding night, Bianca. The wedding's off," I calmly announced.

The line went dead for two seconds as if Bianca's legendary temper was plugged. Then, a sharp inhale followed.

"He did it again? During the vows?"

"Yes."

Her voice pitched high in rage and disbelief. "17 times, Gianna! And you're pregnant!

"What does Rafael think he's doing? Is she really his sister?"

"Not by blood. She's Antonio Sullivan's daughter." I corrected her in a flat voice.

She cursed. "Fuck Antonio! Does his dying wish mean you have to waste your whole life paying for it?

"You're a Rossetti, Gianna. Since when are you this subservient?"

"I'm done groveling," I declared and looked at my pale, tired, but unshakably steady expression in the mirror. "Bianca, do me a favor."

"What?"

I calmly said, "Find me an ob-gyn. After the abortion, I'm going back to Montrava."