Chapter 2.

Adriana's POV.

"What do you mean you’re not the father? You’re my husband!” I shouted, my voice breaking.

Vincent’s face twisted with anger. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” he snapped.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I fired back, my chest heaving.

“Luca, Adriana! My own brother. You let him touch you?” His voice cracked, equal parts fury and pain.

I froze. Behind him, I saw Stella, arms crossed, a crooked smile playing on her lips like she was enjoying every second of this.

“You,” I hissed. Rage burned through me as I lunged at her. “You planned this, didn’t you? You wanted to break us!”

Vincent caught me mid-strike, pulling me back and holding me by my throat. I coughed and he let me go. My tears came fast, hot and unstoppable.

I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. I ran down the hallway and into the guest room slamming the door shut and locking it behind me. The silence hit harder than their words.

Everything was unraveling.

****

The next morning, I left without saying a word. I needed space. I needed something that felt familiar—even if it was broken too.

When I stepped into my family estate, the guards opened the doors without question. Cold marble floors stretched beneath my feet. The quiet here wasn’t peaceful, it was controlled.

A maid took my coat silently and led me to the living room.

My father was already seated, cigar in hand, a glass of something dark resting on the table beside him.

He didn’t look up.

“Adriana,” he said. “Why are you here?”

“I needed to come home.” Stupid of me to think he’d be pleased to see me.

His eyes lifted to meet mine, calm, sharp and unreadable. “I hope you haven’t done anything stupid, did you and Vincent fight?”

I didn’t answer.

He exhaled smoke slowly. “I don’t care what happened, fix it.”

I blinked. “Really, Papa? Just like that? No how are you, nothing at all.”

“You’re a Russo. You know better than to let emotions make you weak. Go back and fix whatever it is. We don’t fall apart over personal drama.”

My heart sank. I should’ve known better, softness had no place in my father’s world.

He wasn’t just a man. He was Alessandro Russo—cold, ruthless, and feared. And unfortunately, my father.

We were never close. My mother died giving birth to me, and since then, it’s like he’s blamed me for it. Sometimes I wonder if he sees my face and sees what he lost.

“I’m your only child,” I snapped. “You haven’t seen me in months and this is how you speak to me?”

He didn’t even blink. Just poured himself a drink, calm and dismissive. “You’re acting like a civilian, Adriana. We don’t do emotions in this family.”

I turned and walked away before I said something I couldn’t take back. My heels echoed down the marble hallway as I stormed upstairs to my old bedroom, the only place in the estate untouched by blood or deals.

I curled up on the edge of the bed, hugging a pillow to my chest as tears soaked through the fabric. My mind drifted to the night that had changed everything.

It was supposed to be a girls’ night. Stella said I needed to loosen up, get drunk, forget about Vincent and his cold stares. So we went out. Loud music. Blinding lights. Vodka shots I didn’t count. I laughed more than I should have. I drank past the point of good judgment.

And then I came home.

I remembered struggling with my heels, the way my dress clung to my skin as I stumbled through the door. And he was there. Luca Moretti, he had been away on business trip for months. I wondered what he was doing here, this wasn’t his side of the mansion, he shouldn’t be here but I was too drunk to care. I stared at him. Dark, dangerous, and way too calm for 2 a.m. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, tie loosened.

“You’re drunk,” he said, leaning against the kitchen counter, that cocky smirk on his face.

“Thanks for the observation, genius,” I muttered.

I should’ve walked away.

He offered water. I took whiskey. He sat close and I could tell he had drank a lot as well. I didn’t move. I couldn’t.

Something about Luca was magnetic, unapologetically confident, effortlessly seductive. He wasn’t like Vincent.

Luca was chaos. And that night, I was too weak to resist chaos.

“You ever wonder what your life would’ve been like if it wasn’t him?” he asked.

I should’ve ignored him. I didn’t.

“I wonder that every damn day,” I whispered.

One look turned into a touch. A touch became a kiss. And I couldn’t control what happened next.

The next morning, I woke up with shame crawling over my skin. I couldn’t look at him. I didn’t say a word. I just left.

I thought the guilt would fade. It didn’t.

And worse? I told Stella. I told her everything, trusting her like the sister I never had. She promised it stayed between us but she lied, she told him and now everything was over.

Suddenly, the door slammed open.

“Adriana! Adriana,” my father barked.

I shot up from the bed. His face was a mask of rage. “Vincent called and he demanded you come back home. Don’t you dare disgrace this family with your drama and expect sympathy?

I didn’t even bother to argue because he wasn’t the kind of man to listen.

“You know what’s at stake. You married a Moretti to unite power, not fall in love like some schoolgirl. You fix this now or you’re not my daughter.”

It already felt like I wasn’t his daughter but I’d still do anything to get his approval.

He slammed the door behind him.

I stared at the closed door. My chest tight. My throat raw.

I pressed my hand to my stomach.

This world doesn’t forgive mistakes. And now I was carrying one.