No Longer His Puppet

"You're the Donna, but the rules still apply."

Matteo stood by the bed, unbuttoning his suit cuff.

"Marta was just following my rules. Don't give her a hard time."

"Relax. I'll give you security clearance from now on."

I laid the child back on the bed carefully and said nothing.

Matteo pressed down the flicker of impatience in his eyes and softened his tone.

"I was in Mexico negotiating business. That's why I had you go through Marta."

"Late nights are the most dangerous. You never know if someone entering the estate is carrying a gun."

"Good thing you had enough sense not to keep making a scene."

He reached out and stroked my hair.

Gentle. Proper.

Like rewarding a dog that had finally stopped struggling.

I tilted my head away.

Three days ago, if he'd been willing to hear me out, maybe I would have stayed for the baby's sake.

But he didn't.

That night at eleven, the baby's forehead was burning up.

The thermometer read a hundred and four.

Marta rejected my request again and again.

"Claire, anyone entering the estate at night needs prior security clearance."

She tucked a stray strand behind her ear and smiled sweetly.

"It's the Don's rule. I hope you understand."

I held my burning child close and begged, humiliated:

"It's an emergency. Sandro's fever won't come down. I need a doctor now..."

Marta frowned and cut me off.

"Rules are rules. You want a doctor, you give me the security clearance report."

"You have no paperwork right now. I can't approve anything."

Only two people had the authority to approve security clearance reports.

Matteo and Marta.

I called Matteo.

After three rejected calls, he finally picked up.

"I'm in a meeting. Can't you just go to Marta?"

Sandro suddenly curled up in my arms, a thin, weak whimper slipping from his throat.

"Matteo, Sandro has a fever. I need—"

"Enough! I really don't have time right now!"

Matteo cut me off harshly. "Something this small, go to Marta."

Then he hung up.

The busy tone droned on, one beep after another, like an echo from the abyss.

And I kept falling through it.

I grabbed Sandro and ran out into the night.

Sitting in the rideshare, I bit down hard on my lip.

Who would believe it. The Donna of the Vitale family, taking an Uber to get her child medical care.

I pressed my face against Sandro's burning forehead, memories flashing before my eyes.

Ever since I got pregnant, Marta had been stripping away my power, piece by piece.

My schedule, my guards, every single thing about my child had to go through her.

She always pointed out my mistakes with a smile.

"Schedule times need to be down to the minute. Fill it out again."

"The family can't spare anyone today. No security personnel available."

"Sandro's birthday gift isn't quite right. Pick another one."

She always parroted Matteo's favorite line, "rules are rules," and found every excuse to make things hard for me.

Then she watched me grovel and scramble.

And Matteo always took her side, blaming me for being disorganized.

This time was no different.

The rideshare driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror. "Ma'am, don't worry. Your kid's gonna be fine."

In an instant, my tears came flooding out.

All those tears I'd forced back so hard, defeated by one simple comfort.

Because that comfort came from a kind stranger.

Not from Matteo.

"The banquet's tomorrow night. Have you picked a dress?"

Matteo's voice pulled me back to the present.

I avoided his burning gaze.

He didn't know I wouldn't be at that banquet.

Just moments ago, I'd booked a flight to San Francisco.

In twelve hours, the plane would take off.

I tucked the blanket around Sandro and said casually, "Anything works."

Matteo seemed caught off guard by my answer.

He studied me for a moment, his brows drawing together slightly.

"My Donna's upset," he said, pinching my cheek. "Let's pick one together, okay?"

I was about to refuse when the butler hurried into the room:

"Don. Donna. The consigliere, Marta, requests an audience."