Chapter 4

The days that followed were a living hell.

The abandoned church was in disrepair. The New York winter wind cut through the cracks in the stained-glass windows like razors against my skin.

I was forced to kneel for hours every day on the cold stone floor. The only food was stale bread. The water tasted of rust.

At night, I curled up on a straw mat under the altar, the stone floor leaching the warmth from my body.

On the third night, a high fever took hold. A dull ache pulsed deep in my lower abdomen, forcing me to curl into a ball.

"Baby..." I caressed my stomach, tears falling onto the dusty stone tiles. "Just hold on a little longer."

My vision blurred from the fever. Waves of cramping pain tore at my sanity. Cold sweat soaked my silk nightgown, clinging to my burning skin.

"Please..." I crawled toward the heavy oak door, my nails scraping desperately against the wood. "Let me see a doctor..."

The old capo assigned to guard me answered from outside the door, his voice flat. "Donna, the Don gave orders. He said you would use any excuse to try and escape. I can't defy a direct order."

"I'm not lying!" My voice was so hoarse I could taste blood. "I'm sick... Please..."

The heavy iron lock turned, and the door opened. The old capo stood silhouetted against the light, flanked by two expressionless soldati.

"Take the Donna back," he said flatly.

Two soldati grabbed me and roughly dragged me back toward the altar. I struggled, but they held me fast.

"You can't do this!" I cried out. "I'm carrying the Carbone heir! The baby!"

The old capo didn't even blink. "Donna, do not speak such nonsense. The Don instructed us that you are skilled at using lies to gain sympathy."

I was thrown back onto the cold straw mat. My shoulder slammed against the stone, and my vision went black.

"Watch her," the old capo ordered coldly. "Tomorrow, she kneels again."

The door closed, the sound of the heavy lock clicking into place sharp and final.

I hugged my arms, my body temperature dropping in the darkness.

"Baby..." I weakly caressed my stomach, my tears soaking the straw mat. "I'm sorry... Mama can't protect you..."

My consciousness began to slip. The last thing I saw was the broken face of the Holy Mother on the domed ceiling.

I don't know how much time passed. When I thought I would die there, the door finally opened.

Elio walked in, a silhouette against the light. He looked at me, emaciated and curled in the corner, and his brow furrowed. A flicker of compassion crossed his face before it was masked by indifference.

He looked at me, his hand starting to reach out before it stopped abruptly midair.

"Eleonora, had enough already?"

He knelt on one knee, his long fingers, usually so aggressive, now surprisingly gentle as he cupped my cold face.

His rough thumb brushed against my colorless lips, his eyes filled with chilling self-righteousness. "I locked you up to teach you a lesson. A little hardship will remind you of the rules of this family."

He lowered his head, burying his face in the crook of my neck.

His familiar, warm breath fanned my skin. "If you can't stand it anymore, it's simple. Apologize to Ava in front of all the capos. Admit you were wrong. Bow your head, and we go home."

"Stop throwing a tantrum." He kissed my earlobe. "It's not easy for me to see you suffer."

In just three days, I could feel myself withering. The silk nightgown that once fit perfectly now hung loosely from my bony shoulders.

My skin was a sickly sallow from malnutrition, the dark circles under my eyes too deep to hide. The exhaustion and mental pressure were two mountains crushing me.

But I tightened my hand over my stomach, feeling the faint but firm presence there. I had to hold on.

The fever and the dull ache in my abdomen were cold vines, tightening their grip. I knew if I stayed here, I would lose this child.

I looked up at the man who had once carved my name over his heart, and slowly lowered my lashes.

"Fine." I forced myself to sit up. "I'll apologize."