Chapter 1

Mae's POV

The edges of the forged marriage certificate had gone soft and creased under my fingers.

The moment I stepped out of the registrar's office, my stomach turned sour. I ran to the bathroom and retched a few times, and when I lifted my head and caught sight of my pale, drawn face in the mirror, a terrifying thought crossed my mind.

I counted the days. My period was almost three weeks late.

At the exact moment my whole world was about to collapse, there might be a new life growing inside me.

I went to the clinic alone.

When the doctor smiled and said, "Congratulations, you're pregnant," I sat on the cold exam table, torn between laughing and crying. This was Michele Corleone's child, the one real thing in our fake marriage.

But what did that reality actually count for?

…

I stood outside Michele's office with the ultrasound printout in my hand, about to push the door open, when the conversation drifting out through the half-closed door froze me in place.

"Don Michele, it's been four years. Are you ever going to let her officially join our famiglia?"

The Underboss Matteo Corleone's question was met with a long silence.

Then Michele's voice came, careless and unhurried. "Not yet. Rita's making a name for herself on Wall Street. She needs my protection. She needs the title of my wife."

"But... Signora isn't your legal spouse. She could leave at any time..."

"Enough. There's no 'but.' She broke with the Bagarella famiglia to marry me. She loves me too much to walk away over something like this."

The naked truth hit my chest like a bullet.

I sagged against the wall, and every breath hurt.

My hand drifted to my stomach without my meaning it to. So the child inside me had never been wanted, not from the very start.

Four years ago, I'd turned down the marriage alliance between my famiglia and the DeLuca famiglia, all for Michele. I'd insisted on leaving with him no matter what.

I hadn't even looked back when my father shouted after me, "Mae Bagarella, you'll regret this decision!"

Back then, I'd been so sure I was running toward my future.

I'd sworn I would be happier than any marriage my father chose for me could have made me.

And now here I was, standing in the hallway, listening to my own voice break apart.

I turned and knocked over a vase at the edge of the hall.

The crash and the sound of Michele's footsteps came almost at the same moment.

A second later, he'd already scooped me up and set me gently down on the office sofa.

"Amore, how could you be so careless?" He checked my legs, his voice soft. "Are you hurt anywhere?"

Four years, and his acting was still this good.

I caught his hand. The last shred of hope in me made me speak. "Michele, I accidentally damaged our marriage certificate. I want to go get it replaced."

Panic flickered in his eyes, but he quickly smoothed it over.

He looked away. "Let Matteo handle it. You get some rest. I have something to deal with, but I'll come back for you later."

'Michele. So this is what you look like when you're guilty,' I couldn't help thinking.

I closed my eyes and let the despair swallow me whole.

"Okay."

A flash of unease crossed his face. He'd just opened his mouth to say something when his phone rang.

The caller ID read: Rita Greco.

He let go of me, picked up the phone without so much as glancing my way, and tossed off one line. "Something's come up," and walked toward the door.

I heard the way his voice changed the moment he answered, urgent and threaded with a tenderness I'd never once felt from him. "Rita, don't worry. I'm on my way."

At the same time, my hands shaking, I pulled out my phone and found the number I hadn't touched in four years.

[Papa, I'm tired. I want to come home.]