Chapter 3

Fighting through the searing pain in my body, I staggered to Giuseppe's side.

His eyes were closed, his chest barely moving.

I gathered his cold body in my arms, my vision blurred with tears, and ran from Benedetto manor.

But Carmela had already ordered the family enforcers to guard the manor gate.

Two black-clad bodyguards crossed their shotguns, firmly blocking the way.

Under Sicilian rules, this was house arrest—a punishment for traitors.

I held Giuseppe and wept in despair under the moonlight.

Left with no choice, I ran back to the manor, begging every single Benedetto family member for help, like a madwoman.

But not one of them was willing to defy Rosaria's will to help me.

In the Benedetto family, the matriarch's word was law.

I rushed back inside with my son, searching for Salvatore.

But outside the wine cellar door, I saw him. He was on top of Carmela, thrusting savagely against her.

They were fucking wildly on a century-old oak barrel, completely indifferent to our son's life.

Carmela's moans echoed off the stone walls, like a demonic curse.

A tearing pain in my chest nearly ripped my soul apart.

I would never again beg any of those beasts from the Benedetto family.

Disheveled and clutching Giuseppe, I was prepared to die with him.

It was then that I saw Salvatore’s underboss, Marco.

He was in his black Ford sedan.

Without a word, he drove us to town.

It was the only time he ever disobeyed a family order to help us.

But by the time I got Giuseppe to the crude village clinic, it was too late.

I collapsed before the wooden operating table, tearing at my hair in agony.

My tears fell like a Sicilian downpour, relentless and unending.

Just then, my phone rang. It was Salvatore.

"Lucia, where did you take the boy?"

"Listen to me, don't be angry. There were… complications tonight."

"Our rival families have been watching us. If I had acknowledged you in public, they would have had leverage, a weakness. I was afraid you'd be hurt."

"So I had to let you be humiliated for a while. It was to protect you."

But I no longer believed a word he said.

My heart was being consumed by a grief so profound that every breath tasted of blood.

Sensing my silence, a note of panic entered Salvatore's voice.

"Lucia, are you angry about the signet ring?"

"I—"

"Salvatore, I'm so itchy right here. Come lick me with your tongue," Carmela's slutty moan came through the phone, cutting off Salvatore's excuses.

He had forgotten to hang up. I could hear the sickening sounds of him and that bitch fucking.

"Salvatore, I don't remember any rival families watching us. So why did you lie to Lucia about the fake ring?"

"Because if I had actually acknowledged Lucia according to blood tradition, the other families would look down on our winery business. They'd say the Benedettos had fallen. Madre would never have handed the family over to me."

"Besides, Lucia's common blood truly would stain the honor of our Benedetto nobility."

"The ancient families of Sicily are not for any low-born girl to climb into…"

I didn't listen to the rest. I smashed the phone to pieces.

Witnessing this, Marco took off his black fedora, murmured, "May Giuseppe rest in peace," and vanished into the night.

I picked up Giuseppe's stiffening body and softly sang an old Sicilian lullaby.

I told him his favorite stories of saints and woodcarvers.

His body grew colder and colder. I took off my black mourning coat and wrapped it around him.

I wanted to make my child a little warmer in this cruel world.

But no matter how I held him, I couldn't warm his small, cold body. I broke down sobbing once more.

The old town doctor couldn't bear to watch any longer. He gently touched my shoulder and urged me to accept my loss.

After crying for a day and a night, I buried Giuseppe myself in the cemetery of the small church outside of town.

On his headstone, I had his favorite wooden rose carved.

The gift he would never get to give.

I walked out of the cemetery, a hollow shell wandering the cobblestone streets.

Only when the sun set behind the distant mountains, painting Sicily the color of blood, did I finally accept the reality that Giuseppe was gone forever.

Returning to the area near the manor, I saw the small villa Salvatore had once prepared for me, a testament to his once-fervent courtship.

But now, as I pushed open the dust-covered, carved wooden door, I saw a pair of handmade Italian leather boots on the porch.

And beside them, a pair of crystal-heeled women's shoes.