The Don Who Denied His Own Son

I left Palermo for Nico Varrone.

At twenty-two, I was Valentina Vitale, the only daughter of the most feared family in Italy. My father ruled the Sicilian Commission, and every serious name from Naples to Milan knew the Vitale family did not ask twice.

Nico was handsome, ambitious, and dangerous in the way young men are when they have nothing to lose. The Varrones had only risen in Boston over the last few years, new money with guns, casinos, and a dozen captains trying to look older than their bloodline. My father said Nico was not built to stand beside me. I thought love could prove him wrong.

So I gave up my title, locked away my real passport, and followed Nico across the ocean. For seven years, I let everyone believe I was Valentina Rossi, a woman with no name worth fearing and no family worth calling.

Now I was planning my escape.

The clinic envelope was still in my nightstand. I had meant to tell Nico tonight that I was pregnant again. For a moment, I had even pictured his hand on my stomach and let myself hope a second child might bring back the man I married.

Then the bedroom door opened before dawn, and Serena's rose perfume reached me before he did.

Nico slid into bed and wrapped an arm around my waist. "Did I wake you, cara? Sleep a little longer."

I had not slept through his absences for months. I stayed awake every time he crossed the estate to Serena Varrone's wing, then came back smelling like her and talking like I should be grateful he returned at all.

I moved out of his arms. "Take a shower. You smell like her."

Shame flickered across his face, but Nico had always been good at turning guilt into charm. "I know I have been with Serena too much lately," he said. "Enzo is dead, and half the family still listens to his widow. If I leave her alone now, the captains will tear us apart. Give me a little more time, Val. I will make it right."

"More time" had been his favorite lie for six months.

"Once Serena gives the family an heir, you and Luca will have everything you deserve," he added, touching my cheek like I was still foolish enough to melt for him.

I said nothing. He took my silence for forgiveness and went into the bathroom.

When he came out with a towel around his waist, he looked like the same man who once made my pulse stumble. Seven years ago, he had taken a bullet for me outside a Palermo club, laughed while I cleaned the blood from his ribs, and told me, "I saved your life, so you are mine now."

I should have reminded him that Vitale women did not belong to anyone. Instead, I fell in love.

Now he smiled and reached for the towel. "Still like what you see?"

I turned away. No shower could wash Serena off him.

A sharp knock hit the door. One of Serena's maids stood outside, pale and breathless. "Mr. Varrone, Mrs. Serena is unwell. She is asking for you."

Nico grabbed his shirt before the maid finished. "She was fine when I left her bed," he muttered, then froze as if he had remembered I was in the room.

I looked at him. He could not even lie cleanly anymore.

"Val, Enzo is dead. She has no one else," he said while buttoning his shirt. "I will be back soon. Wait for me."

He did not ask if I was all right. He did not notice the clinic envelope. He left, as always, and expected me to stay where he had put me.

I watched the door close and placed my hand over my stomach.

Nico had just chosen Serena again. This time, he did not get to know what else he was leaving behind.