Chapter 2

I recognized her.

Sofia. Six years ago, she was Lorenzo’s personal assistant—and the "contributor" of the first pink diamond necklace in my cabinet.

After I caught them in bed back then, I used family law to have her exiled.

I thought they had cut ties completely after that.

Sofia backed away in terror, inching behind Lorenzo like a little white rabbit seeking protection. "Mrs. Elena, how did you find this place..."

"I’m here to take my husband home."

I stared expressionlessly at her beautiful chestnut hair.

My gaze traveled down, landing on her neck—on the red diamond that was supposed to belong to me, the one representing Lorenzo’s "true heart."

The thought of what they did in that hotel in Sicily yesterday made my heart feel like it was swallowing razor blades. It hurt so much I trembled.

Lorenzo finally reacted. That face, usually unshakable even if a mountain collapsed before him, showed a rare panic.

He shot up, ripping the red diamond off Sofia’s neck.

He stepped forward quickly, grabbing my hand, trying to pull me into his arms and get me out of there, just like every apology over the last seven years.

"Elena, don't misunderstand. This red diamond is for you. Sofia said she’d never seen a gem of this quality in her life and wanted to try it on, so I..."

"I’ll explain everything when we get back, in the name of God."

He pulled me, trying to leave. Just as we were about to walk out the door, the child suddenly rushed over, grabbing onto Lorenzo’s jacket tightly, his face red as he screamed:

"Papa, do you not want me and Mamma anymore?"

Lorenzo froze, a look of conflict crossing his face.

Seeing me in Lorenzo's arms, the child immediately started wailing.

"You bad woman! You’re trying to steal my Papa!"

He screamed and charged at me like a little out-of-control beast, kicking my shins viciously.

Though only a few years old, the kid was shockingly strong.

His nails dug into my thigh, and his fists hammered hard against my stomach.

After two or three punches, a sharp, cramping pain shot through my abdomen, followed by a terrifying sensation of downward pressure.

I frowned in pain and instinctively tried to push him away.

But before my hand even touched him, the kid threw himself backward, landing on his butt and wailing at the top of his lungs.

"Papa! Leo hurts! She hit me! The bad woman hit me!"

Almost instinctively, the hand on my waist withdrew instantly.

Lorenzo turned to pick up the child.

Caught off guard, I fell heavily onto the hard wooden floor. The pain made my fingers curl and my scalp tingle.

Clutching my stomach, I looked up to see the boy named Leo resting on Lorenzo’s shoulder, making a vicious face at me.

Yet, his voice was full of tearful whining: "Papa, why are you holding the bad woman?"

"Don't you want Mamma? Don't you want Leo?"

Before I could speak, Sofia rushed forward and fell to her knees in front of me, trembling and crying, looking utterly pathetic.

"Madam, hit me if you want, kill me if you want."

"It’s my fault for being shameless, for insisting on giving birth to this child. I never wanted to fight for the position of the Don’s wife. I just wanted Leo to know that, like other kids, he has a daddy who loves him."

"Please, keep Leo. Let him live with Lorenzo. If I am the problem, I’m willing to die!"

With that, she turned and made a move to slam her head against the fireplace.

"Sofia!"

Lorenzo’s voice was stern but pained. He took two steps and grabbed her.

Looking at her tear-stained face, his expression was complicated. He looked back at his illegitimate son crying on the floor, and finally let out a long sigh, his tone softening.

"Enough. I will handle it."

He turned to look at me, brows furrowed, a trace of impatience in his voice.

"Elena. Leo is small, he doesn't know any better. How much could his punches hurt? Why do you have to be so aggressive? I’ll apologize for him, okay?"

"I planned to tell you tonight when I got back, but you just had to use family connections to investigate me. You ran over here to cause a scene so no one can have any peace."

"Sofia has depression. She didn't want to destroy our marriage. Didn't we always want an heir? Now we have Leo. Later, we can legally adopt him under your name. He’ll be our child. You should be happy."

"Happy?"

I felt a wave of absurdity.

"Lorenzo, is this what you call returning to the family?"

"Because she’s sick, you have to stay here and play house with her? Because she’s sick, you have to sleep with her? Because she’s sick, you give me this big 'surprise' on our anniversary?"

I pulled at the corner of my mouth, tasting the salt of my tears.

I wiped them away, my gaze sweeping over this home inch by inch.

There were no expensive oil paintings here, no bulletproof installations. Just Lego toys and children's books scattered on the floor.

On the wall were doodles drawn with crayons.

Blue sky, white clouds, a family of three.

In the corner, Lorenzo’s flowing signature was signed neatly—the same formal signature he used only for family execution orders or major contracts.

On the doorframe nearby, there were notches marking the child's height.

The latest date was yesterday.

I recognized the handwriting immediately; it was clearly Lorenzo’s.

Before every dating anniversary, every wedding anniversary, he would disappear. It turned out he came here.

To be with this warm, little family.

Compared to the money he spent on other women, this place was too ordinary, yet blindingly cozy.

It turned out, in this moment, I was the "third party" intruding on someone else's harmonious life.

I turned back. The fabric crushing under my hand wasn't Lorenzo’s dress shirt anymore.

He was wearing matching parent-child pajamas, identical to Sofia’s and the bastard child’s.

I looked at him, and suddenly, I laughed out loud.

Laughing and laughing until tears rolled down my face.

I pushed him away, pressing my hand against his chest, my eyes cold as iron. "Lorenzo, you are the Don. You can decide the life and death of many, but I never thought you would scheme against me, too."

I raised my hand and wiped the tears from the corners of my eyes.

"Lorenzo, let's get a divorce."

Here is the translation, maintaining the gritty, dramatic tone of a Western Dark Mafia Romance.