Chapter 3

I stared at the words and let out a short, quiet laugh.

I did all the tests alone. The nurse drew blood without meeting my eyes. Cold gel spread across my belly, the probe pressing down, neither too hard nor too soft. When it was done, I sat in the hallway waiting for the results.

Word traveled fast through the family network. I saw a photograph Serena had posted, the restaurant lighting warm and golden, Dante across from her, his gaze fixed on her face with a focus I had not seen him direct at me in months. The caption read: "Some people always know when you need them most."

I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted iron.

The hallway was quiet. I placed my hand on my belly and lowered my head. "Baby, if one day Mommy and Daddy separate, will you blame Mommy?"

The child inside me shifted, a faint movement, like a reply or just a turn. I did not say anything else. The answer was already there.

I went back to the estate alone after the clinic and started going through the holdings under my name. Anything I could settle immediately, I handled right away. Anything that needed more time, I listed clearly and sent to the advisor Elena had quietly arranged for me.

The Rossetti family assets were not mine to touch. But Il Nido was different. I had built it with Dante, from the first sketch to the last lamp. I had to take what was mine. Not for myself, but for the child I was carrying. Since I had already decided she would not grow up in the Rossetti family, I had to lay out every step for her myself. Her name, her assets, her future. Even if she did not carry the Rossetti name, she would grow up safe and free.

After I finished reviewing the last document, my advisor asked quietly, "For Il Nido, do you want the payout or the operation itself?"

I did not answer right away. I walked into the back office and opened Il Nido's ledger again. The familiar numbers and floor plans spread out before me, and my fingers paused. Il Nido, from its design to its construction, from the first performer to every show schedule, had been built during the best years between Dante and me. Countless sleepless nights, countless drawings crumpled and redrawn. Those days had really existed. I thought I had already moved past them, but in that moment, I still hesitated.

I walked to the private lounge on the top floor, the room at the end of the hall that only Dante and I had keys to. But before I reached the door, I noticed something different. The display case by the entrance had been moved.

Inside that case, there used to be an old brass key. Dante and I had hung it there together on the night Il Nido opened. We had said it would be the symbol of everything we built from nothing. A reminder that this place began with the two of us, a single key to a single room, and nothing else.

The case was empty now. The key was gone.

In its place stood a framed photograph. Serena on stage, mid-curtsy, her face glowing under the stage lights. Dante in the front row, clapping, his eyes fixed on her, a smile I recognized too well. Beneath the photograph, a small brass plate read: "Serena Caruso · Milestone Performance · Il Nido's First Resident Singer."

The key had been there for five years. He had taken it down without telling me. He had replaced it with her picture, as if that moment mattered more than the one we had shared.

A messenger arrived a moment later with a note from Dante. "Serena needs a proper space to prepare for her upcoming shows. I'm borrowing the private lounge for now. I had the old display piece put away. Let me know if you want it back."

Put away. Borrowing. He had a generous way of borrowing things. And he had a careless way of putting away five years of our history.

I closed the ledger and walked out without touching the frame. Then I turned to my advisor and said, "I want the full operation. Every part of it. The performance schedule, the artist contracts, the venue leases. I want all of it."

The next two days, I stopped keeping track of Dante. But he was everywhere. Serena's performances at Il Nido filled almost every night. Her name appeared on every new poster, bigger and closer to the front. I never set foot inside, but photographs kept arriving, as if by accident. The latest showed that Dante had put the entire night's tab under Serena's name, letting everyone know that "tonight was Serena Caruso's treat." He had thrown a party to celebrate her sold-out show. But she had not paid for a single bottle herself.

I told the person who brought the photograph not to bring me another one. Then I lowered my head and continued organizing the arrangements for my mother's memorial.

Everyone was talking about how Serena was the woman Dante had kept closest for the longest time. They speculated whether she would one day take my place. No one noticed that I had stopped wanting to fight for the title of Donna Rossetti.