À l'ombre de son nom

"Sign the agreement." Wiping cold sweat from his forehead, the mediator slid a truce across the table.

The sharp stench of gunpowder and rubbing alcohol hung heavy in the air.

Just ten minutes ago, my husband, Victor, and my ex-husband, Dominic, nearly shot the VIP maternity ward to pieces. Elite hitmen from both families had guns drawn.

And all for one reason: my ex-best friend Chloe’s small baby bump.

I held the pen. My hand didn't shake at all.

After I signed my name, Victor waved off his armed guards. The ruthless Don of the East Coast walked up to me. Out of habit, he reached out to pull me into his arms.

I coldly stepped aside.

His hand froze in mid-air.

But there was no guilt in his eyes. He pulled his hand back smoothly. His tone was cold, leaving no room for argument.

"Go back to the estate," he said, adjusting his cuffs, looking down at me. "Chloe is in shock. The doctor said stress is dangerous for her pregnancy. I have to stay at the hospital with her tonight."

Before he even finished, a tall figure roughly shoved Victor aside.

It was Dominic.

"Back the fuck off, Costello!" Dominic shoved his gun barrel straight against Victor’s forehead. "Chloe is carrying Russo blood. You don't get to play hero with my woman!"

Victor scoffed. In a flash, he drew his signature Glock and pressed it hard against Dominic’s chest.

"Is that so? Because she was just crying, begging me to stay."

Down the hall, safeties clicked off in unison. The air turned freezing cold.

"It hurts..."

A weak, fragile cry suddenly came from the hospital room.

Chloe looked deathly pale, weakly clutching her belly.

The two Mafia Dons, who were just at each other's throats, holstered their guns instantly. Like two tamed mad dogs, they rushed to her bedside.

Victor grabbed her left arm. His voice was softer than I had ever heard. "Don't be afraid. I'm here."

Dominic guarded her right side, roaring at the doctor, "What the fuck are you waiting for? Check on her!"

Together, they helped her back into bed. Their broad backs completely blocked her from view.

From start to finish, Victor didn't even glance my way. It was as if I, the legal Donna of the Costello family, was just thin air. Something to be thrown away.

I walked out of the mob-locked hospital alone.

The midnight wind cut my face like a knife. My stomach cramped violently. I stumbled to my black Aston Martin and slumped against the hood, dry-heaving in pain.

How pathetic.

Three years ago, I was just as pathetic. I felt sick and came home early. But on our large bed, my husband of five years, Don Dominic—the man I gave everything to—was tangled naked with Chloe. Chloe was even wearing my brand-new silk nightgown.

Red-eyed, I confronted him.

But Dominic didn't even look up. He just shielded Chloe in his arms and gave me one word: "Get out."

That night, Victor found me almost passed out in the heavy rain. The Costello heir. The man who once saved me from being bullied at a charity auction.

He took off his black trench coat—it smelled of gunpowder—and wrapped it tightly around my shaking body.

"Vivienne, he doesn't deserve you," he said, stroking my hair with bloodstained hands. "Come with me."

For three years, this terrifying Boss gave me nothing but ultimate tenderness. He learned to cook my favorite seafood pasta late at night. He gave me the passwords to all his armories and offshore accounts. In bed, he kissed my scars over and over with deep passion. He promised to cut out the rot Dominic left behind, piece by piece.

I thought it was my grand salvation.

But reality slapped me hard in the face.

I pushed open the estate doors. The dim lights stung my eyes. A huge wedding photo of us in Sicily hung in the living room. On the dining table sat cold Wagyu steaks and a decanted bottle of Romanée-Conti. The calendar on the wall had today's date circled heavily in red.

Our third wedding anniversary.

I walked to the table and gently touched my flat stomach.

To give the Costello family an heir, I went through hell. Five rounds of IVF. My belly was covered in dark bruises and needle marks. Not an inch of good skin left.

This morning, I finally saw two bright red lines on the pregnancy test. I was so happy. I thought it was the perfect anniversary gift for him.

My eyes slowly dropped to the test stick resting in a jewelry box.

I cried so many tears and suffered so much for this bloodline he wanted. But now, this surprise was nothing but a sick joke.