A Donna's Final Performance

When I awoke, Julian was already dressed. He brushed his finger over the tip of my nose, a silent gesture for me to sleep in.

The moment the bedroom door clicked shut, I heard his booming, exaggerated voice from the hall.

"Darling, not even the best chef in Sicily could rival your cooking!"

Through the window, I saw the gleaming, bulletproof Bentley idling by the entrance. The family’s Consigliere, Luca Giordano, stood waiting by the car, his expression serious.

Scarlett’s voice was a cloying mix of delight and petulance. "Darling, wait! What about my good morning kiss?"

They flirted shamelessly for another moment, a perfect portrait of a newlywed Don and Donna.

"I’m off to handle family business. You take good care of the baby."

As the car vanished down the drive, I took a deep breath. My phone buzzed.

[My love, save room for dessert. I’m bringing you a limited edition vinyl from your favorite opera house tonight.]

[Okay.] I typed back, then rose to get ready.

As I opened my bedroom door, I heard Scarlett in the nursery, her voice a venomous hiss. "You damned deaf bitch, why couldn't you have just died in that ambush?"

"So what if you knew Julian a few years before I did? What's so special about you? Why do you get to be Mrs. Valachi while I’m stuck playing some pathetic relative?"

Her tirade was punctuated by the slam of a baby bottle on a countertop, followed by a violent shake of the cradle, as if she were venting her rage on it instead of me.

"Aurora, just hurry up and die!"

I averted my gaze and quietly pushed open the door to Julian’s study.

The cigar box on his desk was, as always, perfectly neat. I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and opened it. Inside the ashtray lay the crumpled butts of several lipstick-stained cigarettes. Beside it, a discarded box of pills.

None of that mattered. I scanned the room and spotted what I needed: a few strands of auburn hair and short black hair tangled near the whiskey glass from last night. I carefully collected them, then scraped a sample from Nico’s pacifier, tucking everything securely in my pocket.

The baby lay in his cradle, his breathing soft and even. A pang of... something, maybe pity, shot through me. I hesitated for only a moment before reaching out my hand.

Just as my fingers closed around a few strands of his downy hair, a sharp cry pierced the air. Startled, I scooped the baby into my arms, rocking him gently until his cries subsided.

A voice snapped from behind me. "Donna Aurora, what are you doing in here?"

My first instinct was to whirl around.

But I caught myself. I forced my body to remain still, acting as if I hadn't heard a thing, continuing to pat the baby’s back with a steady rhythm.

When Scarlett finally moved into my line of sight, I feigned a small, startled jump, then carefully transferred the now-quiet baby into her arms.

Back in my room, I dressed and left without a second glance, ignoring the suspicious glare she threw at my back.

I took the samples from Julian, Scarlett, Nico, and myself to Chloe Hayes for three separate paternity tests. She told me the results would be ready in a week.

I nodded. I stood before the elevator for a long time before finally pressing the button for the family’s private clinic.

I had to know what really happened to my child.

The elevator ascended, and the feeling of weightlessness made my stomach churn. Just the thought of what I might learn was enough to make my chest ache, the pain so sharp I could barely breathe.

"Dr. Al-Jamil, tell me. What happened to my baby?"

Dr. Al-Jamil was both startled and terrified to see me. The moment I spoke, the blood drained from his face.

I pressed my advantage. "Don't tell anyone I was here. Especially not Don Valachi. If you do, I’ll leak it to the rival families that you were the one who confirmed the ambush details. Your complicity in that ambush was already a betrayal of your oath. And of me."

He couldn't meet my eyes, his gaze fixed on the floor in shame.

"I had the… remains… cremated as 'medical waste' that same day. Don Valachi’s orders. He said to be quick and leave no trace."

On the drive home, Dr. Al-Jamil's words echoed in my head. They were a litany of torment, each repetition a fresh stab to my heart. The grief inside me began to curdle into a cold, hard rage.

That evening, Julian walked in, beaming, and announced his grand plan.

[I'm holding a baptism for Nico. A grand one. I want all of Chicago to know the heir to the Valachi family has arrived!]

His eyes held the glint of a man in absolute control, and his mood was buoyant.

And my child… my child didn’t even have a gravestone.

I blinked once, slowly, then gave him a calm, placid nod.