He Let Our Daughter Die for His Ex’s Child!

I held Amara against my chest, her tiny body cold, her breaths growing weaker.

“Please, Lorenzo,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “She needs you. Our daughter needs you!"

Lorenzo’s jaw clenched as he looked between our daughter and the boy beside Isabella. Dante. His son. I saw the war in his eyes—the hesitation, the unbearable weight of his decision.

And then he spoke. “I’m sorry, Valeria.”

The words hit harder than any bullet.

My breath caught. “No…” I shook my head, clutching Amara tighter. “No, you don’t mean that.”

But he did.

Lorenzo turned to Dr. Romano. “Do it. Save Dante.”

A strangled sob tore from my throat. “Lorenzo—”

He didn’t even look at me.

Doctors rushed to prepare for the transfusion. Men stood guard, their expressions unreadable as they bore witness to the infamous Lorenzo De Luca’s choice. Not his daughter. Not our daughter.

I pressed my forehead against Amara’s, my tears soaking her cold skin. “I’m here, baby,” I whispered. “Mommy’s here.”

She didn’t answer. Didn’t even move. Her tiny fingers slipped away.

And then—nothing.

The world tilted. I don’t remember screaming, but I must have, because suddenly hands were on me, prying Amara from my arms.

“No! Don’t take her from me!” I thrashed, sobbing, my voice raw.

Lorenzo didn’t stop them. He just stood there, his hand on Dante’s shoulder as my world collapsed. And in that moment, I knew—I would never forgive him. Not in this life. Not in the next.

***

The funeral was small. Private.

Rain fell in a steady drizzle, soaking through my black dress, but I barely felt it. I stood at the edge of the grave, staring at the small coffin being lowered into the earth. My tears had long dried. There was nothing left inside me. Nothing but hatred.

Lorenzo stood a few feet away, his men forming a silent wall around him. He hadn’t spoken to me since that night. Hadn’t even tried. Not that it mattered. He made his choice. And now, my baby—our baby—was gone.

The priest spoke of peace, of God’s plan. But there was no peace. No plan. Just a gaping hole where Amara used to be.

Then, movement.

Lorenzo stepped back, phone pressed to his ear, expression cold. And then he turned. Walked away. Didn’t even wait for the burial to finish.

I already knew why. Isabella. She had called him. And like a fool, he ran to her.

A bitter laugh bubbled in my throat, but I swallowed it. My hands clenched into fists, nails digging into my skin. Lorenzo De Luca had left his daughter’s burial because Isabella called.

I should have screamed. Should have begged him to stay. Should have demanded he grieve. But I was too broken. So I let him go. And as the last of the dirt covered Amara’s coffin, I swore I would never forgive him.

Because the truth was, Isabella had taken everything from me. She had left Lorenzo once, chosen another man over him. Then, when that man was shot dead, she had come crawling back.

Not just for Lorenzo. But for everything he had. For my daughter’s place. For my life.

And Lorenzo—blind, stupid, heartless Lorenzo—had let her.

---

I stood there until midnight. The cemetery was silent, the only sound the wind rustling through the trees. My legs ached, my body cold and drenched, but I couldn’t move. I was numb. Yet my mind wouldn’t stop.

Memories flooded in, drowning me in everything I once had—everything I lost.

Lorenzo.

He used to be a loving husband, even with the blood of the mafia staining his hands. I remembered the night I was kidnapped. The ropes biting into my wrists. The cruel laughter of the men who thought they could use me against him.

Then—gunfire. Screams.

And Lorenzo.

He stormed in alone, rage burning in his ice-blue eyes. He fought them all, his movements swift and merciless. Blood splattered, bodies fell, but he didn’t stop until I was in his arms. His hands trembled as he cupped my face.

“Did they hurt you?” His voice was raw.

I shook my head, tears spilling.

He pulled me into his chest, holding me so tight I could barely breathe. “I would burn this whole world down for you, Valeria.”

A broken sob escaped me as I clutched my coat.

He used to mean it.

Then another memory surfaced.

The hospital. Lorenzo lying on the bed, his stomach wrapped in thick bandages. He had been shot protecting me. Yet, even as he struggled to stay awake, he had smiled.

“I don’t want to wait anymore,” he murmured, pulling a small velvet box from under his pillow. His fingers were weak, shaking, but when he opened it, the diamond ring still sparkled.

I gasped. “Lorenzo—”

“Marry me.”

Tears burned my eyes. “You’re in the hospital. You just got shot.”

He grinned, that stupid, arrogant grin. “And? You gonna say no to a dying man?”

I laughed then, shaking my head. “You’re not dying, idiot.”

“Then say yes.” He whispered, voice hoarse. “Because no matter what happens, you’re mine, Valeria.”

My knees hit the wet ground as more memories attacked me.

The day Amara was born. Lorenzo pacing outside the hospital room like a caged animal. Then, when he finally held her for the first time, his entire world shifted.

“She’s perfect,” he whispered. “My little princess.”

I had never seen him cry before, but that day, his eyes shimmered.

“I’ll protect her,” he vowed, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Lies. All of it.

My fingers curled into the cold, wet earth. And still, the memories wouldn’t stop.

Disneyland.

Lorenzo had closed the entire park. No tourists. No strangers. Just us.

Amara had squealed. “Is this all for me, Daddy?”

Lorenzo picked her up, spinning her. “All for you, princess.”

She giggled, clinging to him. “Mommy too?”

He smirked. “Mommy too.”

At the end of the night, fireworks lit up the sky, and he wrapped his arms around me from behind.

“This is what I fought for,” he murmured. “This is my world. You. Her. Us.”

A bitter laugh broke from my throat.

Lies.

He fought for us once. But when it mattered most—when Amara needed him—he didn’t choose her. Didn’t choose me. He walked away.

And now, I was standing over our daughter’s grave while he was probably in Isabella’s arms.

The betrayal burned through me like fire, but I didn’t cry. I couldn’t.

Because something inside me had already died.

And it would never come back.