He Strapped Bombs to Our Babies—for Her

“Niccolo… is that Geneva again? I…I should go. I shouldn’t be near you when she’s upset…”

“Don’t talk like that,” he murmured gently to her, like I wasn’t on the line. “You’ve been through enough already. I’ve got your back, yeah? I’ll deal with her.”

There was the unmistakable sound of him kissing her. Lips. Cheek. Something sickeningly close.

Then the line went dead.

I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

My mother who died three years ago from heart failure was the one woman who stood by me through everything. She used to wash dishes at midnight, fall asleep sitting up, cry behind closed doors because she didn’t have enough to buy me a prom dress. And now Niccolo had stripped her dignity in death, for sport. For Margot.

---

I rushed to the auction house, barely remembering how I got there. The second I stepped into that hall, I wanted to collapse.

Her face.

Young, frightened. Posing under harsh lights, forced smiles while men loomed around her. Images from her club days, before I was even born.

They plastered her across giant screens like she was a trophy. Men lounged in velvet chairs, wine in hand, staring like animals.

“That’s the wife’s mother?”

“Back in her day, she must’ve been something.”

“Maybe sluttiness runs in the blood…”

Each word stabbed me. Each laugh drowned me.

I stood frozen as the auctioneer cheerfully announced, “Lot 1: The legendary Sapphire Queen in her prime—opening bid: $3,000!”

They called her that because of the jewel she wore at the club. My mother never told me why she kept it... but now I knew. It was the only thing that made her feel like more than property.

I swallowed the bile in my throat and raised my paddle. Bid after bid, I fought to buy back my mother’s dignity. Every time I won, I felt emptier. By the 299th photo, I was shaking.

Dead. Inside.

As I stepped outside, my phone rang again. I answered.

His voice came through, mocking.

“Well? How’d that feel? You like making open bids so much—was this round as thrilling?”

I said nothing. My fingers were bleeding from how hard I’d been clenching my hand around the paddle.

“Come on, Geneva,” he sighed like I was exhausting him. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking about leaving me over this?”

“Don’t you think I’d have grounds?” I rasped.

He snorted. “You can’t divorce me. Not without my signature. That’s not how this works.”

I said nothing. He didn’t remember.

He forgot he’d already signed the divorce papers months ago.

He paused again, then softened his voice.

“Today was just a little reminder. You act out, I act worse. And, my grandfather’s wedding anniversary is tomorrow evening. You're coming with me.”

I opened my mouth. But the line had already gone dead. Just like my love for him.

---

The day of Niccolo's grandfather’s wedding anniversary came—one of the few Salvacion traditions still treated with reverence. A mafia reunion masked as elegance. Under the suits and speeches were blood pacts and silent power games.

Niccolo picked me up in his black Maserati. He didn’t bother getting out of the car. I opened the door myself and slid in.

His gaze flicked over me once. “You look thinner. Bamboo.”

“Didn’t bring Margot?” I asked, voice flat.

His fingers drummed the leather wheel. “Not today. I’ll keep her away from you from now on. You’ve embarrassed the family enough.”

A bitter smile touched my lips. He wasn’t protecting me from her… he was protecting her from me.

Then, halfway through the highway curve, he asked, far too casually, “Where are the twins? Those old geezers will ask.”

I answered without flinching. “Eli’s gone. He’s dead. The bomb. Or did you already forget?”

His laugh was short and brutal. “Is this another act? Playing the grieving mother now? You’re so desperate.”

He stared at me, waiting to see if I’d crack. But I didn’t respond.

I just watched the trees blur past the window.

There was no grief left for him to see. Nothing left for him to mock. He could humiliate my name, smear my son’s death, worship that girl like she was made of gold.

I’d already buried the pain.

And soon, I’d bury him too without ever lifting a shovel.

+++

The party was a loaded gun dressed in velvet.

Legacy. Power. Appearances. That’s all anyone cared about in the Salvacion family. Everyone smiled with knives behind their backs.

Niccolo didn’t let go of my hand the moment we stepped in. We were putting on a show.

The moment his grandfather spotted us, he stood up and walked toward me, arms open.

“Geneva, my girl,” the old man said, kissing both my cheeks. “Still the classiest one in the room. Niccolo doesn’t deserve a woman like you.”

I gave him a soft smile. “Thank you, Grandpa.”

But beside him, his wife the infamous Salvacion matriarch looked me up and down like I was a smudge on her crystalware.

“You look… worn,” she said, voice sharp but fake. “Try to keep yourself together, dear. People talk.”

Niccolo didn’t say anything. He never did when it came to her.

We hadn’t even reached the main table when Margot walked in with her parents. White silk dress. Head slightly tilted. Her mother had a full smile ready, the kind that said I know we’re winning.

Her father greeted Niccolo first, a firm handshake and a proud nod. “Boss Salvacion,” he said, as if his daughter wasn’t just the mistress of a married man but royalty itself.

Then they turned to me.

“Mrs. Salvacion,” Margot’s mother said sweetly. “You look... resilient. We were just saying how much we admire your strength.”

Her husband nodded. “Must be difficult, juggling all these events. Especially with Margot still recovering from everything she’s been through. But she insisted on showing her respect today. She’s such a kind soul.”

“Truly,” her mother added. “No resentment at all. It’s inspiring.”

Margot bowed her head slightly, playing the perfect fragile flower.

I didn’t respond.

I just walked straight past them.