His Regret Began at My Funeral

She pouted, her lips trembling slightly as she looked at Lorenzo with feigned innocence. Lorenzo gave me a doting smile, but his hand moved behind his back to reassure her. I watched their interaction in silence, a cold laugh echoing in my mind. Did he not realize how obvious he was?

Lorenzo gently reached for my hand, his tone laced with that all-too-familiar coaxing. “Come on, tesoro. It’s just a seat. Let her have it. After all, she’s your blood. Switch with her, okay?”

His voice was laced with tenderness, his eyes filled with an affection that seemed reserved for me. Yet his words defended another woman.

I gave him a faint smile, lifting my gown as I walked toward the car waiting at the rear of the motorcade. “Fine,” I said coolly. At least this way, I wouldn’t have to endure the sight of him pretending anymore.

The gala hall buzzed with conversation as the territory’s finest milled about in their best silk and gold, every boss flanked by men who never quite stopped watching the doors. Bianca was already holding a glass of red wine, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she approached me.

“Oh, Adriana,” she said with a mocking lilt, “how could you be so sloppy? Look at your dress. It’s all wrinkled. Couldn’t you have at least ironed it before wearing it?”

I ignored her, turning toward the dessert table to pick out a small cake. I hadn’t had breakfast and my stomach was growling. At this point, satisfying my hunger was far more important than engaging with her nonsense.

But Bianca wasn’t done. She followed me. “Do you think I’m just going to steal your man?” Her tone dripped with smug satisfaction.

I took a bite of the cake, glancing at her with mild curiosity. Her lips curled into a sly smile. “Stay and watch. It’s just the beginning.”

The host took the dais moments later, calling the room to order for the night’s recognition of the Family’s finest earner. Bianca’s name was called. She rose and crossed to the stage with practiced grace, her lively demeanor engaging Lorenzo with a knowing look.

The eyes of every made man and every wife in the room shifted between the three of us. I could feel the pity as their gaze landed on me.

On the screen behind her, Bianca’s record began to roll, the laundered returns and cleaned accounts laid out like trophies.

A silent partner named Don Marino, whose tribute had been cleaned at returns exceeding twenty percent, was hailed as a miracle in the trade.

The crowd murmured in admiration.

“She is so amazing!”

“The last one to move money like this was the Don’s own betrothed, the legendary Valente girl!”

“You call that legend? Her best was only fifteen percent, while Bianca’s hit twenty. Now, that’s a legend.”

She may have stolen my man, but I didn’t care. Because any man who could be stolen wasn’t worth having. But stealing the work I’d bled for, the books I’d built clean with my own hands? That, I couldn’t tolerate.

Anger surged through me as I crossed to the stage and took the microphone from the startled host before he could think to stop me.

“Breaking the trade with a twenty percent return? I’m sure the room would love to hear exactly how you managed it, Bianca,” I said, my voice steady but icy.

Bianca froze, caught off guard by the direct challenge. “I… uh… well…” she stammered, her eyes darting toward Lorenzo for help. Her hand drifted to the base of her throat.

He stepped in smoothly, his tone firm but measured. “That’s family business. We don’t open the books in front of the room.”

I let out a dry laugh, unfazed by his attempt to deflect. “Family business? Then let me ask you this, Bianca. Do you know what Don Marino’s tribute is tied to? Do you know his full name? How he built what he has?”

The rapid-fire questions left her visibly rattled, her confident facade crumbling as she struggled to form a coherent answer. She laughed, a half-beat too soon, her fingers pressing to her throat again.

“Y-you…” she stuttered, her voice trembling, “are you accusing me?”

Before I could respond, she suddenly swayed, collapsing toward me with an exaggerated cry. We tumbled to the floor of the dais in a chaotic tangle of limbs and fabric. Bianca clutched her ankle, her face contorted in pain.

“Why did you push me, Adriana?” she wailed, her voice carrying through the hall. “My ankle… it hurts so much!”

The microphone, now lying at her feet, amplified her words, ensuring every boss in the room heard the accusation loud and clear.

Disdainful murmurs rippled through the crowd as every eye turned on me. I met their judgmental stares head-on, refusing to flinch.

Lorenzo started toward the stage, his face a mask of concern. But before he could reach us, the platform beneath us groaned ominously. A second later, it gave way.

Bianca screamed, clutching at the nearest steel beam as debris rained down around us.

“Lorenzo! Save me!” she shrieked, her voice shrill with terror.

Amid the chaos, I glanced at my wrist, now bleeding from a deep gash where a sharp edge had sliced through my skin.

Blood was everywhere.

I’ve been terrified of blood since I was a child, and the sight of it now made me freeze in panic. My instinct was to run, but my legs wouldn’t cooperate.

Lorenzo shoved a steel beam aside and crawled toward us. Relief surged through me, and I instinctively called out to him for help.

“Lorenzo, I’m here! Help me!”

His focus, however, was entirely on Bianca. He hurriedly gathered her up, sparing me only a brief glance.

“If you hadn’t caused a scene, Bianca wouldn’t have been trapped. And now you’re asking me for help? Shame on you,” he snapped.

The pretense was gone. He didn’t even bother to hide his disdain for me in this life-and-death moment.

Trembling, I held up my bleeding hand. “Lorenzo, my hand is bleeding. If I don’t get to a hospital soon, I might die. Please, take me first.”

For a fleeting moment, hesitation crossed his face. But then Bianca clung to his shirt, her voice weak.

“Lorenzo, it hurts…”

He immediately shifted his attention back to her, his expression filled with panic. “I know, I’m sorry. But it’s going to be okay. We’ll get you out. You’re going to be okay.”

He turned and started walking away with her in his arms.

Fear overtook me as I stumbled after him, tears streaming down my face. “Lorenzo, please! I’m scared. Take me to the hospital!”

He didn’t even look back, his pace quickening as he carried Bianca to safety. She glanced over his shoulder, meeting my desperate gaze with a cruel smirk. Though she didn’t speak, her lips silently formed the words: “Left again. Poor Adriana.”

Their figures disappeared into the distance, leaving me behind.

I collapsed onto the floor, my body weak and trembling. Being abandoned wasn’t my fault, but I couldn’t abandon myself. Summoning all my strength, I pushed the heavy steel beam off me, ignoring the searing pain in my injured hand. After what felt like an eternity, I managed to free myself. My thumb found the old scar on my wrist before I even understood why, pressing hard against it. In that small, deliberate pressure, the decision was already made.

I made it to a doctor on my own. What should have been a clean five-stitch wound became an eighteen-stitch ordeal, the flesh torn further when I moved the beam. As I sat in that sterile room, anger and resolve swirled within me.

On the way to the airport, I paid a man more than most earn in a year. I told him to prepare a body and erase every trace of me from the territory. I wanted to vanish from Lorenzo’s world entirely, the way only someone who knows too much is ever allowed to leave.

As the speakers called the final boarding for the flight across the water, I stood at the gate with my single case. I took one last look at the city that had owned me, and whispered, “Goodbye, Lorenzo.”