My Husband Gave My Babies to His Lover,I Watched Him Die for It

I thought it was proof that he loved me. It was only an executioner's disguise.

"Honey, I don't like the taste of milk. Can I skip it?"

Lorenzo gave a helpless little laugh, but his tone left no room for refusal. In this house, a refusal was never a refusal. It was only a delay.

"Adriana, don't be difficult. The family physician said the things you crave the least are exactly what your body lacks the most."

"If you don't sleep well, the baby won't rest either. Aren't you the one who loves him most? Be good. For our baby's sake, let me feed it to you."

Half coaxing, half pressing, he tipped the rim of the glass against my lips, leaving me no chance to refuse. His hand was steady as a tailor's threading a needle, and just as patient.

Lorenzo, are you really so afraid my child might stand in Gioia's way?

Or is it that, in your heart, she's the only one you'll ever let bear your blood.

I shut my eyes in despair and drained the entire glass.

In under half an hour, the drug took hold. I curled up on the bed, the pain wringing me until sweat soaked my hair.

Lorenzo had barely set down the phone with the family physician before the man came through the door. He'd clearly been waiting outside in the dark of the corridor the whole time, the way the Family's men always waited, summoned before the order was even spoken.

Even after seven times before, losing a child again still felt like a blade twisting in me.

Through the haze of pain, I heard the doctor say:

"Don Falcone, this miscarriage caused far more bleeding than any of the others. I'm afraid her body is permanently damaged. She'll never be able to conceive again."

Lorenzo said nothing. The room went very still, the way a room goes still when a man with power decides what comes next. His eyes rimmed red, he gathered me into his arms.

"Adriana, don't worry. Even without a child, I still love you. I'll take care of you for the rest of your life."

A man who'd been served and feared since boyhood, the Don of the Falcone Family, cleaned the blood from my body with his own hands. Afraid I'd grow cold after the miscarriage, he held me tight against him as we slept. Outside the door, I knew, a soldier stood watch, as one always did. There was no corner of this compound that did not belong to him.

Deep in the night, Lorenzo murmured in his sleep:

"Gioia, don't be afraid. I'll make sure you get your happiness."

The tears I'd held back for so long broke loose all at once.

Years ago, when they signed the blood union papers that bound me to him, he'd promised me happiness too. Just a lie to keep me quiet, to keep me from disturbing Gioia.

It hit me then that my marriage, all these years, had been one complete joke.

I texted my oldest friend, far beyond the Family's reach:

"You said last time you wanted me to travel the world with you. I've decided. I'm flying out to you the day after tomorrow."

I set down the phone. My lower belly still ached.

Thinking that I'd just lost another child, strangled by its own father's hands, the pain made it hard to breathe.

I locked myself in the bathroom, turning over every little moment of these years with Lorenzo, letting the tears fall as they would.

When I stood, my phone slipped from my hand and dropped to the floor.

I bent to pick it up and noticed something tucked beneath the vanity cabinet, wrapped layer after layer in expensive silk, the kind of silk that came off the bolts of his couture house, treasured beyond measure.

I unwrapped it and found a thick photo album.

An album of every photo of Gioia, from the age of fifteen to twenty-eight now.

I'd seen that album cover before, in Lorenzo's private study at the couture house, the one room of his legitimate front no associate was permitted to enter.

And Lorenzo was an avid photographer.

Lorenzo was Matteo's uncle, though only a few years older than us.

When we were kids, he'd watch me and Matteo raise a ruckus with that cold, aloof face, the same stillness the older men wore at a sit-down, as if he couldn't be bothered with the childish games of brats.

Then came the year I turned fifteen. Gioia approached me wanting to be friends, and I didn't think twice. She always seemed so alone, so I introduced her to Matteo and Lorenzo too.

It seemed to be from that moment on that Lorenzo started joining our outings, started learning photography.

I'd thought the boy had simply grown up and turned over a new leaf. It turned out he'd met someone he loved.

Of the photos in that album, only a few were ones I'd ever seen. Most were moments even I had never noticed.