My Baby Died Because His Father Was With Another Woman

No. No. No!

He kicked the shattered pieces of the urn so hard they flew across the floor and cracked against the wall. Ceramic fragments rained like glass.

I froze. My breath stalled in my throat. My body wouldn't move.

My chest convulsed. A sound clawed up my throat, too broken to be a scream, too raw to be a cry.

Lucian stepped in front of me. His hand wrapped around my face, his fingers pressing into my cheeks until I felt bone.

"Enough," he growled. "Enough of this spectacle."

I blinked at him. His expression was carved from stone. No guilt. No grief. Nothing.

"I almost believed you. For a moment, I almost pitied your little corpse."

His thumb dragged along my jaw. The touch burned.

"But then the clinic sent proof. Videos of Matteo laughing. Sitting up. The doctor said you exaggerated everything. Said you used him. Said you let him pretend he was worse just so you could collect pity."

A lie. Her lie.

My gaze drifted past him... to the stairs.

Gianna stood halfway up, one hand resting on the rail. Her eyes gleamed in the dim light, and there it was, that tiny smile curling the corner of her mouth like she was savoring a secret victory.

She bought those photos. She paid off the doctor. She spun the story. And Lucian swallowed it whole, like he always did.

They headed upstairs. Gianna leaned her head on his shoulder, her steps slow and delicate, her fingertips brushing her collarbone as though the ordeal had left her too fragile to speak.

"Come to bed, amore," she murmured. "I can't breathe another second around her."

Nico looked back just once, disgust flickering in his eyes before lifting his chin and following his mother. The wide-eyed innocence he wore for the adults slipped on like a second skin the instant Lucian's gaze left him.

The house fell silent. The compound's surveillance cameras blinked their red eyes in the hallway corners, recording nothing that mattered. I stayed on the floor, hands torn and bloody, gathering the last pieces of my child with fingers that wouldn't stop shaking.

Hours passed. Or maybe the world just forgot to move.

I didn't sleep. I couldn't. I sat outside my room, knees pulled to my chest, dried blood on my palms, the taste of salt still trapped in my mouth. Somewhere beyond the walls, a soldier made his rounds along the perimeter. I heard the crunch of gravel, the low static of a radio check. The compound breathed on as though nothing had happened.

Past midnight, I heard a cough.

Then Lucian's voice. Sharp. Frantic.

"Gianna, look at me. What hurts? Tell me."

I didn't move.

Gianna's cries rose like thunder through the walls.

"I can't breathe," she gasped. "Oh God, Lucian! My stomach, my chest, she cursed me. That urn! Ever since she brought that death into this house... something's choking me!"

Footsteps thudded. Lucian paced. Swore.

"That bitch."

Gianna's voice cracked into a trembling whisper.

"I heard the maids... they said she bought poison. Something... something meant for me. Maybe she put it in the urn. Maybe she wanted me gone. I'm scared, Lucian. I'm pregnant. I don't want to die... not me... not the baby."

The door slammed open like a gunshot. Lucian stormed in, his rage so thick I could taste it. The Don of the Ferro Family, and he moved through his own house like a man possessed by something smaller than himself, something she had planted in him and watered nightly.

He grabbed my wrist and yanked me up from the floor.

"You did this."

My ankle twisted. My arm burned. His grip was iron.

"You poisoned this house," he roared. "You cursed her. You knew she was carrying my child and you still brought death into these walls."

"I didn't—"

He cut me off with a jerk so violent I choked on my breath.

"She almost died tonight! Is that what you want? You want her dead?"

He dragged me into their room and shoved me forward.

"KNEEL."

"I said kneel."

"No."

The slap cracked across my face. Stars burst behind my eyes.

"On your knees."

I stood.

He kicked the back of my legs. Pain shot up like fire. I dropped hard, skin tearing open again. The floor stained red beneath me.

Gianna sat on the couch like a queen receiving tribute. Her hair immaculate. Her swollen stomach framed by a soft blanket. She pressed her hand to her chest as if fragile, but her eyes were sharp. Hungry. The fingertips at her collarbone lingered, tracing small circles against the hollow of her throat, the gesture so practiced it had become instinct.

"I don't believe her," she whispered. "She doesn't sound sorry. Make her louder, Lucian. I want to hear her break."

Lucian towered behind me, a shadow ready to crush.

"Apologize," he hissed. "Until she forgives you."

My lips trembled. My voice splintered.

"I'm sorry."

Again.

Again. Until my throat burned. Until my voice cracked. Until I felt something inside me tear open and bleed.

Gianna rose slowly, clutching her belly, swaying on her feet.

"L-Lucian... something's wrong." Her voice shook with manufactured terror. "My stomach... I think I'm bleeding—"

Gianna collapsed cleanly, right into Lucian's arms, as if she'd rehearsed the fall in front of a mirror.

He caught her instantly, clutching her like she was carrying the last heir of the Ferro bloodline.

"Gianna. Amore! Stay with me," he choked out, his voice cracking as he cradled her face. "Look at me. Don't close your eyes. Breathe, baby, breathe."

Her eyelids fluttered like a saint under attack.

"Lucian... I'm scared..."

He snapped toward the hallway, shouting loud enough to shake the walls.

"Get the damn car! Move!"