My Dead Child Was His Greatest Debt

A moment of silence passed and I finally spoke, my voice steady. "Thirty thousand. I'll pay you first."

"But this isn't over. I'll have the Family look into where a woman like you gets thirty thousand."

"If I'm at fault, you keep the thirty thousand. If not, you'll return the money and apologize in front of every man in this room."

I reached for my phone to wire the tribute, but before I could, Marco reached out and knocked it from my hands.

He jabbed a finger toward my face, his tone dripping with contempt. "Thirty thousand? Do you even have that much? Stop pretending." He flicked the lapel of his tailored jacket and lifted his chin. "If you had thirty thousand, why would you be crawling to me for money today?"

"Adriana, are you planning to borrow it from some loan shark who'll break your fingers?"

"I never imagined you'd fall this far."

The phone shattered on the marble floor.

I turned to leave, but they closed ranks around me, their eyes full of derision.

The club's man locked the door of the private room; his words were formal and cold. "We're waiting on the people who settle these matters. No one leaves until this debt is squared." Around us, associates and made men lounged in their leather chairs, watching the way men watch a fight they've already bet on.

I knew beneath his polished tone, it was all just to keep Bianca's "important guests" comfortable.

Everyone's eyes turned to me, their judgment heavy in the air.

I had no choice but to sit in the corner, silent, waiting for whatever passed for justice in a room like this.

As my gaze swept over the crowd, I locked eyes with Bianca.

Her gaze was sharp, filled with satisfaction.

I froze for a moment. Was she truly enjoying watching me suffer, the same person who had once taken her in off the street?

I had been Bianca's benefactor.

It was something she had proudly proclaimed time and time again.

Ever since I paid her way out of nothing, she had always seemed deeply grateful.

Whenever she had a free moment, she would come to my house to clean, cook, and even do the dishes.

Though the household kept staff, she insisted on doing it all herself.

Even at Christmas, when the whole famiglia gathered, she would kneel to kiss my hand as if I were owed a Don's respect, a gesture I always tried to stop.

But she insisted it was the way of the old country, where she came from.

I once believed that charity would be repaid in loyalty, that I had found a grateful, faithful girl.

But over time, I learned that even a small mercy could fester into a deep resentment.

The more I gave Bianca, the more her jealousy bloomed.

The more I offered her, the more entitled she felt, as though I hadn't given her nearly enough.

The more humble and meek she appeared before me, the more she hungered to grind me beneath her heel and reclaim the standing she imagined she'd lost.

She wasn't just ungrateful. She was a scheming, false woman who would do anything to climb, no matter whose blood she spilled to do it.

Her frequent visits to my house gave her the perfect opening to get close to Marco.

I had no idea when their affair had started, but by the time I discovered it, my pregnancy had already advanced.

For the sake of the baby, I endured in silence.

But I never imagined that on the day I was about to give birth, Bianca would threaten to open her own wrists, forcing Marco to abandon me on that cold, desolate overpass.

The memories still burned so vividly in my mind, and I couldn't help but let out a deep, sorrowful sigh.

I didn't know when it happened, but suddenly, Bianca had pressed her way to my side.

Her voice was a venomous whisper against my ear. "Sister Adriana, the tables have turned now."

"All the things you once had, I have now."

"And you... you have nothing."

I gave a slow nod, indifferent. "Including that scum, Marco? He's all yours now. I don't want him anymore."

"When I used to keep you fed and clothed, you'd fawn over my second-hand dresses and bags."

"I didn't expect you'd be so eager to take on a second-hand husband."

Her smile held a half-second too long before it dropped, and her fingers twitched toward the corner of her mouth. Then her face twisted, and in a flash, her hand shot up to slap me.

I caught her wrist with ease.

She sneered bitterly. "No matter what, I've won."

"You and Marco are finished; your child didn't survive."

"And you'll never see a single coin of the Amato inheritance."

"By the way, Sister Adriana, you don't know, do you? When I used to bring you your coffee, I slipped abortion pills into it…"

The words hit me like a slap to the face.

My mind reeled, the painful memories flooding back. The excruciating cramps the day of the miscarriage, the child I never had the chance to meet.

Anger surged through me like wildfire.

I stood up, trembling with fury, and slapped Bianca across the face.

But before I could even process what I'd done, Marco was already on me.

He shouted, his voice full of rage. "Adriana, how dare you hit her?"

He kicked me in the chest with brutal force.

I gasped in pain, the air knocked out of my lungs as I crumpled to the floor.

I couldn't breathe, couldn't even make a sound through the agony ripping through my chest.

But Marco wasn't done. He grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked me up, his voice cold and commanding.

"Apologize to Bianca."

I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came.

Marco shoved me with all his might, sending me crashing into the corner.

I struggled to rise, but before I could even get my bearings, Bianca kicked the back of my knee, forcing me to stumble. I collapsed, my knee throbbing with sharp, unrelenting pain.

Around us, the made men and their associates did nothing. Some even watched with eager anticipation, as though ready to join in on the torment. Not one of them moved. In this world, a woman with no Family behind her was a woman worth nothing.

Just then, the door to the private room was flung open.

The club's man, his voice suddenly dripping with terrified deference, called out, "Don Ashford. You've arrived."

The room went still all at once. Every conversation died mid-breath. Men who had been lounging like kings a moment ago rose to their feet, spines straightening, eyes dropping to the floor.

In that instant, tears welled up in my eyes.

My husband came.