On Our Ninth Anniversary, He Brought His Pregnant Mistress Home

Dominic's POV

[Tomorrow at 10 AM, Serafina's got her prenatal exam. You'll come with her. Get your lungs checked while you're at it.]

There was no reply. Honestly, I wasn't surprised. I didn't know it at the time, but Bianca had already yanked out her SIM card and powered down her phone. Just like that, she was gone. Cut me off entirely, with all the finality of a slammed door that would never open again.

...

The next morning, the private clinic on the compound's east wing hummed with low voices and the sharp bite of antiseptic. Serafina clung to my arm like she'd collapse without it.

"Dominic, is the baby okay?"

I nodded, keeping my voice even. "Enzo said the baby's strong. No lasting damage from the fire."

She sagged with relief. "Thank God. You've been so quiet since we got here. I thought something happened."

Something had.

I couldn't get Bianca's face out of my head. The way she looked at me through the smoke, not desperate or pleading, just resigned, like she already knew I wouldn't come back for her. And the worst part? She was right. I didn't carry her out of that burning house. I carried Serafina.

...

After lunch with Serafina, I dropped her off at the main house and went straight to the family's council room.

It was then that my underboss caught up to me.

"Don Valente, Salvatore Winslow has returned. He's called for a full sit-down with the captains."

I nodded and kept walking, but underneath the calm, something sharp twisted in my gut. Tight, restless, and entirely wrong. Bianca was nowhere to be found. She hadn't gone to the clinic. She hadn't returned to the estate. None of the men posted at the gates had seen her leave. No car was missing from the garage. No driver had been called. She'd vanished, and I had no idea how or when she slipped through the cracks.

Where the hell had she gone?

As I started to walk faster, I turned to my underboss again and said, "Get someone to pick up a few of the newest designer bags and some jewelry."

"For Serafina?"

I paused. "Send it to the Ferrante estate."

If Bianca was anywhere, it'd be there.

But if she wasn't?

I didn't want to finish that thought. My thumb found the wedding band on my left hand and rolled it slowly, back and forth.

What if she was hurt? Still recovering somewhere alone?

What if she'd really left?

...

One week later, just past midnight, I came home bone-deep tired from a strategy session with the captains over a territorial dispute along the eastern docks. I stepped into the main house and saw a soft figure curled on the couch in silk, like a memory that hadn't let go.

I chuckled. "Bianca, I told you… Once I finish work, I always come back. You don't have to—" I stopped.

It was Serafina. Not Bianca.

Her face fell when she looked up. "Dominic, she hasn't returned. Not once. I sent her so many apology messages. She won't reply. Maybe I should move out." She sniffled, on the edge of tears.

I let out a long breath and sat beside her, leaning in to kiss her forehead. Not out of affection, but more out of routine. "Don't think too much about it. The baby needs a calm environment." I didn't want to say it, but I forced the words out anyway, because I knew she was waiting to hear them. "This is your home now. Yours and the baby's. Whether Bianca likes it or not."

...

Later that night, I stood alone on the open-air terrace, wearing nothing but a robe. I lit a cigarette. Something I hadn't done in years. But tonight, I couldn't stop. The craving wasn't for the smoke. The desire was to soothe the restlessness that was gnawing at me from within.

The compound was quiet below. Two soldiers made their rounds along the perimeter wall, their flashlights cutting thin lines through the dark. Beyond them, the city sat low on the horizon, indifferent.

I pulled out my phone and scrolled all the way down through my contacts until I found Bianca's name sitting quietly at the very bottom. I stared at it, thumb hovering over the call button, frozen with everything I wanted to say but didn't. In the end, I didn't call.

I sent a message instead:

[Bianca, tomorrow is Salvatore Winslow's 80th birthday. Don't cause a scene. Don't start anything with Serafina or the baby.]

I waited. My chest felt tight, and for a second, I couldn't tell if it was from the cold wind. No. It couldn't be panic.