After the Silent Bride Walked Away, the Mafia Twins Went Mad

I did not go to the clinic.

Not immediately.

If Elias knew about the pregnancy, he would use it. If Julian knew, he might do something worse — try to keep me.

So I stood in the bridal boutique, put the phone down, and signed the only lie I could manage.

The doctor says my throat is improving.

Adriana’s smile froze for a second.

Elias looked surprised. “Your voice?”

I nodded.

For the first time that day, true fear flashed across Adriana’s face.

A mute Lydia could be dismissed, pitied, controlled.

A Lydia who could speak was dangerous.

Julian was still staring at me. His face had not recovered from the nickname mistake. He knew I knew. Maybe not everything, but enough.

Elias finally glanced at my wrist and saw the nail marks.

His brows drew together, but Adriana immediately pressed a hand to her shoulder and swayed. “Elias, it hurts.”

His attention shifted back to her.

Of course it did.

I left the boutique without another word.

That afternoon, Elias announced a family banquet at the estate.

“A small gathering before the wedding,” he told me. “The old families want to bless the alliance.”

I already knew better.

The banquet was not a blessing.

It was a trap.

By evening, the Falcone ballroom was full of capos, lawyers, priests, and men whose smiles never reached their eyes. The Moretti family’s remaining properties were displayed on a screen beside the stage — clubs, warehouses, shipping shares, and three old harbor routes my father had once controlled.

My name appeared beside them.

Lydia Moretti.

Last legal heir.

Then Elias led Adriana to the central table and seated her at his right hand.

The bride’s seat.

I was placed three chairs away beside the lawyers.

Adriana wore my mother’s black pearl veil again, this time pinned into her hair as if it were already hers. She lifted her glass and smiled at me across the table.

“To family,” she said.

The room applauded.

I did not move.

A lawyer placed a folder in front of me. “Miss Moretti, these documents only formalize Falcone protection over the remaining Moretti assets. Don Falcone has already approved the terms.”

I opened the folder.

Protection was a polite word.

The contract transferred Moretti territory, music assets, royalty rights, and medical authorization over my mother to Falcone control.

At the very end was another page.

A statement confirming that Adriana Hale would perform under the public identity Nocturne with my full consent.

My fingers tightened.

Elias leaned toward me. “Sign.”

I wrote on my tablet.

I want my mother here first.

His eyes darkened. “Your mother is safe.”

Then bring her.

The men around the table went quiet.

Adriana gave a soft laugh. “Lydia, don’t embarrass Elias in front of the families. Your mother’s condition is delicate. You know that.”

I looked at her.

She looked back, smiling.

The message was clear.

Sign, or your mother pays.

I picked up the pen.

Across the room, my phone vibrated once in my clutch.

I opened it under the table.

Dante Vitale had sent a photo.

My mother lay in a hospital bed, alive, an oxygen tube beneath her nose. A man in a black suit stood beside her holding a newspaper from today.

Then a message appeared.

We found her. Moving tonight. Stall them. Do not sign the final page.

My breath steadied.

I signed the first page.

Then the second.

Elias relaxed slightly.

Adriana’s smile widened.

I signed page after page, each one less important than the last, until I reached the final transfer sheet. The one that gave away everything.

I let the pen fall.

The ink spilled across the tablecloth.

Elias’s face hardened.

“Lydia.”

I looked at him innocently and signed, My hand slipped.

Before he could speak, the lights dimmed.

Adriana rose from the bride’s seat.

“For tonight,” she said to the room, “I prepared something special. A new song from Nocturne.”

Applause filled the ballroom.

She stepped onto the stage.

The opening notes played.

It was another one of mine.

But this time, I did not feel pain.

I only felt cold.

Let them applaud the thief.

Soon, the whole city would know what she had stolen.

Halfway through the song, Dante messaged again.

Your mother is in my car. Five minutes until she leaves Falcone territory.

I closed my eyes.

For the first time in three years, the chain around my throat loosened.

Then Adriana’s voice trembled on a high note and nearly broke.

She covered it with a smile.

I saw Elias notice.

So did Julian.

Adriana could sing beautifully with my guide tracks, my arrangements, my corrections.

But live, under pressure, without me near her?

She was not Nocturne.

She never had been.