The Blood Debt He Could Never Repay

I don't know how long it took, but the sound of Lorenzo and the Don arguing woke me up.

Opening my eyes, I found myself in one of the Family's private rooms again, the kind kept off the record, where the physician came quietly and left the same way.

Seeing me awake, Lorenzo seemed relieved.

He looked at the old Don with a face full of unhappiness.

"This is the wife you chose for me? She can't even sit through her confinement properly before running off to some man."

The old man trembled with rage, one weathered hand tightening on the head of his cane. "A man? Do you even know what Serafina went to do yesterday—"

I cut in before he could continue. "Don Falcone."

I cut off the Don before he could say another word.

"It's all in the past."

He understood what I meant and didn't say anything more, though his expression was full of disappointment as he looked at his grandson. In the old code, a man was measured by what he protected. He was looking at Lorenzo and finding nothing.

Lorenzo, however, remained indifferent. He shrugged. "She's awake now, so there's nothing left for me to do here. Bianca is still waiting. I'm leaving."

The Don's cane swung down hard against the floor. "You bastard!"

"I don't care where you go today, but tomorrow, you and Serafina come to the compound—"

Before the words were finished, Lorenzo's figure had already disappeared through the doorway. No soldier moved to stop him. No one ever did.

The Don let out a heavy sigh, his back curling further under a weight no throne could ease. He handed me the dissolution papers, already signed. In this world such a thing was near unthinkable, a breach of everything the bloodline stood on, and he had signed it anyway.

"Serafina, failing to raise him properly is my fault," he said, his voice laced with regret. "But that child is also your own flesh and blood. I hope you can send him off properly."

I looked at the old man with his full head of white hair, at the founder of a Family that made stronger men lower their eyes, and I couldn't bring myself to refuse in the end.

The next morning, dressed in black, I arrived at the Falcone compound.

This child was one I had risked my life to bring into the world. It's a pity that I didn't even have time to hold him for a while and then I was already separated forever.

I wiped away the tear slipping down my cheek. Perhaps this was for the best. If I had something to hold onto, it would make leaving all the more difficult.

I had tried my all best in this marriage. Leaving now, I felt only exhaustion, no regrets.

Even as my child was laid to the ground, Lorenzo never showed up.

Instead, I saw his name moving through the Family's social circles, the nightclub crowd passing it hand to hand. Photos of him and Bianca trying on wedding attire.

Moments later, a smug message arrived from Bianca herself.

Bianca Renna: [So what if you had his child? In the end, Lorenzo Falcone still chose me.]

Bianca Renna: [Oh, and by the way, did you think Falcone was the one watching over you while you were out? Not at all. He was with me the whole time. In fact, we were in the room right next to yours, trying out some new positions.]

The video she sent painted a stark contrast of my deathly pale face against her rosy, satisfied glow.

I didn't respond. Instead, I quietly forwarded all the messages and videos to the Don.

Then, I slid off my wedding ring and set it down, and holding my mother's ashes, whispered, "Mom, let's go home."

Night had fallen by the time Lorenzo returned to the Falcone compound with a body full of liquor.

The moment he pushed open the door, he was met with a room full of funeral wreaths. He jolted in shock, the drink draining out of him all at once.

"Who died? Could it be Serafina's mother?" His face went pale as panic set in. "Why didn't anyone tell me sooner? Where's Serafina? She must be heartbroken. I should go to her."

The old Don had finally had enough. He flung the dissolution papers at Lorenzo's face.

"Serafina already left, taking her mother's ashes with her."

"Today is your son's seventh-day memorial!"