The Queen the Don Lost

The line went dead for a beat.

Then Gina laughed, soft and sweet. "Babe, you heard that? I'm getting a visa for our honeymoon in Italvia. Wanted it to be a surprise."

His voice came through warm, indulgent—loving. It made Vera's chest twist.

"You, huh? Then I'll pretend I didn't hear. Use my card. Get whatever you want. I'll be waiting on that surprise."

Vera's grip on the phone tightened.

She gave a bitter smile. 'So this is what Carlo's like when he's in love.'

The call ended.

Vera sat on a bench by the road, staring at her phone.

A notification pinged. Gina had posted.

[Just period pain, but he treats me like I'm made of glass. I seriously can't do anything about him.]

The photo said it all—Carlo holding her close, his hand gently resting over her lower stomach. Like she was something fragile. Something precious.

Vera froze.

Carlo used to treat periods like they were dirty. Back when she'd been in pain, he just told a doctor or a servant to handle it. Never came close.

But now—

For Gina, he broke his own rules.

'He really does love her.'

Vera curled up on the bench and cried, hard and quiet, like she didn't want the world to hear.

She thought of the days Carlo protected her, stood up for her, spoiled her like she mattered.

Gone. All of it.

That night, back home, her scraped knee flared up—red, hot. Fever hit hard.

In the haze, she thought she saw him—Carlo. Sitting by her bed, feeding her medicine, touching her gently.

The dream was too sweet. It burned.

'I must be dreaming. He probably can't stand me now. Why would he ever come take care of me?'

Her mind drifted—to him and Gina growing old together in her past life. To them laughing at La Ombra like they were already halfway there.

'Maybe Carlo and I were never meant to be siblings at all.'

***

The next morning, Gina's laughter cut through the quiet and snapped Vera awake.

She dragged herself up, followed the noise.

Carlo and Gina were out front, bossing the staff around as they strung up decorations, giggling like newlyweds playing house.

Vera grabbed a cold glass of water and chugged it, hoping it'd wash down the burn in her chest.

Right. Christmas.

The Quaranta Family always threw a big banquet for their allies.

Last year, Vera stood at Carlo's side.

This year, it was Gina.

Vera stayed tucked in the corner like a ghost, but Gina's little clique still clocked her and pounced.

"Well, look who it is—Principessa Vera," one of them sneered. "Heard you're shacked up in the servants' wing now. Kinda fits, right?"

Vera's fists tightened, knuckles white. She turned to walk off.

Gina cut her off, holding a glass of red wine.

"This one's for you, Vera. Cheers—for handing Carlo over."

Vera shook all over.

She'd already backed off. Already said she was leaving. Why did Gina have to keep coming for her?

She lost it and slapped the glass away.

Gina shrieked, stumbled back, and crashed onto the shards.

"Ah—my hand! It hurts... Vera, I was just being nice. Why'd you shove me?"

Carlo stormed over, face darkening as he scooped Gina up.

"Vera," he snapped, "how dare you lay a hand on her?"