Three Years After I Took The Fall, The Don Begged Me Back

When I came around, I was in a hospital bed. A dull ache in my abdomen, exactly like that night.

My first day in federal holding, I'd gotten into it with a guard. I won the fight. The price was blood soaking through my clothes, down my legs. The doctor who examined me afterward didn't waste words. "You miscarried." That was the first moment I knew I'd been pregnant.

The baby, like everything between me and Victor, was there and gone. The three years that followed, I survived only because the Moretti name still carried weight inside. Victor never came once. He sent letters through intermediaries, explaining that any mention of me sent Sophia into a spiral, so he had to write in secret.

I touched the flat of my stomach.

“Baby, you're better off. Your father doesn't love your mother.”

Victor's frantic voice cut through.

"Delora! Delora!"

I opened my eyes slowly. He was cradling my face in both hands. "Baby, you're finally awake. You scared the hell out of me. If anything had happened to you, I would've held this entire hospital responsible."

Would you? The thought surfaced on its own. If I told him about the baby, would he actually take responsibility?

But he kissed me before I could finish the thought, pressing his lips to mine. "Delora, I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you. From here on out, whatever it is, I'm on your side. I choose you."

A knock at the door interrupted him.

"Don Caruso, the invoice needs your signature."

After he stepped out, a woman drifted in. The patient tag on her wrist read: Room 311, Sophia Romano.

My first time seeing her in person.

She was pale, very thin, with dry and dull hair, the kind of face men read as tragic and beautiful. Her eyes were too big for her face, and I imagined she looked helpless to anyone who wanted to see it. She gripped an IV pole with one hand, her eyes red.

"You must be Delora," she said quietly. "I should thank you. But I won't. You used your father's power to steal Victor from me. Everything you've ever done for me, you owe me."

I felt my stomach turn. She really was Victor's type, right down to the performative fragility.

"If you weren't in the picture," Sophia continued, "Victor and I would've been fine."

I looked at her. "Really? I was gone for three years. Did that work out for you?"

Her face twisted with fury. "Don't think being a Moretti makes you untouchable. I'm a patient. Everyone makes allowances for me."

"People make allowances for real patients," I said. "Not for people who perform."

She snapped. She lunged forward and ripped the IV line from my hand. The needle tore free, blood sprayed from the back of my hand, and the pain shot straight to my forehead.

The door swung open. Victor, carrying a piece of chestnut cake. My favorite.

He took in the scene and was next to me in an instant, pressing his hand over mine to stop the bleeding. "Delora! What happened?"

His eyes were red as he turned on Sophia. "What did you do?! What is wrong with you!"

Sophia's enormous eyes filled with tears instantly. "Victor... I just... I only wanted to feel her hand, to see if it was cold. I'm sorry... I'm so clumsy..."

She was still talking when the sobs started.

I thought, for one second, that Victor had stood firmly by me this time. But one look at his face told me the moment Sophia cried, the restraint he'd been holding crumbled. All I could do was laugh.