When I'm Not the Madre

Vincenzo's harsh words still echoed in my ears.

I lowered the phone. As the screen went dark, the last flicker of light in my eyes died out completely.

I quickly confirmed the appointment at the abortion clinic, one I had found long ago, far from the new dock.

This time, I would make a clean break with him and with the twelve years of obsession I had clung to.

I turned and walked away from the dock. The evening wind, carrying the smell of salt and fish, swept across my cheeks. Yet, its warmth couldn't reach the chill deep in my heart.

Instead of returning to the villa, I found a secluded guesthouse and curled up on the couch. Fragments of the past surged through my mind, only to fade into a numb silence.

I was about to nod off when my phone suddenly rang.

It was the family butler, Pietro Vecchio.

"Miss Giordano, there's been an accident at the new dock!" he said urgently in a trembling voice. "The container storing the arms exploded unexpectedly, and half the dock's cargo ships and loading zones were destroyed.

"You must return immediately to handle asset assessment and arrange care for the wounded!"

I gripped the phone tighter, feeling nothing but absurdity. No matter how deep the enmity ran, family matters still had to be dealt with.

After pulling on some clothes, I drove through the night back to the new dock.

I parked my car at the entrance to the dock and saw the devastation from afar. Charred containers lay crooked along the shoreline, some debris having fallen into the sea, spreading a slick of dark oil.

Twisted metal frames smoldered with wisps of smoke as a few Soldati crouched nearby, clearing up the debris. Their faces were etched with fear.

I took a deep breath to force down the nausea rising in my throat and had just taken a step toward the ruins when a sudden, sharp pain exploded in my back. I was kicked forward, crashing heavily onto the jagged sheet metal of a shattered container.

Sharp metal fragments sliced through my palms and knees, and blood instantly began to seep out.

"Isabella, you despicable woman! Can't you just disappear?" Ettore's furious roar exploded behind me. "I told you we were handling urgent family matters, and yet you show up here anyway?

"Are you that desperate for a man? Can't you live without Vincenzo?"

Bracing myself against the metal sheet, I slowly stood up and brushed the dust from my clothes before turning to face him.

The Ettore before me now had nothing but disgust for me in his eyes.

I suddenly laughed, the sound cold and hoarse. "Ettore, have you forgotten how Elena treated us?"

His face stiffened, a flicker of panic flashing in his eyes before they hardened into ferocity.

"Stop spouting nonsense! Elena has always treated me well. It's you who's malicious, always trying to sow discord!"

"Sow discord?" I took a step closer toward him. "Have you forgotten when you were ten years old, she locked us both in the basement for three days without food or water?

"Did you forget how you cried and screamed for Mom? Yet, now you're wearing the clothes Elena bought you and helping Sofia go against me! Have you even forgotten how Mom died?"

The death of my mother, Caterina Prodi, was no accident. Instead, Elena set her up, ruined her reputation within the family, and drove her to a point of no return.

I had told Ettore this countless times, but he had long been bewitched by Elena and Sofia, so he could no longer remember.

"Shut up!" Ettore, stung by my words, lashed out in fury.

He raised his hand to strike me, but I was prepared. Sidestepping his blow, I swung back and slapped him hard across the face.

Ettore's head snapped to the side. He covered his cheek and stared at me in disbelief. "You dare hit me?"

"That slap was for Mom," I said, my gaze icy. "From this day on, you are no longer my brother. We are finished!"

Trembling with rage, he was about to retaliate when a soft, weak cough sounded behind him.

I turned to look. Vincenzo was striding over with Sofia in his arms. She leaned into his embrace, her face pale and her brows knitted in distress. Clearly, she was shaken by what had just happened.

Vincenzo's gaze fell on my bleeding palms and knees. He paused, a fleeting flicker of guilt in his eyes. But it was quickly replaced by impatience.

"I forgot to wish you a happy birthday yesterday, Isabella," he said with a tone of perfunctory gentleness. "Once things are settled here, I'll make it up to you."