When the Don Buried His Wife

Before Kayson, plenty of men wanted me.

None of them stayed.

After what my father did to my mother, I had no patience for sweet words or expensive gestures. I had seen what men called love, and I knew how quickly it could rot.

Most of them gave up after a few rejections.

Kayson Moretti did not.

He came back every time, never louder when I pushed him away, never colder when I humiliated him, just steadier. More certain.

He spent three years breaking down my walls without ever once asking me to lower them for him.

Then, the one man who hated spectacle lit up half the harbor for me at the family’s annual gala, in front of socialites, politicians, and the most dangerous men in the city.

Not because he enjoyed being seen.

Because he wanted me to understand that whatever this was, it was not temporary. Not a game. Not a whim.

When Kayson loved me, he loved me in a way that made retreat impossible.

On the day he proposed, he told me he wanted to give me something I would never forget for the rest of my life.

So he built me a glass-domed garden with his own hands.

Every seed in it, he planted himself.

I told him he could have left it to the gardeners, but he only lowered his head, kissed my fingertips, and said, “If it makes you happy, I’ll do it myself. My donna deserves the best of everything.”

He was the one who made those promises.

He was also the one who broke them first.

When I did not say anything, Kayson grew visibly more uneasy.

“Do you not like the necklace?” he asked, watching my face too carefully now, his voice edged with that soft, coaxing tone he used whenever he wanted to smooth something over. “If you don’t like it, I’ll have them bring something else. Anything you want, hmm?”

As he spoke, he pulled out his phone.

“What about this one?” he said, turning the screen toward me. A sapphire brooch filled the display.

Then, just as he started to scroll, a message dropped across the top of the screen.

From Sofia Romano.

Kayson, I’m bleeding again. The family doctor says the pregnancy still isn’t stable. Can you come?

It was only there for a second.

Kayson swiped it away so fast.Then he looked up at me.

He was waiting to see whether I had caught it.

I gave him nothing.

He thought I had not seen it.

“If you don’t like this style,” he said smoothly, “I’ll have the jeweler send over everything new from the family vault tomorrow. You can take your time choosing.”

I only gave a quiet hum in response.

His mind was already elsewhere now.

And because of that, he did not notice the shift in me.

A few minutes later, his phone rang.

He did not even glance at the screen before standing up too quickly, already reaching for his coat.

“Baby, something came up at the East Harbor,” he said, his tone rushed, casual in a way that felt rehearsed. “I need to deal with it now. Don’t wait up for me.”

He was gone before I could say a word.

I walked to the window.

There was a time when Kayson hated leaving me for even an hour. Before every meeting, every trip, every errand, he used to hold me a little longer, kiss me one more time, act as if being apart from me for a moment was unbearable.

I do not know when that changed.

I only know that at some point, leaving me became easy for him.

Not long after, Sofia sent me another message.

This time, it was a photo.

Kayson stood inside a private hospital suite, peeling an apple for her.

Then her text came under it.

I threw up everything again tonight, but the second he got here, I felt better. Maybe the baby already knows who Daddy chooses when it matters.