When the Wrong Wife Walked Away

BIANCA

I sighed as I woke up bright and early the next morning. I did so every morning, to lay out a proper breakfast for Vincenzo before the household stirred.

But as I turned to call out to him, I saw him already dressed in his wine-dark suit, his eyes fixed on his phone.

"I have business at the club today," he said, his voice distracted. "And a sit-down with the crew. I'll be back later."

I nodded silently.

His eyes flicked to me, his expression stern. "And Bianca?"

"Yes?"

"Make sure you don't make trouble with Gemma. Make her feel at home."

I felt a surge of resentment, but I bit my tongue. "Of course," I responded in a tight voice.

His eyes narrowed, as if daring me to disobey him. Then he turned and walked out the door, leaving me feeling frustrated and helpless.

Just then, Gemma walked into the kitchen, yawning and stretching. She was wearing Vincenzo's shirt, the one he had worn the night before.

I felt that pang of jealousy, knowing that they had slept in the same bed. Something I could only dream of.

She walked over to the coffee maker, pouring herself a cup. I tried to ignore her, focusing on wiping down the counters. But she seemed determined to taunt me.

"Sorry if we were a bit loud last night," she said with that annoying, cruel smile of hers. Her fingers drifted up to the heirloom at her throat, stroking the band of stones that had no business hanging on her. "Did you hear us? I hope we didn't keep you up."

I felt my face heat up with embarrassment, but I tried to keep my cool. Of course I had heard them. Her especially, screaming like a goddamned banshee.

"Good morning to you too, Gemma," I said, my voice neutral.

She snorted a laugh. "Oh, come on, Bianca. Don't be like that. I'm just trying to make conversation."

She walked over to the table and sat down in Vincenzo's chair. Her eyes raked over me in a way that made me self-conscious.

"So, are you still a frustrated little virgin? I mean, at twenty-five, and never been touched. How do you survive?"

I felt my anger rising, but I didn't want her gloating from getting under my skin.

"My life is none of your business," I half snapped.

She just laughed again, clearly enjoying my discomfort. Her hand slid back to the necklace, that possessive little stroke. "Oh, but it is, darling," she said. "After all, we're practically family now, aren't we?"

She stood and moved even closer. I could smell the faint trace of Vincenzo's cologne on her.

"I don't have time for this," I said, turning my back on her and walking away.

I stormed to my room, my heart beating fast with anger and frustration.

Opening my wardrobe, I began pulling out my clothes, shoving them into a suitcase.

I left a few things on the hangers, counting my days until I walked out of that suffocating estate for good.

After packing, I grabbed my phone and dialed the lawyer's number. "Hello. I was wondering when the papers dissolving the marriage pact would be ready," I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

"They'll be ready in a few days," the lawyer replied. "You'll be finally free, Donna Bianca."

I felt a lump form in my throat as I hung up the phone. My thumb found the bare spot on my ring finger, the smooth place where the Family band used to sit, and I turned it, over and over. I was finally going to be free of all this. I had already decided. Nothing was going to unmake it.

Later that afternoon, I went into the kitchen to fix something to eat. I was rummaging through the fridge when Gemma strolled in, a smug look on her face.

"I'm going to bake a chocolate cake for Vincenzo," she announced, heading for the mixing bowls.

I raised an eyebrow. I clearly didn't want her in my kitchen. "You don't need to do that."

She shot me a smirk. "Oh, I want to. Besides, we're housemates now. We share the kitchen."

I gritted my teeth, trying not to lose my temper. "Fine. But be careful."

She rolled her eyes so far back they nearly disappeared. "Don't tell me what to do. I can handle it."

But she couldn't. I turned back to the refrigerator, but a sudden crackling sound caught my attention. Whirling around, I gasped. Flames were licking at the edge of the counter, smoke rushing into the air.

"Gemma! What did you do?"

Her eyes went wide, and she stumbled backward, bumping into the kitchen island. "I—I don't know! The oven must have malfunctioned or something."

The fire was spreading rapidly, the heat scorching my skin.

"We have to put this out!" I yelled, already grabbing for the extinguisher. "Don't just stand there, help me!"

But before I could blink, she was darting out of the kitchen, leaving me to face it alone. "Gemma, wait!" I screamed, my words lost in the roar of the flames.

Cursing under my breath, I turned my attention back to the fire, desperately trying to aim the extinguisher. The smoke stung my eyes, making them water. The heat was becoming unbearable. Still, I pushed on, refusing to give up.

But then I got burned. I cried out, dropping the extinguisher with a clatter. Blisters were already forming on my palms. My skin was going red.

I couldn't breathe, the smoke choking me, filling my lungs. My vision started to blur. The world was spinning around me like crazy.

Just as I fell to the floor, a deep voice cut through the roar. I snapped my eyes open.

Vincenzo burst into the kitchen, his face twisted in a worried frown. But it wasn't me he rushed to. It was Gemma, who stood in the doorway, her eyes wide with fear.

He swept her into his arms, cradling her like a child. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice full of concern. She clung to him, coughing again and again.

I watched, stunned, as Vincenzo carried her out of the kitchen, leaving me to face the fire. I was still trying to process what had just happened.

Tears trickling down my face, I began to crawl across the floor. My lungs were burning and my skin blistering. In that moment, it was painfully clear that I was on my own.