Melissa A. Brown ad: Cpap ruined my bedroom

The small law office smelled faintly of dust and old paper. A flickering lamp in the corner gave off a weak, tired glow, casting shadows across the stacks of files lining the shelves. I sat across from Mr. Ricci, an older man with sharp glasses and sharper instincts. “You’re sure about this, Mrs. Russo?” he asked quietly, hands folded over the folder in front of him. The name sounded strange, like it belonged to someone else. “Yes,” I said, my voice steady even though my pulse wasn’t. “I want the divorce filed quietly. I don’t want my husband or his people knowing until everything’s finalized.” Ricci gave me a long, measuring look, but he didn’t question me further. Instead, he slid the paperwork towards me. “You’ll need his signature on these.” I nodded, slipping the papers into my leather folder. When I came back to the Russo mansion, it felt too quiet. The guards at the gate didn't even spare me a second glance as I walked in. No one here paid me any attention now that I was reduced to the side piece in my own marriage. And the worst part? The worst part was my husband didn't even care. Knowing he would be in the study, I moved towards it and was proven right when Alessia's laughter tinkled out through the half open door. These days, where Alessia was, my husband wasn't too far away. "—so funny," Alessia, my husband's childhood best friend, who was back in the city after her divorce was saying. "I know, I'm the best," came Dominic's reply, his tone the most casual and relaxed I'd ever heard it be. On instinct, I opened the study door all the way through and stepped inside. Dominic Russo froze with his whisky glass halfway to his mouth as he looked at me standing in the doorway, his smile dropping at once. "Oh, hey, Isabella! You're back from your studio already?" Alessia said, her perfectly painted lips pulling into a broad smile as she looked at me. I simply nodded in reply, but Alessia carried on the conversation before I could so much as open my mouth to speak. "That's great. I was just telling Dominic how he hasn't lost his sense of humour. It's the same as when we were kids," she said, chuckling and oh so casually running her hand along his arm as she did so. Dominic didn't say anything, didn't push her away like I so desparately wanted him to. He just quietly sipped on his whiskey, like there was nothing wrong with a woman who wasn't his wife to be practically sitting on his lap and touching him almost intimately like they were lovers. I looked away, unable to see the two of them so close. And sense of humour, huh? He hadn't ever so much as cracked a joke with me in all our three years of marriage. Yet here he was, making another woman laugh with his words. "Right. I just needed you to sign a few documents for me," I said, swallowing past the lump in my throat and pulling out the divorce papers from my bag. I quickly flipped to the page I wanted him to sign before placing it on the table in front of him. "What's this?" Dominic asked, frowning at the papers. "It's just a safety liability form for a new project I'm going to be starting soon for a company," I said, sliding the papers across the polished wooden desk towards him. "I need you to sign it, since you're my only family now," I explained. The truth sat heavy between us. My parents had died when I was seventeen in a freak car accident. Dominic's father, the Don of the Russo family at the time, had taken me under his wing because my father had worked for him for years. "Let me just have a look," Dominic muttered, his eyes narrowing slightly as he pulled the papers towards him. My heart dropped to my stomach. Normally, he didn't read anything. Every paper related to my work I'd ever given to him, he had signed without a second glance. Why today? Why now? If he read what was written on those papers— "Oh, Dom," Alessia chuckled. "You're being too serious. It's just a formality. You know how many of those we have to fulfill on a daily basis. Just get it done and over with." As heiress to the Moretti enterprises, close business partners of the Russo family, Alessia had moved effortlessly in Dominic's world since her return almost a year back. They were always together now—at galas, public events, casino backrooms where deals got made. Everywhere Dominic went, Alessia was by his side, complimenting his tailor made tuxedos with her designer dresses. Dominic hesitated for a moment before picking up a pen and signing with a flourish, the same way he signed deals and death warrants. I quickly grabbed the papers from the desk before he could turn to the front page and read 'DIVORCE PETITION', written in bold across the front. I turned and walked out before either of them could see my hands shake. I was free. I clutched the divorce papers in my hand tightly as I walked upstairs to our room. The ink on the paper was barely dry, but our marriage had been over long before now. Though, it hadn't always been like this between us. There was a time when Dominic could barely keep his hands off of me. A time when he would pull me into dark hallways to steal passionate kisses in the middle of a family gathering. Now, he barely acknowledged my existence. Dominic was everything a woman shouldn't want—cold, ruthless, and dangerous. At only twenty six, he had taken over nearly half his father's business with his sharp wit, ruthless decisions and iron clad control. The media called him a young entrepreneur, but the streets knew better. I'd always kept my distance from him, never crossing paths unless it was absolutely necessary. Until that night three years ago that changed everything between us. He came home late at night, covered in someone else's blood, while I was at the kitchen counter patching up my own knife wound—courtesy of one of his father's men who thought the boss' charity case was easy prey. Dominic helped patch me up, offering me more than just some first aid in return. He offered to marry me that night. A marriage of convenience, a business arrangement so to speak. Protection for me, and legitimacy for him. I agreed on a whim, and we got married a week later. He wasn't particularly romantic, but the physical attraction between us burned brighter than anything I'd felt before. He fell in love with my body, while I ended up falling in love with all of him. I had almost convinced myself that I could, some day, make him love me back, too. But all my illusions shattered like broken glass when Alessia Moretti came back into our lives, and his late night meetings doubled. Suddenly, she was everywhere. In his meetings. In his car. In his study. Last month at Luigi's proved it. Luigi's is an Italian restaurant owned by Dominic where we were supposed to have a romantic dinner for our three year marriage anniversary. I waited five hours for Dominic to show up, until his right hand man Eduardo came with pity in his eyes and a diamond necklace in his hands— an apology from Dominic for not being able to make it because of some 'urgent business matter'. The 'urgent business matter' ended up being a gala he had attended with Alessia by his side—something I'd seen in the gossip column of the tabloids next morning. That was when I'd started planning my exit. I couldn't stay here all my life, waiting for scraps of affection from a man who clearly didn't give a damn about me. I quietly placed the divorce papers in the deepest corner of my closet where no one but me could reach them. This was going to be my ticket to freedom in a month. No more cages. No more pretending. Dominic could keep his business. His life. His Alessia. I refused to be the half forgotten side piece in my own marriage. Hope I had finalized the divorce already, now it was time for the next step. Two days later, I met with the HR director of a luxury design firm based in Florence. They had been following my work for months, impressed by my portfolio and my knack for creating bespoke interiors that balanced elegance with practicality. “We’d be lucky to have you,” the director had said with a warm smile. “The position is yours if you want it. Start date is flexible, but we’d like you in Florence within the next two months.” I accepted without hesitation. Finally, I was going to live a life that belonged to me. Later that day, I sat in the room I'd converted to my home studio of sorts, a quiet place to work at on days I didn't feel like going to my studio in the city, or for when inspiration struck late at night. The first box I packed was hidden beneath layers of fabric swatches and old sketchbooks in there. It wasn't much-just framed photographs, my mother's necklace, and a single pair of well-worn ballet shoes I hadn't danced in for years-but even touching those things felt dangerous, like I was smuggling contraband out of enemy territory. Every day, I packed a little more. Quietly. Slowly. Because no one could know I was leaving. Not until I was gone. Three days later, Dominic came into the home studio unannounced. "Didn't know you still hid out here," came his voice from behind me, startling me. I turned around to see him leaning against the doorframe, his lips turned into a rare half smile. "It's the only place where no one bothers me," I replied, half teasing. "Even me?" I arched an eyebrow. "Especially you." It was light banter, almost flirtatious, and for a moment I caught a flicker of something in his eyes-something that made my heartbeat hitch. "Come with me," he said suddenly. "Where?" "Dinner. Just us. No business, no interruptions." I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to. We made it as far as the front hall before Alessia appeared, silk blouse immaculate, tablet in hand. "Dom, you need to see this," she said, breezing past me as though I didn't exist. "Santoro's shipment got held up in Naples. If we don't-" "It can wait," Dominic cut in, voice cool. "No, it really can't." Alessia held out the tablet, and Dominic hesitated only a fraction of a second before taking it. I watched his attention shift, watched Alessia step closer than necessary, lowering her voice just enough to draw him in. The dinner plan died right there in the hallway. It wasn't the last time. Every attempt I made to find some semblance of closeness-whether it was breakfast on the terrace, a drive out to the vineyards, even a late-night conversation in bed-Alessia always seemed to appear. Sometimes it was a phone call Dominic "had to take." Sometimes it was urgent paperwork she "couldn't wait to deliver." And Dominic never sent her away. My resolve hardened with every intrusion. I threw all my focus into packing quietly, being careful to take just enough to get me by for a few months, but not enough to raise any suspicions. A week later, I sat in the master bedroom of the Russo mansion, contemplating how life was going to be out there in a completely new city. It was going to be hard in the beginning, for sure. Should I stay? Should I give him—give us—another chance? Maybe if I talked to Dominic about Alessia's behaviour making me uncomfortable, he would listen to me? Things would change between us? It was her who was always interrupting us, right? Maybe if he knew how I felt about it, he wouldn't entertain her as much? My thoughts were interrupted by a dull ache low in my stomach. It wasn’t the first time I’d felt off—fatigue, nausea, headaches—but I’d blamed it on stress. Still, the idea nagged at me until I finally drove myself to the pharmacy, bought a test, and locked myself in the bathroom. Five minutes later, I sat on the cool tile floor, staring at the two pink lines as though they’d been written in fire. Pregnant. Pregnant with Dominic Russo’s child. Stupidly enough first reaction wasn’t fear—it was hope. And I hated myself for it. Hated myself for thinking that maybe, finally, this was the bridge that could pull us closer together. Maybe a child would be the spark that softened Dominic’s walls, that made him see me—not just as a convenient wife or physical outlet, but as someone who could be his partner. It had to soften him up to me, hadn't it? A child was a huge deal, after all. He wouldn't be heartless enough to not care about me when I was carrying his child, right? For the first time in months, I felt hopeful. Maybe, I wouldn't have to leave after all. Maybe, we could start anew, like a real family this time. Filled with a renewed hope, I waited for Dominic to come home. I dressed in soft cream silk, my hair loose, my hands trembling slightly as I set two glasses of wine on the table before realizing I couldn’t drink. I poured myself water instead. Dominic came in late, still on the phone, loosening his tie with one hand as he barked orders to someone on the other end. My stomach flipped with nerves. “Dominic,” I said quietly once he hung up. He gave me a quick glance. “Yeah?” “I… I have something to tell you.” His brows lifted, impatient. “What is it?” “I’m pregnant.” The words felt fragile in the air, as though they might shatter if I spoke too loudly. Dominic froze. For a moment, I swore I saw something flash in his eyes—surprise, maybe even wonder—but it was gone in an instant, replaced by guarded calculation. “You’re what?” “Pregnant,” I repeated, my heart pounding. “We’re going to have a baby.” Silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Finally, Dominic exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Isabella… you’re on the pill.” “Nothing is one hundred percent effective,” I whispered, my voice cracking under his tone. He paced for a moment, jaw tight. “You planned this?” “What? No!” I burst out, unable to believe what he was saying. No, no, no. This was not how I had imagined this conversation going. Why wasn't he happy? Why wasn't he being kind and supportive? “Because it sure as hell feels like you’re trying to tie me down with a kid I didn’t ask for.” The words slammed into me like a blow, and I staggered back a few steps. “Dominic,” I said softly, trying to swallow the lump in my throat, “it’s our child.” “This isn’t the right time,” he muttered, grabbing his jacket again. "There's a lot going on with Santoro. With the upcoming deal with them. This…” He gestured vaguely towards my stomach, “This just complicates things.” “So what do you want me to do?” I asked, both dreading what he would say next, and willing for him to say it to my face. If he rejected his own child, our child—this little life we had created together, it would be the last straw. I would never in my life hope for anything positive with him. He didn’t answer right away, and that pause told me all I needed to know. When he finally spoke, his voice was flat. “You should think about your options.” The tears didn’t come until long after Dominic left the room, slamming the door behind him. I had never thought that he would push me away like this even after finding out that we were going to have a baby together. Gone were the days when he would kiss me just because, trace his fingers over my spine when I slept, thinking I was asleep. Now, he was nothing but cold, and heartless when it came to me. He treated me like a business deal he couldn't wait to wash his hands off now. I'd always known that that was the kind of man he was deep down, but stupidly enough, I'd hoped that he would change for me. How pathetic. I sat on the edge of the bed, both hands cradling my stomach, and whispered to the tiny life inside me: “Don’t worry, baby. Even if he doesn’t want us, I do. And I promise, I'm going to take you far, far away from this place.” Unspoken Things Dominic's POV I wasn't a man who missed details. I could spot a lie in the flicker of an eye, a betrayal in a half-beat pause over dinner. So how had I missed this? I stood at the doorway of our bedroom, arms folded, watching Isabella silently fold clothes into neat stacks. Not designer dresses she wore for events, not the cocktail gowns that hugged her curves the way I liked. No, these were soft knits, linen shirts—things she used for travel. "Going somewhere?" I asked, keeping my tone carefully neutral. Isabella startled slightly, but she didn't look up. "Just... reorganizing." I frowned. There was something in the way she kept her back half-turned toward me, as though she was shielding something I couldn't see. Over the past two weeks, she had become quieter. Not cold exactly—but withdrawn, guarded. Our conversations stayed polite, even warm at times, but lacked the sharp edge of our earlier fights. I almost preferred the fights. At least then, she met me head-on. Now, it felt like she was retreating behind walls I hadn't even noticed her building. "Isabella," I said, walking closer. "What's going on?" She stilled for a heartbeat, then set down the shirt she was folding and faced me with a smile that was a touch too calm. "Nothing's going on, Dominic. Why do you ask?" I didn't believe her. But I didn't know what I was accusing her of, either. Later that night, I found her in the garden, sitting on the stone bench with her hands absentmindedly resting over her stomach. My gaze drifted there before I could stop it. She was carrying my child. Our child. I'd confirmed with the family gynaecologist she'd met with the day after she'd told me she was pregnant. According to her, Isabella was roughly ten weeks along. Which meant she had concieved the last time we had had sex. I knew she had decided to keep the baby. I, however, was yet to decide how I felt about it. I had too many enemies looking for a weakness to strike on right now. And a child would be the biggest weakness of all. I didn't think it was a good idea to have a child at a time like this. "You should be resting," I said to her instead, leaning against the column. "I am resting," she replied without looking at me. There was no bite in her tone, but there was no softness either. "Isabella..." I exhaled slowly, running a hand through my hair. "If you're upset about what I said the other night-" She turned sharply, her eyes glinting even in the dim light. "Which part? The one where you accused me of trying to trap you? Or the part where you told me to think about my options?" I clenched my jaw. I'd been stressed because of work. And I'd taken it out on her. "I didn't mean-" "You meant every word, Dominic." She rose from the bench, brushing past me as though she couldn't stand to be there one more second. I stayed in the garden long after she left, my chest tight with something uncomfortably close to guilt. But instead of recognizing the emotion, I shoved it down, like I did with every single thing when it came to her. She was just angry. Hurt, maybe. Acting out for attention. I had bigger things to deal with than a wife trying to manipulate me with silence. Besides, it wasn’t like I was a cruel man. Okay, I was, but not to her. I provided for her—more than most women could dream of. Security, wealth, protection. She never wanted for anything material. I let her work, unlike other made men. I even let her have her own studio to work at however she pleased, both in the city and at home. And Alessia. She had always been a constant. She understood the business, the blood, the sacrifices. She could anticipate my decisions before I made them. She could spar with me in strategy without needing explanation. I often felt that Isabella thought of Alessia as a threat. But Alessia wasn’t a threat to anyone—she was an ally, one I needed in order to keep our empire intact. With a few important deals falling through and feds sniffing around, our family hadn't exactly been in a safe place when Alessia came back from Italy a year back. Everything had seemed good on the surface, but only I knew the struggles behind the scenes. I could've turned to my father for help, sure, but I didn't think it was wise to do so with his failing health, and already fragile heart. It was with the help of Alessia, and her father's business, that I'd been able to pull my shit together enough to keep us afloat. Alessia understood all that and had stayed by me through the thick of it. Best of all, she didn't complain, didn't nag, didn't expect me to do things I didn't have the time to. But Isabella didn't seem to understand any of that. What did she want from me, really? To sit in bed and whisper sweet words when there were wars to be fought? To hold her hand when my enemies were plotting to bury us both? I didn’t have time for that. Not yet. It wasn’t that I didn’t like Isabella. In fact, there were moments I admired her—her quiet resilience, the softness in her voice when she spoke with staff, the warmth in her smile when she thought no one was looking. But admiration was a luxury, and I didn’t live on luxuries. I lived on necessity. And necessity meant prioritizing the business. Prioritizing survival. Isabella would understand, one day, when things were calmer. When the smoke cleared, when Alessia and the others no longer had to sit at my side through every meeting, every negotiation. I would have the time then. For now, she needed to be patient. To trust me. But instead, she was folding travel clothes. Speaking with an edge in her voice. Acting as though I had failed her, when I had given her everything that mattered. I sighed, staring out into the night, the weight of a thousand unspoken things pressing against my chest. I lit a cigarette to calm my nerves. I wasn’t wrong. I couldn’t be wrong. Could I? The Vow Finally, it was time. After Dominic had rejected me, and our child, squashing all my hopes of reconciliation, I had quietly bided my time, waiting for a month to be over. I had rehearsed my departure so many times it felt like muscle memory now. I had moved everything I would need—which wasn't much, really—in small stacks from the Russo Mansion to my studio so no one would be suspicious. I didn't think anyone cared much about what I did or didn't do in this grand palace of a house, but I hadn't taken any risks, especially now that a child was involved as well. All my things would be shipped along with my studio supplies this morning, and the flight to Florence was booked for tonight. My assistant at the studio had arranged it all for me, believing I was simply relocating for work. Only I knew that I wasn't coming back. I'd already informed the HR head at my new job in Florence about my unexpected pregnancy, and they had been more than accommodating about it. Such kindness from strangers I was yet to meet in person when I hadn't recieved even an ounce of it at the place I called home had brought tears to my eyes. Not only had it made me emotional, but it had also cemented my decision to leave even more. I'd rather be somewhere I was valued and cared for than here, where I volleyed between a nobody, or an inconvenience. I double-checked the handbag I had readied to take with me: passport, medical file, appointment slip from my gynaecologist, the sonogram I hadn't shown anyone. I had barely slept. My escape plan was a fragile secret stitched together with trembling hands and whispered prayers. This morning, I was supposed to visit my gynecologist. Afterwards, I’d take a cab straight to the airport. From there, me and my child—our child—would vanish. I had already gotten my copy of the final divorce certificate yesterday, and had arranged for Dominic's copy to be mailed to him with a deliberate delay of three days after my departure. With a quiet sigh, I smoothed down my dress, and picked up my bag. Time to go. I hadn't expected, or wanted to see Dominic before leaving the Russo Mansion for the last time in my life. But when I walked down the stairs, he was sitting in the living room, dark suit immaculate, sipping coffee as though nothing in the world could touch him. His composure always left me breathless, once in awe, now in anguish. Though surprisingly enough, Alessia wasn't clinging to him today. Even though I'd mentally prepared for the possibility of seeing him, my heart still stuttered in my chest as he gave me a slow once over. “You’re dressed early,” Dominic noted, eyes narrowing at my simple dress. “Where are you going?” “The doctor,” I said evenly, with practiced ease, hand brushing over my stomach instinctively. “I have an appointment.” His gaze flicked downward, then back up, unreadable. “You’re still entertaining this idea?” His tone was too casual, too sharp. “Isabella, I told you before… think about what this means. A child, in our world, is leverage. A weakness.” My throat tightened. “A weakness? He’s our child, Dominic.” He set down his cup with deliberate care. “Don’t be naïve. This is not the right time for a baby. I already have a lot of enemies breathing down my neck right now. An heir paints a target on your back, too. On his back. I’ve seen what happens.” I shook my head. What was he talking about? He was an heir to his father's empire, too, wasn't he? He had taken over their business from his father when his health declined, had he not? And he was fine— clearly alive, well protected. So, why couldn't our child be protected the same way? What a pathetic excuse for not wanting a kid. My voice trembled, but I forced it to be steady. “So what? You want me to—” His jaw ticked. “I’m telling you, end it before someone else ends it for you. Because if you don’t, Isabella—” I froze. “If I don’t, what?” I challenged, my heart thundering in my chest. The silence between us stretched, suffocating. His eyes darkened, and the next words slipped out, low, cold, stripped of softness. “Then you’ll force my hand.” Blood rushed to my ears. The room spun. He hadn’t raised his voice. He hadn’t struck me. But the words sliced deeper than any blow. I heard nothing beyond them. The threat was clear as day. My chest hollowed. The air burned in my lungs. “You’d… kill me?” I whispered. His expression flickered, as though he hadn’t meant it the way I took it. But he didn’t take it back either. And that was worse. Something inside me fractured cleanly. I left without another word, the sound of the door slamming behind me echoing like a final vow. Leaving wasn't just a necessity now, it was a means to survival. The car ride to the hospital was a blur. I pressed trembling hands over my belly the entire way to the hospital, whispering to my unborn child promises I wasn’t sure I could keep. Inside the hospital, I met briefly with Dr. Marinelli, discussing vitamins, flight precautions, and early genetic tests. I left the office feeling much lighter than when I'd entered it. Every step I took out of the hospital felt closer to freedom. I was halfway to the car when the world ripped apart. The engine of my waiting car ignited in a sudden roar of fire, and everything around me turned to smoke and ash. The explosion flung me backward. Screams filled the street. Medics rushed to the scene from behind me. Heat licked my skin as I scrambled to my feet, terror thundering in my veins. I stared at the burning shell of the car, realization dawning with ice-cold clarity as I watched someone pull a charred body out. It was him. Dominic. He had done this. It had to be. Dominic had warned me. Threatened me. If I didn’t obey, he’d force my hand. He hadn't denied when I'd accused him of wanting to kill me. And now this. My heart clenched painfully in my chest. My baby. My sweet, innocent child. Dominic had tried to kill not only me, but our child, too. An innocent life that had done nothing to harm him. There was no going back from this. I staggered to the street corner, flagged down a bus with shaking hands, and boarded without looking back. My things were already shipped, my new life already waiting. Florence. A new name. A new future. And a vow carved into my soul: I would never return. Not to him. Not to this life. Not after this betrayal. His Return 5 years later "Mamma, faster!" Mateo's laughter rang through the sunny apartment as he sprinted across the living room, bare feet slapping against the wooden floor. I pretended to chase him, catching him just before he could duck under the table. I scooped him up, spinning him around until he squealed with delight. His curls bounced into his eyes—Dominic's eyes—and for a moment, I froze, my chest tightening with an ache I thought I'd long buried. I kissed my son's forehead, forcing the memory away. "Alright, alright. Time to calm down, little hurricane. Mamma has work." Work. The word meant something different now than it had five years ago. No longer was I just an employee with something to prove. I was now Signora Bianchi, Director of Curation and Exhibitions—a respected leader in the Florence arts scene, sought after for my innovative ideas. My colleagues had become my friends, my family. They knew me as a single mother who had made her life from scratch, and they admired me for it. None of them knew the truth. That morning, I was halfway through sorting the final list for an upcoming joint exhibition when Chiara knocked on my door, looking pleased but slightly tense. "Isa, do you have a minute?" "Of course." Chiara closed the door and sat across from me. "We've been offered a huge partnership, an international sponsor for the Renaissance Reborn project. It'll open doors for all of us. Funding, recognition, press. But..." My pen stilled mid-note. "But what?" "The sponsor is the Russo Group." The name hit me like a fist to the gut. Chiara continued, oblivious to my rigid posture. "The CEO himself is flying in for the final negotiations from New York. We'll need our head of curation at the table. Which means you." I stared at her blankly, heart pounding so loudly I barely heard anything else. "Isa? You alright?" I forced a smile, thin and shaky. "Yes. Of course. Just... surprised. I didn't know the Russo Group dealt with projects like that." Chiara nodded. "They only started a few years back. But they'll be a good start to take our business international, you know? The kind of connections they have is just what we need." I nodded, still trying to wrap my head around the information I'd just gotten. When Chiara left, I sat frozen, fingers clenched around my pen until it snapped in two. When I'd left New York City behind five years ago, I had never thought that I'd run into Dominic ever again. Let alone think that I'd ever have to work with him closely. However, I couldn't say no to Chiara. Even though she was my senior here at work, she had never let me feel that way. I still remembered the first time I'd stepped foot into Florence. Chiara was the one who had sent her own personal assistant, Luca, to get me from the airport and help me settle into my new apartment which was fully furnished with everything I would need. Not only had Luca helped me settle in, he had also stocked the house with groceries and other essentials so I didn't have to go out right away. He had even come to pick me up for work the next day, introducing me to everyone at the office as if he were my own personal assistant. I had felt more welcomed here on my first day than I'd felt my entire life at the Russo Mansion. And when I'd gotten three dinner invites by the time the first day ended, I knew I'd made the perfect decision to leave a place I was clearly neither welcome nor required at and come here to Florence instead. "Florence takes care of it's people," Chiara had told me while I was having dinner with her and a few other colleagues to celebrate my first day at work. And she'd been right, in a way. It wasn't Florence exactly who had taken care of me, but it's people. When my baby bump had started showing, my neighbour from down the hall, Ms Giardiano, an old Italian lady who lived alone, made sure to come check on me every other day. She would bring me nutritious home cooked meals so I wouldn't have to cook for myself after coming home from work. Everyone at work had been super helpful, too. They had gotten me the comfiest chair so my back wouldn't hurt while I sat and worked all day. They had hired an office masseuse on the pretext that everyone needed some relaxation while they worked, but I was the only one who got regular foot massages from her to help with my swollen feet. Hell, Chiara, Luca and Lizzy, another of my colleagues, had helped me buy and put my baby's crib together when the delivery date was nearing. On the day of the delivery, Chiara, Luca, Lizzy and Mrs Giardiano had been right outside the delivery room, waiting to hear the good news. Afterwards, they'd all taken turns staying at my place to take care of the two of us as if they were family. They'd done all this and so much more, making me feel more cared for than I'd ever felt in my entire marriage. I knew without a doubt that Dominic would never have done even half of what these practical strangers had done for me throughout my pregnancy and every day since. Leaving Dominic had been the best decision of my life and over the years, I'd built something beautiful from the ashes of the betrayal and pain he had left behind. But now, Dominic was coming here. And I wasn't sure I was ready to face him yet, or if I'd ever be. That evening, Mateo climbed onto my lap with his favorite book, demanding a story. I read, smiling when he giggled at his favorite part, but inside my thoughts churned. I hadn't told anyone about Dominic. Not my friends. Not my son. And now I was going to have to walk into a room and face the man who thought I was dead—who had, in a way, helped kill the woman I used to be. I hugged Mateo closer, inhaling the scent of his shampoo. Whatever Dominic Russo thought he could do to me now, he'd learn soon enough that I wasn't the same woman who used to wait for scraps of affection. I was stronger. Bolder. And most importantly, I wasn't alone. I had my friends with me. They'd shown me what it felt like to be truly loved and cared for. And my son had grown surrounded by the same love, care and affection from everyone around him. I'd be damned if I let anyone, let alone Dominic Russo take that away from us. This time, I wasn't running. I would show Dominic I wasn't the same pathetic woman he had once tried to kill.

The Divorce The small law office smelled faintly of dust and old paper. A flickering lamp in the corner gave off a weak, tired glow, casting shadows across the stacks of files lining the shelves. I sat across from Mr. Ricci, an older man with sharp glasses and sharper instincts. “You’re sure about this, Mrs. Russo?” he asked quietly, hands folded over the folder in front of him. The name sounded strange, like it belonged to someone else. “Yes,” I said, my voice steady even though my pulse wasn’t. “I want the divorce filed quietly. I don’t want my husband or his people knowing until everything’s finalized.” Ricci gave me a long, measuring look, but he didn’t question me further. Instead, he slid the paperwork towards me. “You’ll need his signature on these.” I nodded, slipping the papers into my leather folder. When I came back to the Russo mansion, it felt too quiet. The guards at the gate didn't even spare me a second glance as I walked in. No one here paid me any attention now that I was reduced to the side piece in my own marriage. And the worst part? The worst part was my husband didn't even care. Knowing he would be in the study, I moved towards it and was proven right when Alessia's laughter tinkled out through the half open door. These days, where Alessia was, my husband wasn't too far away. "—so funny," Alessia, my husband's childhood best friend, who was back in the city after her divorce was saying. "I know, I'm the best," came Dominic's reply, his tone the most casual and relaxed I'd ever heard it be. On instinct, I opened the study door all the way through and stepped inside. Dominic Russo froze with his whisky glass halfway to his mouth as he looked at me standing in the doorway, his smile dropping at once. "Oh, hey, Isabella! You're back from your studio already?" Alessia said, her perfectly painted lips pulling into a broad smile as she looked at me. I simply nodded in reply, but Alessia carried on the conversation before I could so much as open my mouth to speak. "That's great. I was just telling Dominic how he hasn't lost his sense of humour. It's the same as when we were kids," she said, chuckling and oh so casually running her hand along his arm as she did so. Dominic didn't say anything, didn't push her away like I so desparately wanted him to. He just quietly sipped on his whiskey, like there was nothing wrong with a woman who wasn't his wife to be practically sitting on his lap and touching him almost intimately like they were lovers. I looked away, unable to see the two of them so close. And sense of humour, huh? He hadn't ever so much as cracked a joke with me in all our three years of marriage. Yet here he was, making another woman laugh with his words. "Right. I just needed you to sign a few documents for me," I said, swallowing past the lump in my throat and pulling out the divorce papers from my bag. I quickly flipped to the page I wanted him to sign before placing it on the table in front of him. "What's this?" Dominic asked, frowning at the papers. "It's just a safety liability form for a new project I'm going to be starting soon for a company," I said, sliding the papers across the polished wooden desk towards him. "I need you to sign it, since you're my only family now," I explained. The truth sat heavy between us. My parents had died when I was seventeen in a freak car accident. Dominic's father, the Don of the Russo family at the time, had taken me under his wing because my father had worked for him for years. "Let me just have a look," Dominic muttered, his eyes narrowing slightly as he pulled the papers towards him. My heart dropped to my stomach. Normally, he didn't read anything. Every paper related to my work I'd ever given to him, he had signed without a second glance. Why today? Why now? If he read what was written on those papers— "Oh, Dom," Alessia chuckled. "You're being too serious. It's just a formality. You know how many of those we have to fulfill on a daily basis. Just get it done and over with." As heiress to the Moretti enterprises, close business partners of the Russo family, Alessia had moved effortlessly in Dominic's world since her return almost a year back. They were always together now—at galas, public events, casino backrooms where deals got made. Everywhere Dominic went, Alessia was by his side, complimenting his tailor made tuxedos with her designer dresses. Dominic hesitated for a moment before picking up a pen and signing with a flourish, the same way he signed deals and death warrants. I quickly grabbed the papers from the desk before he could turn to the front page and read 'DIVORCE PETITION', written in bold across the front. I turned and walked out before either of them could see my hands shake. I was free. I clutched the divorce papers in my hand tightly as I walked upstairs to our room. The ink on the paper was barely dry, but our marriage had been over long before now. Though, it hadn't always been like this between us. There was a time when Dominic could barely keep his hands off of me. A time when he would pull me into dark hallways to steal passionate kisses in the middle of a family gathering. Now, he barely acknowledged my existence. Dominic was everything a woman shouldn't want—cold, ruthless, and dangerous. At only twenty six, he had taken over nearly half his father's business with his sharp wit, ruthless decisions and iron clad control. The media called him a young entrepreneur, but the streets knew better. I'd always kept my distance from him, never crossing paths unless it was absolutely necessary. Until that night three years ago that changed everything between us. He came home late at night, covered in someone else's blood, while I was at the kitchen counter patching up my own knife wound—courtesy of one of his father's men who thought the boss' charity case was easy prey. Dominic helped patch me up, offering me more than just some first aid in return. He offered to marry me that night. A marriage of convenience, a business arrangement so to speak. Protection for me, and legitimacy for him. I agreed on a whim, and we got married a week later. He wasn't particularly romantic, but the physical attraction between us burned brighter than anything I'd felt before. He fell in love with my body, while I ended up falling in love with all of him. I had almost convinced myself that I could, some day, make him love me back, too. But all my illusions shattered like broken glass when Alessia Moretti came back into our lives, and his late night meetings doubled. Suddenly, she was everywhere. In his meetings. In his car. In his study. Last month at Luigi's proved it. Luigi's is an Italian restaurant owned by Dominic where we were supposed to have a romantic dinner for our three year marriage anniversary. I waited five hours for Dominic to show up, until his right hand man Eduardo came with pity in his eyes and a diamond necklace in his hands— an apology from Dominic for not being able to make it because of some 'urgent business matter'. The 'urgent business matter' ended up being a gala he had attended with Alessia by his side—something I'd seen in the gossip column of the tabloids next morning. That was when I'd started planning my exit. I couldn't stay here all my life, waiting for scraps of affection from a man who clearly didn't give a damn about me. I quietly placed the divorce papers in the deepest corner of my closet where no one but me could reach them. This was going to be my ticket to freedom in a month. No more cages. No more pretending. Dominic could keep his business. His life. His Alessia. I refused to be the half forgotten side piece in my own marriage. Hope I had finalized the divorce already, now it was time for the next step. Two days later, I met with the HR director of a luxury design firm based in Florence. They had been following my work for months, impressed by my portfolio and my knack for creating bespoke interiors that balanced elegance with practicality. “We’d be lucky to have you,” the director had said with a warm smile. “The position is yours if you want it. Start date is flexible, but we’d like you in Florence within the next two months.” I accepted without hesitation. Finally, I was going to live a life that belonged to me. Later that day, I sat in the room I'd converted to my home studio of sorts, a quiet place to work at on days I didn't feel like going to my studio in the city, or for when inspiration struck late at night. The first box I packed was hidden beneath layers of fabric swatches and old sketchbooks in there. It wasn't much-just framed photographs, my mother's necklace, and a single pair of well-worn ballet shoes I hadn't danced in for years-but even touching those things felt dangerous, like I was smuggling contraband out of enemy territory. Every day, I packed a little more. Quietly. Slowly. Because no one could know I was leaving. Not until I was gone. Three days later, Dominic came into the home studio unannounced. "Didn't know you still hid out here," came his voice from behind me, startling me. I turned around to see him leaning against the doorframe, his lips turned into a rare half smile. "It's the only place where no one bothers me," I replied, half teasing. "Even me?" I arched an eyebrow. "Especially you." It was light banter, almost flirtatious, and for a moment I caught a flicker of something in his eyes-something that made my heartbeat hitch. "Come with me," he said suddenly. "Where?" "Dinner. Just us. No business, no interruptions." I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to. We made it as far as the front hall before Alessia appeared, silk blouse immaculate, tablet in hand. "Dom, you need to see this," she said, breezing past me as though I didn't exist. "Santoro's shipment got held up in Naples. If we don't-" "It can wait," Dominic cut in, voice cool. "No, it really can't." Alessia held out the tablet, and Dominic hesitated only a fraction of a second before taking it. I watched his attention shift, watched Alessia step closer than necessary, lowering her voice just enough to draw him in. The dinner plan died right there in the hallway. It wasn't the last time. Every attempt I made to find some semblance of closeness-whether it was breakfast on the terrace, a drive out to the vineyards, even a late-night conversation in bed-Alessia always seemed to appear. Sometimes it was a phone call Dominic "had to take." Sometimes it was urgent paperwork she "couldn't wait to deliver." And Dominic never sent her away. My resolve hardened with every intrusion. I threw all my focus into packing quietly, being careful to take just enough to get me by for a few months, but not enough to raise any suspicions. A week later, I sat in the master bedroom of the Russo mansion, contemplating how life was going to be out there in a completely new city. It was going to be hard in the beginning, for sure. Should I stay? Should I give him—give us—another chance? Maybe if I talked to Dominic about Alessia's behaviour making me uncomfortable, he would listen to me? Things would change between us? It was her who was always interrupting us, right? Maybe if he knew how I felt about it, he wouldn't entertain her as much? My thoughts were interrupted by a dull ache low in my stomach. It wasn’t the first time I’d felt off—fatigue, nausea, headaches—but I’d blamed it on stress. Still, the idea nagged at me until I finally drove myself to the pharmacy, bought a test, and locked myself in the bathroom. Five minutes later, I sat on the cool tile floor, staring at the two pink lines as though they’d been written in fire. Pregnant. Pregnant with Dominic Russo’s child. Stupidly enough first reaction wasn’t fear—it was hope. And I hated myself for it. Hated myself for thinking that maybe, finally, this was the bridge that could pull us closer together. Maybe a child would be the spark that softened Dominic’s walls, that made him see me—not just as a convenient wife or physical outlet, but as someone who could be his partner. It had to soften him up to me, hadn't it? A child was a huge deal, after all. He wouldn't be heartless enough to not care about me when I was carrying his child, right? For the first time in months, I felt hopeful. Maybe, I wouldn't have to leave after all. Maybe, we could start anew, like a real family this time. Filled with a renewed hope, I waited for Dominic to come home. I dressed in soft cream silk, my hair loose, my hands trembling slightly as I set two glasses of wine on the table before realizing I couldn’t drink. I poured myself water instead. Dominic came in late, still on the phone, loosening his tie with one hand as he barked orders to someone on the other end. My stomach flipped with nerves. “Dominic,” I said quietly once he hung up. He gave me a quick glance. “Yeah?” “I… I have something to tell you.” His brows lifted, impatient. “What is it?” “I’m pregnant.” The words felt fragile in the air, as though they might shatter if I spoke too loudly. Dominic froze. For a moment, I swore I saw something flash in his eyes—surprise, maybe even wonder—but it was gone in an instant, replaced by guarded calculation. “You’re what?” “Pregnant,” I repeated, my heart pounding. “We’re going to have a baby.” Silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Finally, Dominic exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Isabella… you’re on the pill.” “Nothing is one hundred percent effective,” I whispered, my voice cracking under his tone. He paced for a moment, jaw tight. “You planned this?” “What? No!” I burst out, unable to believe what he was saying. No, no, no. This was not how I had imagined this conversation going. Why wasn't he happy? Why wasn't he being kind and supportive? “Because it sure as hell feels like you’re trying to tie me down with a kid I didn’t ask for.” The words slammed into me like a blow, and I staggered back a few steps. “Dominic,” I said softly, trying to swallow the lump in my throat, “it’s our child.” “This isn’t the right time,” he muttered, grabbing his jacket again. "There's a lot going on with Santoro. With the upcoming deal with them. This…” He gestured vaguely towards my stomach, “This just complicates things.” “So what do you want me to do?” I asked, both dreading what he would say next, and willing for him to say it to my face. If he rejected his own child, our child—this little life we had created together, it would be the last straw. I would never in my life hope for anything positive with him. He didn’t answer right away, and that pause told me all I needed to know. When he finally spoke, his voice was flat. “You should think about your options.” The tears didn’t come until long after Dominic left the room, slamming the door behind him. I had never thought that he would push me away like this even after finding out that we were going to have a baby together. Gone were the days when he would kiss me just because, trace his fingers over my spine when I slept, thinking I was asleep. Now, he was nothing but cold, and heartless when it came to me. He treated me like a business deal he couldn't wait to wash his hands off now. I'd always known that that was the kind of man he was deep down, but stupidly enough, I'd hoped that he would change for me. How pathetic. I sat on the edge of the bed, both hands cradling my stomach, and whispered to the tiny life inside me: “Don’t worry, baby. Even if he doesn’t want us, I do. And I promise, I'm going to take you far, far away from this place.” Unspoken Things Dominic's POV I wasn't a man who missed details. I could spot a lie in the flicker of an eye, a betrayal in a half-beat pause over dinner. So how had I missed this? I stood at the doorway of our bedroom, arms folded, watching Isabella silently fold clothes into neat stacks. Not designer dresses she wore for events, not the cocktail gowns that hugged her curves the way I liked. No, these were soft knits, linen shirts—things she used for travel. "Going somewhere?" I asked, keeping my tone carefully neutral. Isabella startled slightly, but she didn't look up. "Just... reorganizing." I frowned. There was something in the way she kept her back half-turned toward me, as though she was shielding something I couldn't see. Over the past two weeks, she had become quieter. Not cold exactly—but withdrawn, guarded. Our conversations stayed polite, even warm at times, but lacked the sharp edge of our earlier fights. I almost preferred the fights. At least then, she met me head-on. Now, it felt like she was retreating behind walls I hadn't even noticed her building. "Isabella," I said, walking closer. "What's going on?" She stilled for a heartbeat, then set down the shirt she was folding and faced me with a smile that was a touch too calm. "Nothing's going on, Dominic. Why do you ask?" I didn't believe her. But I didn't know what I was accusing her of, either. Later that night, I found her in the garden, sitting on the stone bench with her hands absentmindedly resting over her stomach. My gaze drifted there before I could stop it. She was carrying my child. Our child. I'd confirmed with the family gynaecologist she'd met with the day after she'd told me she was pregnant. According to her, Isabella was roughly ten weeks along. Which meant she had concieved the last time we had had sex. I knew she had decided to keep the baby. I, however, was yet to decide how I felt about it. I had too many enemies looking for a weakness to strike on right now. And a child would be the biggest weakness of all. I didn't think it was a good idea to have a child at a time like this. "You should be resting," I said to her instead, leaning against the column. "I am resting," she replied without looking at me. There was no bite in her tone, but there was no softness either. "Isabella..." I exhaled slowly, running a hand through my hair. "If you're upset about what I said the other night-" She turned sharply, her eyes glinting even in the dim light. "Which part? The one where you accused me of trying to trap you? Or the part where you told me to think about my options?" I clenched my jaw. I'd been stressed because of work. And I'd taken it out on her. "I didn't mean-" "You meant every word, Dominic." She rose from the bench, brushing past me as though she couldn't stand to be there one more second. I stayed in the garden long after she left, my chest tight with something uncomfortably close to guilt. But instead of recognizing the emotion, I shoved it down, like I did with every single thing when it came to her. She was just angry. Hurt, maybe. Acting out for attention. I had bigger things to deal with than a wife trying to manipulate me with silence. Besides, it wasn’t like I was a cruel man. Okay, I was, but not to her. I provided for her—more than most women could dream of. Security, wealth, protection. She never wanted for anything material. I let her work, unlike other made men. I even let her have her own studio to work at however she pleased, both in the city and at home. And Alessia. She had always been a constant. She understood the business, the blood, the sacrifices. She could anticipate my decisions before I made them. She could spar with me in strategy without needing explanation. I often felt that Isabella thought of Alessia as a threat. But Alessia wasn’t a threat to anyone—she was an ally, one I needed in order to keep our empire intact. With a few important deals falling through and feds sniffing around, our family hadn't exactly been in a safe place when Alessia came back from Italy a year back. Everything had seemed good on the surface, but only I knew the struggles behind the scenes. I could've turned to my father for help, sure, but I didn't think it was wise to do so with his failing health, and already fragile heart. It was with the help of Alessia, and her father's business, that I'd been able to pull my shit together enough to keep us afloat. Alessia understood all that and had stayed by me through the thick of it. Best of all, she didn't complain, didn't nag, didn't expect me to do things I didn't have the time to. But Isabella didn't seem to understand any of that. What did she want from me, really? To sit in bed and whisper sweet words when there were wars to be fought? To hold her hand when my enemies were plotting to bury us both? I didn’t have time for that. Not yet. It wasn’t that I didn’t like Isabella. In fact, there were moments I admired her—her quiet resilience, the softness in her voice when she spoke with staff, the warmth in her smile when she thought no one was looking. But admiration was a luxury, and I didn’t live on luxuries. I lived on necessity. And necessity meant prioritizing the business. Prioritizing survival. Isabella would understand, one day, when things were calmer. When the smoke cleared, when Alessia and the others no longer had to sit at my side through every meeting, every negotiation. I would have the time then. For now, she needed to be patient. To trust me. But instead, she was folding travel clothes. Speaking with an edge in her voice. Acting as though I had failed her, when I had given her everything that mattered. I sighed, staring out into the night, the weight of a thousand unspoken things pressing against my chest. I lit a cigarette to calm my nerves. I wasn’t wrong. I couldn’t be wrong. Could I? The Vow Finally, it was time. After Dominic had rejected me, and our child, squashing all my hopes of reconciliation, I had quietly bided my time, waiting for a month to be over. I had rehearsed my departure so many times it felt like muscle memory now. I had moved everything I would need—which wasn't much, really—in small stacks from the Russo Mansion to my studio so no one would be suspicious. I didn't think anyone cared much about what I did or didn't do in this grand palace of a house, but I hadn't taken any risks, especially now that a child was involved as well. All my things would be shipped along with my studio supplies this morning, and the flight to Florence was booked for tonight. My assistant at the studio had arranged it all for me, believing I was simply relocating for work. Only I knew that I wasn't coming back. I'd already informed the HR head at my new job in Florence about my unexpected pregnancy, and they had been more than accommodating about it. Such kindness from strangers I was yet to meet in person when I hadn't recieved even an ounce of it at the place I called home had brought tears to my eyes. Not only had it made me emotional, but it had also cemented my decision to leave even more. I'd rather be somewhere I was valued and cared for than here, where I volleyed between a nobody, or an inconvenience. I double-checked the handbag I had readied to take with me: passport, medical file, appointment slip from my gynaecologist, the sonogram I hadn't shown anyone. I had barely slept. My escape plan was a fragile secret stitched together with trembling hands and whispered prayers. This morning, I was supposed to visit my gynecologist. Afterwards, I’d take a cab straight to the airport. From there, me and my child—our child—would vanish. I had already gotten my copy of the final divorce certificate yesterday, and had arranged for Dominic's copy to be mailed to him with a deliberate delay of three days after my departure. With a quiet sigh, I smoothed down my dress, and picked up my bag. Time to go. I hadn't expected, or wanted to see Dominic before leaving the Russo Mansion for the last time in my life. But when I walked down the stairs, he was sitting in the living room, dark suit immaculate, sipping coffee as though nothing in the world could touch him. His composure always left me breathless, once in awe, now in anguish. Though surprisingly enough, Alessia wasn't clinging to him today. Even though I'd mentally prepared for the possibility of seeing him, my heart still stuttered in my chest as he gave me a slow once over. “You’re dressed early,” Dominic noted, eyes narrowing at my simple dress. “Where are you going?” “The doctor,” I said evenly, with practiced ease, hand brushing over my stomach instinctively. “I have an appointment.” His gaze flicked downward, then back up, unreadable. “You’re still entertaining this idea?” His tone was too casual, too sharp. “Isabella, I told you before… think about what this means. A child, in our world, is leverage. A weakness.” My throat tightened. “A weakness? He’s our child, Dominic.” He set down his cup with deliberate care. “Don’t be naïve. This is not the right time for a baby. I already have a lot of enemies breathing down my neck right now. An heir paints a target on your back, too. On his back. I’ve seen what happens.” I shook my head. What was he talking about? He was an heir to his father's empire, too, wasn't he? He had taken over their business from his father when his health declined, had he not? And he was fine— clearly alive, well protected. So, why couldn't our child be protected the same way? What a pathetic excuse for not wanting a kid. My voice trembled, but I forced it to be steady. “So what? You want me to—” His jaw ticked. “I’m telling you, end it before someone else ends it for you. Because if you don’t, Isabella—” I froze. “If I don’t, what?” I challenged, my heart thundering in my chest. The silence between us stretched, suffocating. His eyes darkened, and the next words slipped out, low, cold, stripped of softness. “Then you’ll force my hand.” Blood rushed to my ears. The room spun. He hadn’t raised his voice. He hadn’t struck me. But the words sliced deeper than any blow. I heard nothing beyond them. The threat was clear as day. My chest hollowed. The air burned in my lungs. “You’d… kill me?” I whispered. His expression flickered, as though he hadn’t meant it the way I took it. But he didn’t take it back either. And that was worse. Something inside me fractured cleanly. I left without another word, the sound of the door slamming behind me echoing like a final vow. Leaving wasn't just a necessity now, it was a means to survival. The car ride to the hospital was a blur. I pressed trembling hands over my belly the entire way to the hospital, whispering to my unborn child promises I wasn’t sure I could keep. Inside the hospital, I met briefly with Dr. Marinelli, discussing vitamins, flight precautions, and early genetic tests. I left the office feeling much lighter than when I'd entered it. Every step I took out of the hospital felt closer to freedom. I was halfway to the car when the world ripped apart. The engine of my waiting car ignited in a sudden roar of fire, and everything around me turned to smoke and ash. The explosion flung me backward. Screams filled the street. Medics rushed to the scene from behind me. Heat licked my skin as I scrambled to my feet, terror thundering in my veins. I stared at the burning shell of the car, realization dawning with ice-cold clarity as I watched someone pull a charred body out. It was him. Dominic. He had done this. It had to be. Dominic had warned me. Threatened me. If I didn’t obey, he’d force my hand. He hadn't denied when I'd accused him of wanting to kill me. And now this. My heart clenched painfully in my chest. My baby. My sweet, innocent child. Dominic had tried to kill not only me, but our child, too. An innocent life that had done nothing to harm him. There was no going back from this. I staggered to the street corner, flagged down a bus with shaking hands, and boarded without looking back. My things were already shipped, my new life already waiting. Florence. A new name. A new future. And a vow carved into my soul: I would never return. Not to him. Not to this life. Not after this betrayal. His Return 5 years later "Mamma, faster!" Mateo's laughter rang through the sunny apartment as he sprinted across the living room, bare feet slapping against the wooden floor. I pretended to chase him, catching him just before he could duck under the table. I scooped him up, spinning him around until he squealed with delight. His curls bounced into his eyes—Dominic's eyes—and for a moment, I froze, my chest tightening with an ache I thought I'd long buried. I kissed my son's forehead, forcing the memory away. "Alright, alright. Time to calm down, little hurricane. Mamma has work." Work. The word meant something different now than it had five years ago. No longer was I just an employee with something to prove. I was now Signora Bianchi, Director of Curation and Exhibitions—a respected leader in the Florence arts scene, sought after for my innovative ideas. My colleagues had become my friends, my family. They knew me as a single mother who had made her life from scratch, and they admired me for it. None of them knew the truth. That morning, I was halfway through sorting the final list for an upcoming joint exhibition when Chiara knocked on my door, looking pleased but slightly tense. "Isa, do you have a minute?" "Of course." Chiara closed the door and sat across from me. "We've been offered a huge partnership, an international sponsor for the Renaissance Reborn project. It'll open doors for all of us. Funding, recognition, press. But..." My pen stilled mid-note. "But what?" "The sponsor is the Russo Group." The name hit me like a fist to the gut. Chiara continued, oblivious to my rigid posture. "The CEO himself is flying in for the final negotiations from New York. We'll need our head of curation at the table. Which means you." I stared at her blankly, heart pounding so loudly I barely heard anything else. "Isa? You alright?" I forced a smile, thin and shaky. "Yes. Of course. Just... surprised. I didn't know the Russo Group dealt with projects like that." Chiara nodded. "They only started a few years back. But they'll be a good start to take our business international, you know? The kind of connections they have is just what we need." I nodded, still trying to wrap my head around the information I'd just gotten. When Chiara left, I sat frozen, fingers clenched around my pen until it snapped in two. When I'd left New York City behind five years ago, I had never thought that I'd run into Dominic ever again. Let alone think that I'd ever have to work with him closely. However, I couldn't say no to Chiara. Even though she was my senior here at work, she had never let me feel that way. I still remembered the first time I'd stepped foot into Florence. Chiara was the one who had sent her own personal assistant, Luca, to get me from the airport and help me settle into my new apartment which was fully furnished with everything I would need. Not only had Luca helped me settle in, he had also stocked the house with groceries and other essentials so I didn't have to go out right away. He had even come to pick me up for work the next day, introducing me to everyone at the office as if he were my own personal assistant. I had felt more welcomed here on my first day than I'd felt my entire life at the Russo Mansion. And when I'd gotten three dinner invites by the time the first day ended, I knew I'd made the perfect decision to leave a place I was clearly neither welcome nor required at and come here to Florence instead. "Florence takes care of it's people," Chiara had told me while I was having dinner with her and a few other colleagues to celebrate my first day at work. And she'd been right, in a way. It wasn't Florence exactly who had taken care of me, but it's people. When my baby bump had started showing, my neighbour from down the hall, Ms Giardiano, an old Italian lady who lived alone, made sure to come check on me every other day. She would bring me nutritious home cooked meals so I wouldn't have to cook for myself after coming home from work. Everyone at work had been super helpful, too. They had gotten me the comfiest chair so my back wouldn't hurt while I sat and worked all day. They had hired an office masseuse on the pretext that everyone needed some relaxation while they worked, but I was the only one who got regular foot massages from her to help with my swollen feet. Hell, Chiara, Luca and Lizzy, another of my colleagues, had helped me buy and put my baby's crib together when the delivery date was nearing. On the day of the delivery, Chiara, Luca, Lizzy and Mrs Giardiano had been right outside the delivery room, waiting to hear the good news. Afterwards, they'd all taken turns staying at my place to take care of the two of us as if they were family. They'd done all this and so much more, making me feel more cared for than I'd ever felt in my entire marriage. I knew without a doubt that Dominic would never have done even half of what these practical strangers had done for me throughout my pregnancy and every day since. Leaving Dominic had been the best decision of my life and over the years, I'd built something beautiful from the ashes of the betrayal and pain he had left behind. But now, Dominic was coming here. And I wasn't sure I was ready to face him yet, or if I'd ever be. That evening, Mateo climbed onto my lap with his favorite book, demanding a story. I read, smiling when he giggled at his favorite part, but inside my thoughts churned. I hadn't told anyone about Dominic. Not my friends. Not my son. And now I was going to have to walk into a room and face the man who thought I was dead—who had, in a way, helped kill the woman I used to be. I hugged Mateo closer, inhaling the scent of his shampoo. Whatever Dominic Russo thought he could do to me now, he'd learn soon enough that I wasn't the same woman who used to wait for scraps of affection. I was stronger. Bolder. And most importantly, I wasn't alone. I had my friends with me. They'd shown me what it felt like to be truly loved and cared for. And my son had grown surrounded by the same love, care and affection from everyone around him. I'd be damned if I let anyone, let alone Dominic Russo take that away from us. This time, I wasn't running. I would show Dominic I wasn't the same pathetic woman he had once tried to kill.

"When I sold off three major buildings in the city center at rock-bottom prices and used the proceeds to buy up all the supplies from every shopping mall in the city... People thought I was crazy. But they didn't know that the end of the world was coming..." .................................................................. Chapter 1 Rebirth Beep! Beep! Beep! Kiara jolted upright, lungs burning, her breath coming hard and fast. The bedroom around her was both strange and familiar, sending a chill through her chest. I'm supposed to be dead, aren't I? In her previous life, after enduring one extreme weather event after another, she was betrayed—bound in a mountain cave by her father and half-sister, who cruelly flayed her flesh to sustain themselves. The memory of her final moments was so vivid and horrifying that sweat drenched her back. The phone kept ringing. She wiped the sweat from her forehead with a trembling hand and pulled it out from under the pillow. Yara Sharp's name flashed across the screen. A shadow flickered in her gaze. She jabbed the button to reject her call sharply. She and Yara had a score to settle—one she would never forget. But then she froze, her eyes went wide. The date glared up at her from the screen—May 15, 2030, 2:29 p.m. Is this a dream? She pinched her arm hard. The sharp pain told her it was real. Kiara had been reborn—five years earlier, in the last quiet stretch before the end of the world. Kiara remembered the day perfectly. July 3rd, 2:49 a.m.—Joplor's dormant volcano, silent for three centuries, had erupted without warning. Lava poured for an entire week. An entire nation vanished. No one realized then that it was just the beginning. Soon after came the unbearable heat. Temperatures soared to 167°F and stayed there until October. Millions died. Then came the rain—torrential, endless. It was as if the sky had been torn open, dumping more water each day than the last. In less than a month, catastrophic flooding swallowed the great cities of the world, grinding modern civilization to a halt. When the rains finally stopped, the survivors barely had time to catch their breath before the deep freeze arrived—ice storms and blizzards that swept across the globe. And then ... earthquakes, hurricanes, sandstorms, tsunamis, glaciers collapsing into the sea—disaster after disaster, until most of humanity was gone. Those who remained could hardly still be called human. By her count, there were less than two months before the apocalypse began. Kiara forced herself into motion, heading to the bathroom to splash cold water on her face. The woman staring back from the mirror had bright, clear eyes and flawless skin—a round, youthful face—completely unlike the hollow-eyed survivor worn down by years of relentless struggle in her past life. Her gaze dropped to the pendant at her neck—a Madonna pendant passed down from her grandmother. In her previous life, five years into the apocalypse, while fleeing another attempt on her life from Yara, her blood had accidentally stained the pendant's crystal inlay. She accidentally discovered its secret—inside was a storage space where time stood still. Crops could grow. Supplies never spoiled. Trapped in that cave as Yara's food supply, Kiara had thought a thousand times—if she could start over, she would make full use of that space. Without hesitation, she took a brow razor, nicked her finger, and let a drop of blood fall on the Madonna's face. After a flash of light, she heard the sound of running water. Before her appeared a gentle hillside of nearly 20 acres, covered in fertile fields. At its heart stood a two-story wooden lodge, sprawling over more than 50,000 square feet. She stepped inside the empty lodge and focused. With a faint whoosh, a massive four-door refrigerator appeared in the corner of the living room. Just like before. Only when dizziness hit her did she pull herself out of the space. Her nose felt wet. She dabbed it with a tissue—nosebleed. The space could hold living creatures, but intelligent beings suffered if they stayed inside too long. Nosebleeds, vertigo, weakness. In her last life, she'd died before finding a cure for those symptoms. This time, she would find a way. There was no time for sentiment. The clock was ticking. There was too much to do. She sat down at her desk, opened a blank document, and started typing. After five years of scavenging and trading to survive, she knew exactly which supplies would be the most precious. Seven pages of lists later, she reviewed, double-checked, and then scoured the web for more ideas. Three more pages followed before she finally leaned back. Then came the hard truth—how much money did she actually have? The answer made her want to cry. Once, she had been the proud landlord of three prime high-rise buildings in Zloria's Harborview district. Now, she had less than 200,000 dollars in cash. Her grandmother had made a fortune in the gem trade, but Kiara hadn't inherited her gift. Her mother, hopelessly romantic, had married Hugh Sharp—a charming gambler who slowly drained her of everything she owned. Only her grandmother had seen through him. Before she died, she converted her assets into those three Harborview towers and put them in Kiara's name, forbidding any transfer of ownership. After her grandmother's death, the rent from those towers was all that kept Kiara and her mother afloat. Hugh couldn't access that income, so he revealed his true nature, bringing home his mistress and Yara, his illegitimate daughter, who was only a few months younger than Kiara. Her mother had taken it hard. She jumped to her death. Naïve and craving family, Kiara became Hugh's new cash cow, funding his happy household and Yara's spoiled upbringing with her rental income. If not for the apocalypse, she might still be bankrolling those parasites. Her jaw tightened. She grabbed her phone and unblocked a real estate tycoon who'd been pestering her for months. "Mr. Swanson," she said, "do you still want those buildings? I'll give you a steal—two billion. Transfer today, contract today." There was a pause. Then came a delighted laugh from Garfield Swanson. "Deal. I'll have the papers drawn up immediately." He knew exactly how valuable that property was—the location was prime, and Garfield had already heard redevelopment was coming. Two billion for all three was a steal. Two hours later, Kiara stepped out of Garfield's office. Her bank balance now had nine glorious zeroes, which eased her worries. Now came the fun part—shopping. She moved fast—renting several massive warehouses in Eastgate, each over 30,000 square feet. Then she drove to the farmers' market and bought premium rice, flour, cooking oil, spices, canned goods, sausages, cured meats, and every dairy product she could store, instructing vendors to deliver directly to her warehouses. Two million gone in one trip, and she didn't haggle, paying without thinking. Water wasn't a problem—her space had fresh, drinkable streams. These supplies could keep her alive for a lifetime. With food secured to keep her alive, the next on the survival checklist was clothing. The apocalypse brought deadly, unpredictable weather, and survival often came down to the right gear. She rented a small truck and headed to Cloudwood, a district crammed with garment factories. Most of the larger ones usually filled overseas orders that produced quality products. But with the apocalypse looming, shipping them abroad no longer made sense—better for her to seize them now. It took effort, but she finally got a meeting with a factory manager. Kiara ordered T-shirts, jeans, sweaters, long down coats, snow boots, sneakers, thermal underwear, hiking boots, tents, parkas, hats, and scarves. To avoid looking like a lunatic and getting thrown out, she kept her order relatively modest—requesting multiple sizes in both men's and women's styles. Even so, Kiara read from her list for a solid 30 minutes without stopping, leaving the factory manager's jaw hanging open. Who ordered that many clothes in one go and for every season? It wasn't like the end of the world was coming. What was the rush? He had good reason to suspect she was just here to mess with him, and the list in her hand was all the proof he needed. Sensing his expression growing darker by the second, Kiara calmly pulled out her bank card. "I can pay a deposit now." "20 million," the manager said after a pause, taken aback by her seriousness. Flush with cash and not shy about spending it, Kiara swiped the card right away. "I want this order fast—ideally finished within a month. And while speed is important, so is quality." The factory manager's stern look vanished instantly, replaced by a fawning smile. "Of course, ma'am." Chapter 2 Shopping Spree After paying the deposit, she left the warehouse address and walked out. The moment Kiara stepped out of the factory, a warm gust brushed her face, and for the first time, everything started to feel real. The streets were alive with the evening rush—people hurrying home from work, neon lights flickering to life, and the air buzzing with the scent of fried food from nearby stalls. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a door and window store and a hardware store. Pulling over to the curb, she grabbed her shopping list and went inside. "Two of the sturdiest steel security doors you've got," she told the shop owner, "twenty shatterproof glass windows, one electric gate, security grilles, screen windows—and I want the whole property fenced in with heavy-gauge stainless steel. Can you do that?" From a thick stack of papers, she pulled out a layout of the property and handed it to him. She'd bought that place years ago in a fit of irritation—after a fight with Hugh, some pushy real estate agent caught her at the moment, bragging about the house being earthquake, hurricane, and even tsunami-proof. Annoyed, and with fresh rent money in her account, she had bought it just to shut him up. Hugh and Yara had no idea it even existed. The shop owner had never heard such a strange request. For a moment, he didn't even know what to say. Kiara tightened the jacket around her shoulders. "I'm paranoid," she said matter-of-factly. This world had all kinds, and he'd clearly decided she was one of them. Without asking more, afraid to scare off this jackpot of a customer, he nodded. "We can do it. But I'll need a deposit. I can bring my crew tomorrow to install everything." Kiara's wallet spoke for her. After swapping numbers and setting a time, she went next door and practically cleaned out the hardware store—buying shelves, tools, and anything else she thought she might need. She even ordered custom storage racks. She practically bought out his inventory. By the time she left, the shop owner's grin was so wide she was sure his cheeks hurt. Kiara ignored his glee and headed for the door, only to catch a delivery guy rushing past with a bag of takeout. The smell hit her like a punch to the gut. Her stomach gave an unashamed growl. She was hungry. Too lazy to get back in the car, she ducked into a shabby little diner across the street. The middle-aged owner greeted her with a smile. "What can I get you, hon?" Kiara flipped through the menu and ticked off more than a dozen dishes. The woman was shocked. She stared at her fragile frame and sincerely advised, "Sweetheart, our portions are big. Three dishes will fill you up." "I can finish it," Kiara replied. She looked her in the eyes, dead serious. If a customer wanted to spend, who was she to argue? The owner took the order without another word. Before long, the table was covered edge-to-edge with steaming plates. Kiara's hands trembled as she reached for her fork. How long had it been since she'd eaten a meal that smelled this good? In the apocalypse, five years of famine and cannibalism had stripped the world bare. Kiara had clung to her principles, surviving on grass, roots, and mud—only to become food for the family she'd protected all that time. Shaking off the memory, she tore into the food like a starving wolf. One plate. Two plates. After the third plate, Kiara felt so stuffed she could barely sit still. She looked around to make sure no one was watching, then quietly loosened her belt a notch and kept eating. By the time she reached the fifth plate, she could barely catch her breath, the food pressing so hard against her stomach that she thought she might puke. Only then did she finally stop, leaving the table full of leftovers. She knew exactly what this meal was a response to the extreme hunger she'd endured in her past life. Kiara patted her now-rounded stomach and silently promised herself she wouldn't let it get out of hand next time. If the apocalypse hadn't come yet, she'd end up killing herself by overeating, and that would be the most ridiculous second chance ever. After paying, she asked the owner for eight takeout boxes and packed up the remaining dishes along with a large portion of rice. Back in the car, Kiara rolled up the windows, placed the food on the seat, and muttered under her breath, "Store." In a flash, the food vanished from her sight, stored safely in the wooden lodge inside the hidden storage. Kiara relaxed, knowing it was safe. Full and satisfied, it was time to do some serious shopping. She didn't plan to buy her supplies from the supermarket. It would be a hassle to haul everything into the car; moreover, pushing carts full of goods through the store would definitely attract attention. Kiara wanted to stockpile quietly, without drawing too much notice. When she finally got home, she found two unexpected visitors were standing at her doorstep. As soon as she saw their faces, Kiara's expression darkened. She hadn't even gotten around to dealing with them, but the duo were actually delivering themselves at her doorstep. Hugh and Yara. In her past life, they had literally carved her up and eaten her alive—starting with her legs—just so they could extend her life for a little longer. It had taken nearly a month of unimaginable pain and desperation before she finally died. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath to calm the storm raging inside her. Hugh saw her then and strode over, his face hard. "You idiot! Who told you to sell those buildings? Fine, what's done is done. But Yara's got her eye on a Lamborghini; go buy it for her. I'm short on cash too, and while you're at it, transfer me a billion." If Yara hadn't overheard a friend mention the sale, Hugh would still be in the dark. The entitlement in his tone made Kiara's stomach turn. She couldn't understand why she was eager to beg for his affection in the past, especially when his favoritism toward Yara was so obvious. She turned away, her voice cold as she barked, "Get lost." Not a single penny for them this time. Her expression was full of disdain. Hugh, taken aback, didn't know how to handle her sudden defiance. He was used to her passivity. Hearing her words, he raised his hand, about to slap her. "How dare you speak rudely to your elder?" But his hand never reached her. Kiara's swift kick sent him crashing to the ground with a thud. Her grandmother had always thought Hugh was unreliable, so she enrolled Kiara in kickboxing classes when she was young, and she hadn't stopped training since. It was that very skill that helped her survive the end of the world. Thanks to her apocalypse experience, Kiara's moves were lethal. With one powerful kick, she sent Hugh crashing to the ground, his teeth smashing into the pavement, two of them shattered. He let out a grunt of pain and passed out. Yara rushed over in a panic, screaming, "Dad!" She yanked on Hugh's arm and then glared fiercely at Kiara. "You heartless witch! How could you lay a hand on Dad? You sold those buildings for 20 billion and couldn't even spare him a single billion? You're unbelievably ungrateful! No wonder your mother died young—it's fitting for someone like you!" Kiara's eyes narrowed. "With that filthy mouth of yours, no wonder your mom ended up with late-stage lung cancer." She sneered, grabbed Yara by the arm, slammed her into the wall, then slapped her face several times, left and right. Yara staggered back, disoriented, and Kiara shoved her away. "You two better stay the hell away from me, or I might just kill you both!" If the world had already collapsed, she would've killed them both to relieve her fury. But she didn't want to face the apocalypse locked in a prison cell, so she forced herself to hold back. Not bothering with their well-being, Kiara slammed the door shut behind her, flopped onto the couch, and pulled out her phone. She downloaded a bulk-order app and started shopping for supplies. Bottled water, soda, iced black tea and green tea, potato chips, ice cream, spicy beef jerky, pistachios, chicken wings, chocolate, coffee, ramen noodle cups, spaghetti, seasoning blends, bread, milk, instant mushroom soup, seasoning packets, canned stew, frozen meals, canned bean soup, cookies, candy, cake, and coffee beans. Then there were appliances: hairdryers, fans, air conditioners, fridges, washing machines, heaters, light bulbs, TVs, USB drives, game consoles, treadmills, punching gloves, punching bags, solar panels, diesel generators, and water purifiers. And personal care: tissues, sanitary pads, soap, shampoo, body wash, skin creams, face masks, wet wipes, toilet paper, toothpaste, toothbrushes, mouthwash, disinfectant, hand warmers, electric blankets, and camp stoves. Everything she could find, she ordered. She filled the shipping address with the warehouse she'd just rented. She spent a staggering 80 million dollars in one sitting. By 3 a.m., Kiara was still scrolling through the app, eyes bloodshot from exhaustion. Buy. Buy. Buy. She kept ordering, her obsession with stocking up so intense that even in her dreams, she was still fiercely adding to her cart. Chapter 3 Stockpiling The next morning, Kiara woke early. After washing up, she stepped into her storage space to check things. The eight meals she'd stored there yesterday still sat quietly in the corner. When she touched them, they were still warm. She didn't plan to eat them yet. Leaving the space, she headed to the café near her apartment complex, ordered a bowl of granola for breakfast, and then asked the owner to pack up 30 portions each of granola, toast, bagels, soy milk, and waffles. Once the packages were ready, she waited until no one was paying attention, then slipped all the food into her storage space. With her stomach full and morning hunger satisfied, she launched into the day's mission—stockpiling. The first stop was a 24-hour auto shop she'd been visiting for years. The owner knew her well and greeted her while chewing on a breakfast burrito. "Kiara, heading out on another trip with your boyfriend?" he asked with a grin. She froze for a moment. Right—she'd almost forgotten she still had a boyfriend. Since college graduation, she'd been flush with cash from her rental properties and had indulged her love for outdoor adventures, traveling all over with Milo Hodgson. But thinking about him now left her in a daze. In her last life, after the apocalypse hit, Milo had tried to force her to stay with him because of her combat skills. But she'd stubbornly chosen to protect Hugh and Yara, who could barely lift a stick in self-defense. That choice had ended with a brutal fight and a breakup. The next time they met, she was chained up in a cave at Yara's mercy. Milo had kicked her mutilated body, sneering for a long while before walking away. She'd never seen him again. Shaking off the memory, Kiara nodded at the shop owner and smiled faintly. "I'm going on a world trip. Replace every part in my car with the best you've got, and upgrade the glass to heavy-duty bulletproof." The owner let out a low whistle; he finished his burrito and wiped off the grease on his pants. "Holy moly! That's going to need top-shelf work. Give me two weeks—I'll make it perfect." After a few more words, she left. She texted Milo during a lull in her errands, saying, "I'm exhausted. Let's break up." Without waiting for a reply, she deleted every way of contacting him. Next, she rented a small truck and drove to the countryside to buy fresh vegetables—cabbage, carrots, potatoes, spinach, tomatoes, pumpkins, onions, garlic, lettuce, and more. She'd fill the truck, drive to a quiet stretch of road, then stash everything in her storage space before moving on to the next town. Fruits came next—apples, pomegranates, watermelon, pears, figs, grapes, peaches, oranges, strawberries, plums ... Seasonal or not, she bought them all. From there, she hit dozens of slaughterhouses, buying pork, beef, chicken, lamb, fish, and seafood. If anyone asked, she told them she was catering a huge party, and she sold it so convincingly that no one questioned her. She didn't stop there—vegetable and fruit seeds, gardening books, everything she could find. Her storage space wasn't just a wooden lodge; it held 20 acres of fertile, sunlit land. With plenty of water and constant daylight, she could grow enough food to last years. When the food supplies were nearly complete, she turned her thoughts to medicine. Frequent, unpredictable disasters were a hallmark of the end times. When that day came, even a mild cold could turn fatal—never mind anything worse. Buying medicine, however, wasn't as simple as buying vegetables. Kiara figured the easiest solution was to acquire an entire pharmacy. The problem was, running one legally required a pharmacist's license—something she definitely didn't have. The only person she knew who could make this happen quickly was Garfield, the man who'd recently bought three buildings from her at a bargain. She called him and explained what she wanted. Riding high on his latest deal, Garfield was in an excellent mood. He thumped his chest in assurance, promising he could have it done by tomorrow. Garfield wasn't one to make empty promises, so Kiara knew the medicine side of her preparations was in good hands. She was already thinking about stocking up on books once the pharmacy was secured when her phone rang—it was the door-and-window contractor. They'd arrived at Skyhaven. When Kiara arrived, the contractor and two workers were squatting by the entrance, eating ice cream, with sweat streaming down their faces and soaking through their shirts. It was only mid-May, yet the temperature was already pushing 104°F. A sign of what was coming, though no one seemed to notice. After a quick greeting, she scanned her fingerprint at the gate and entered the building. Skyhaven was a high-end complex—secure enough that even during the apocalypse, it wouldn't be easy to break into. She'd bought the top-floor unit, the tenth story. In her last life, she and Hugh and Yara had holed up here for two long years. The workers seemed to sense her cool, distant nature and didn't try to chat. They went straight to work. Stepping into the empty condominium where she lived for two years stirred a strange feeling in her chest. Then the echo in the bare room reminded her—she didn't have a single piece of furniture. In her past life, Kiara had scavenged abandoned condominiums for whatever she could find. This time, she wanted things done right. Looks like she'd have to buy some proper furniture. Reinforcing the windows and walls would take days, and she had no intention of standing over the workers' shoulders the whole time. She simply told them she wouldn't pay the balance unless the job was solid—and that she'd add a bonus if it was done well. That promise alone made them work more carefully. Leaving the condominium, she found a middle-aged man with a slight belly leaning in the doorway, peering inside. Her face darkened, she walked over and asked coldly, "What's up?" He grinned. "New here, huh? I'm your neighbor across the hall—Travis Walsh. So ... you live alone? No parents around?" Kiara knew exactly who he was. In her last life, Travis and his buddies had seized the residents' supplies and raped every attractive woman they could get their hands on. In her last life, Kiara had crossed paths with Travis before. Once, Yara had complained about being bored at home. The moment she stepped outside, Travis grabbed her. Kiara had fought tooth and nail, charging straight into his den to drag Yara back. But in the end, Yara had still cozied up to him. The two of them—a perfect pair of snakes—had set her up so badly she'd been left with a permanent limp. It was because of that injury she had eventually fallen into the hands of the ruthless father-daughter duo and ended up as their food supply. Remembering it now, Kiara's eyes grew colder as she took in Travis's loathsome face. With a sharp bang, she slammed the door shut, brushing past him without a glance. "None of your business." "Hey, kid, you got no manners?" Travis's voice hardened with irritation. When he reached out to grab her arm, Kiara caught his wrist and shoved hard. A loud pop echoed in the hallway; his shoulder was out of its socket. Her gaze locked on his pain-twisted face, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble. "Don't mess with me." Another name was added to her kill list. When the end came, this man would be the first to die. A disturbing thought crept in—she realized she was starting to enjoy the freedom to hurt those who deserved it. A part of her was beginning to look forward to the apocalypse. When her figure disappeared into the elevator, Travis spat on the floor and growled, "I'll get you for this, bitch. Just you wait." Kiara didn't hear his empty threats. Outside the complex, she drove to her warehouse and stored away the last of her supplies. Travis's appearance had been a reminder—she needed to start preparing firearms and heavier weapons. She had no intention of becoming her neighbor's walking pantry. When she was done, she texted a soldier she'd met while traveling in Adroria, asking if he had time to talk. Hours passed with no reply; she figured he was busy and didn't dwell on it. It had been a long day. Lunch had been nothing but a rushed plate of burgers, so Kiara decided she deserved a proper dinner. In the new world, good meals would be a rare treat. She found an authentic cheese fondue restaurant and ordered over 30 dishes. Unlike last night, when she'd eaten until she could barely move, this time she paced herself, savoring each bite. Just as she finished, her phone lit up. The soldier replied warmly, asking what was going on. Kiara didn't discuss details over text—too risky if her phone was tapped. She simply said she'd be in Adroria next week and suggested meeting up. James Dean readily agreed. After that, she headed to an auto dealership and bought ten top-performance off-road vehicles, sending them to her mechanic for upgrades. When he asked about it, she said she was helping friends. He chuckled. "Kiara, thanks for bringing me all this business. I'll give you 20% off." "Deal," she said with a nod. That afternoon, she hit the electronics hub, buying dozens of laptops, phones, tablets, gaming consoles, and a pile of massive-capacity flash drives. She lugged them to her truck like sacks of grain. That night, she stayed home, downloading everything she could—classic movies, TV series, novels, comics, variety shows, and documentaries. Especially when it came to a fantasy drama, which she'd watched more than ten times, and just downloading it again was enough to make her curse out those worthless season-eight writers all over. She also downloaded dozens of top-quality wilderness survival documentaries—because in the apocalypse, you didn't just prepare for the likely; you prepared for the impossible. The end of the world would be dull enough as it was. She intended to make her time in hiding as full as possible. While the downloads ran, she opened her food delivery app and went on a spree—fried chicken, roast chicken, barbecue ribs, milkshakes, cakes, cheeseburgers, chili, french fries, buffalo wings, barbecue platters, hot dogs, crepes ... Her plan was simple—until doomsday arrived, she'd tap on all the food in the delivery menu every single day.

The Divorce The small law office smelled faintly of dust and old paper. A flickering lamp in the corner gave off a weak, tired glow, casting shadows across the stacks of files lining the shelves. I sat across from Mr. Ricci, an older man with sharp glasses and sharper instincts. “You’re sure about this, Mrs. Russo?” he asked quietly, hands folded over the folder in front of him. The name sounded strange, like it belonged to someone else. “Yes,” I said, my voice steady even though my pulse wasn’t. “I want the divorce filed quietly. I don’t want my husband or his people knowing until everything’s finalized.” Ricci gave me a long, measuring look, but he didn’t question me further. Instead, he slid the paperwork towards me. “You’ll need his signature on these.” I nodded, slipping the papers into my leather folder. When I came back to the Russo mansion, it felt too quiet. The guards at the gate didn't even spare me a second glance as I walked in. No one here paid me any attention now that I was reduced to the side piece in my own marriage. And the worst part? The worst part was my husband didn't even care. Knowing he would be in the study, I moved towards it and was proven right when Alessia's laughter tinkled out through the half open door. These days, where Alessia was, my husband wasn't too far away. "—so funny," Alessia, my husband's childhood best friend, who was back in the city after her divorce was saying. "I know, I'm the best," came Dominic's reply, his tone the most casual and relaxed I'd ever heard it be. On instinct, I opened the study door all the way through and stepped inside. Dominic Russo froze with his whisky glass halfway to his mouth as he looked at me standing in the doorway, his smile dropping at once. "Oh, hey, Isabella! You're back from your studio already?" Alessia said, her perfectly painted lips pulling into a broad smile as she looked at me. I simply nodded in reply, but Alessia carried on the conversation before I could so much as open my mouth to speak. "That's great. I was just telling Dominic how he hasn't lost his sense of humour. It's the same as when we were kids," she said, chuckling and oh so casually running her hand along his arm as she did so. Dominic didn't say anything, didn't push her away like I so desparately wanted him to. He just quietly sipped on his whiskey, like there was nothing wrong with a woman who wasn't his wife to be practically sitting on his lap and touching him almost intimately like they were lovers. I looked away, unable to see the two of them so close. And sense of humour, huh? He hadn't ever so much as cracked a joke with me in all our three years of marriage. Yet here he was, making another woman laugh with his words. "Right. I just needed you to sign a few documents for me," I said, swallowing past the lump in my throat and pulling out the divorce papers from my bag. I quickly flipped to the page I wanted him to sign before placing it on the table in front of him. "What's this?" Dominic asked, frowning at the papers. "It's just a safety liability form for a new project I'm going to be starting soon for a company," I said, sliding the papers across the polished wooden desk towards him. "I need you to sign it, since you're my only family now," I explained. The truth sat heavy between us. My parents had died when I was seventeen in a freak car accident. Dominic's father, the Don of the Russo family at the time, had taken me under his wing because my father had worked for him for years. "Let me just have a look," Dominic muttered, his eyes narrowing slightly as he pulled the papers towards him. My heart dropped to my stomach. Normally, he didn't read anything. Every paper related to my work I'd ever given to him, he had signed without a second glance. Why today? Why now? If he read what was written on those papers— "Oh, Dom," Alessia chuckled. "You're being too serious. It's just a formality. You know how many of those we have to fulfill on a daily basis. Just get it done and over with." As heiress to the Moretti enterprises, close business partners of the Russo family, Alessia had moved effortlessly in Dominic's world since her return almost a year back. They were always together now—at galas, public events, casino backrooms where deals got made. Everywhere Dominic went, Alessia was by his side, complimenting his tailor made tuxedos with her designer dresses. Dominic hesitated for a moment before picking up a pen and signing with a flourish, the same way he signed deals and death warrants. I quickly grabbed the papers from the desk before he could turn to the front page and read 'DIVORCE PETITION', written in bold across the front. I turned and walked out before either of them could see my hands shake. I was free. I clutched the divorce papers in my hand tightly as I walked upstairs to our room. The ink on the paper was barely dry, but our marriage had been over long before now. Though, it hadn't always been like this between us. There was a time when Dominic could barely keep his hands off of me. A time when he would pull me into dark hallways to steal passionate kisses in the middle of a family gathering. Now, he barely acknowledged my existence. Dominic was everything a woman shouldn't want—cold, ruthless, and dangerous. At only twenty six, he had taken over nearly half his father's business with his sharp wit, ruthless decisions and iron clad control. The media called him a young entrepreneur, but the streets knew better. I'd always kept my distance from him, never crossing paths unless it was absolutely necessary. Until that night three years ago that changed everything between us. He came home late at night, covered in someone else's blood, while I was at the kitchen counter patching up my own knife wound—courtesy of one of his father's men who thought the boss' charity case was easy prey. Dominic helped patch me up, offering me more than just some first aid in return. He offered to marry me that night. A marriage of convenience, a business arrangement so to speak. Protection for me, and legitimacy for him. I agreed on a whim, and we got married a week later. He wasn't particularly romantic, but the physical attraction between us burned brighter than anything I'd felt before. He fell in love with my body, while I ended up falling in love with all of him. I had almost convinced myself that I could, some day, make him love me back, too. But all my illusions shattered like broken glass when Alessia Moretti came back into our lives, and his late night meetings doubled. Suddenly, she was everywhere. In his meetings. In his car. In his study. Last month at Luigi's proved it. Luigi's is an Italian restaurant owned by Dominic where we were supposed to have a romantic dinner for our three year marriage anniversary. I waited five hours for Dominic to show up, until his right hand man Eduardo came with pity in his eyes and a diamond necklace in his hands— an apology from Dominic for not being able to make it because of some 'urgent business matter'. The 'urgent business matter' ended up being a gala he had attended with Alessia by his side—something I'd seen in the gossip column of the tabloids next morning. That was when I'd started planning my exit. I couldn't stay here all my life, waiting for scraps of affection from a man who clearly didn't give a damn about me. I quietly placed the divorce papers in the deepest corner of my closet where no one but me could reach them. This was going to be my ticket to freedom in a month. No more cages. No more pretending. Dominic could keep his business. His life. His Alessia. I refused to be the half forgotten side piece in my own marriage. Hope I had finalized the divorce already, now it was time for the next step. Two days later, I met with the HR director of a luxury design firm based in Florence. They had been following my work for months, impressed by my portfolio and my knack for creating bespoke interiors that balanced elegance with practicality. “We’d be lucky to have you,” the director had said with a warm smile. “The position is yours if you want it. Start date is flexible, but we’d like you in Florence within the next two months.” I accepted without hesitation. Finally, I was going to live a life that belonged to me. Later that day, I sat in the room I'd converted to my home studio of sorts, a quiet place to work at on days I didn't feel like going to my studio in the city, or for when inspiration struck late at night. The first box I packed was hidden beneath layers of fabric swatches and old sketchbooks in there. It wasn't much-just framed photographs, my mother's necklace, and a single pair of well-worn ballet shoes I hadn't danced in for years-but even touching those things felt dangerous, like I was smuggling contraband out of enemy territory. Every day, I packed a little more. Quietly. Slowly. Because no one could know I was leaving. Not until I was gone. Three days later, Dominic came into the home studio unannounced. "Didn't know you still hid out here," came his voice from behind me, startling me. I turned around to see him leaning against the doorframe, his lips turned into a rare half smile. "It's the only place where no one bothers me," I replied, half teasing. "Even me?" I arched an eyebrow. "Especially you." It was light banter, almost flirtatious, and for a moment I caught a flicker of something in his eyes-something that made my heartbeat hitch. "Come with me," he said suddenly. "Where?" "Dinner. Just us. No business, no interruptions." I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to. We made it as far as the front hall before Alessia appeared, silk blouse immaculate, tablet in hand. "Dom, you need to see this," she said, breezing past me as though I didn't exist. "Santoro's shipment got held up in Naples. If we don't-" "It can wait," Dominic cut in, voice cool. "No, it really can't." Alessia held out the tablet, and Dominic hesitated only a fraction of a second before taking it. I watched his attention shift, watched Alessia step closer than necessary, lowering her voice just enough to draw him in. The dinner plan died right there in the hallway. It wasn't the last time. Every attempt I made to find some semblance of closeness-whether it was breakfast on the terrace, a drive out to the vineyards, even a late-night conversation in bed-Alessia always seemed to appear. Sometimes it was a phone call Dominic "had to take." Sometimes it was urgent paperwork she "couldn't wait to deliver." And Dominic never sent her away. My resolve hardened with every intrusion. I threw all my focus into packing quietly, being careful to take just enough to get me by for a few months, but not enough to raise any suspicions. A week later, I sat in the master bedroom of the Russo mansion, contemplating how life was going to be out there in a completely new city. It was going to be hard in the beginning, for sure. Should I stay? Should I give him—give us—another chance? Maybe if I talked to Dominic about Alessia's behaviour making me uncomfortable, he would listen to me? Things would change between us? It was her who was always interrupting us, right? Maybe if he knew how I felt about it, he wouldn't entertain her as much? My thoughts were interrupted by a dull ache low in my stomach. It wasn’t the first time I’d felt off—fatigue, nausea, headaches—but I’d blamed it on stress. Still, the idea nagged at me until I finally drove myself to the pharmacy, bought a test, and locked myself in the bathroom. Five minutes later, I sat on the cool tile floor, staring at the two pink lines as though they’d been written in fire. Pregnant. Pregnant with Dominic Russo’s child. Stupidly enough first reaction wasn’t fear—it was hope. And I hated myself for it. Hated myself for thinking that maybe, finally, this was the bridge that could pull us closer together. Maybe a child would be the spark that softened Dominic’s walls, that made him see me—not just as a convenient wife or physical outlet, but as someone who could be his partner. It had to soften him up to me, hadn't it? A child was a huge deal, after all. He wouldn't be heartless enough to not care about me when I was carrying his child, right? For the first time in months, I felt hopeful. Maybe, I wouldn't have to leave after all. Maybe, we could start anew, like a real family this time. Filled with a renewed hope, I waited for Dominic to come home. I dressed in soft cream silk, my hair loose, my hands trembling slightly as I set two glasses of wine on the table before realizing I couldn’t drink. I poured myself water instead. Dominic came in late, still on the phone, loosening his tie with one hand as he barked orders to someone on the other end. My stomach flipped with nerves. “Dominic,” I said quietly once he hung up. He gave me a quick glance. “Yeah?” “I… I have something to tell you.” His brows lifted, impatient. “What is it?” “I’m pregnant.” The words felt fragile in the air, as though they might shatter if I spoke too loudly. Dominic froze. For a moment, I swore I saw something flash in his eyes—surprise, maybe even wonder—but it was gone in an instant, replaced by guarded calculation. “You’re what?” “Pregnant,” I repeated, my heart pounding. “We’re going to have a baby.” Silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Finally, Dominic exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Isabella… you’re on the pill.” “Nothing is one hundred percent effective,” I whispered, my voice cracking under his tone. He paced for a moment, jaw tight. “You planned this?” “What? No!” I burst out, unable to believe what he was saying. No, no, no. This was not how I had imagined this conversation going. Why wasn't he happy? Why wasn't he being kind and supportive? “Because it sure as hell feels like you’re trying to tie me down with a kid I didn’t ask for.” The words slammed into me like a blow, and I staggered back a few steps. “Dominic,” I said softly, trying to swallow the lump in my throat, “it’s our child.” “This isn’t the right time,” he muttered, grabbing his jacket again. "There's a lot going on with Santoro. With the upcoming deal with them. This…” He gestured vaguely towards my stomach, “This just complicates things.” “So what do you want me to do?” I asked, both dreading what he would say next, and willing for him to say it to my face. If he rejected his own child, our child—this little life we had created together, it would be the last straw. I would never in my life hope for anything positive with him. He didn’t answer right away, and that pause told me all I needed to know. When he finally spoke, his voice was flat. “You should think about your options.” The tears didn’t come until long after Dominic left the room, slamming the door behind him. I had never thought that he would push me away like this even after finding out that we were going to have a baby together. Gone were the days when he would kiss me just because, trace his fingers over my spine when I slept, thinking I was asleep. Now, he was nothing but cold, and heartless when it came to me. He treated me like a business deal he couldn't wait to wash his hands off now. I'd always known that that was the kind of man he was deep down, but stupidly enough, I'd hoped that he would change for me. How pathetic. I sat on the edge of the bed, both hands cradling my stomach, and whispered to the tiny life inside me: “Don’t worry, baby. Even if he doesn’t want us, I do. And I promise, I'm going to take you far, far away from this place.” Unspoken Things Dominic's POV I wasn't a man who missed details. I could spot a lie in the flicker of an eye, a betrayal in a half-beat pause over dinner. So how had I missed this? I stood at the doorway of our bedroom, arms folded, watching Isabella silently fold clothes into neat stacks. Not designer dresses she wore for events, not the cocktail gowns that hugged her curves the way I liked. No, these were soft knits, linen shirts—things she used for travel. "Going somewhere?" I asked, keeping my tone carefully neutral. Isabella startled slightly, but she didn't look up. "Just... reorganizing." I frowned. There was something in the way she kept her back half-turned toward me, as though she was shielding something I couldn't see. Over the past two weeks, she had become quieter. Not cold exactly—but withdrawn, guarded. Our conversations stayed polite, even warm at times, but lacked the sharp edge of our earlier fights. I almost preferred the fights. At least then, she met me head-on. Now, it felt like she was retreating behind walls I hadn't even noticed her building. "Isabella," I said, walking closer. "What's going on?" She stilled for a heartbeat, then set down the shirt she was folding and faced me with a smile that was a touch too calm. "Nothing's going on, Dominic. Why do you ask?" I didn't believe her. But I didn't know what I was accusing her of, either. Later that night, I found her in the garden, sitting on the stone bench with her hands absentmindedly resting over her stomach. My gaze drifted there before I could stop it. She was carrying my child. Our child. I'd confirmed with the family gynaecologist she'd met with the day after she'd told me she was pregnant. According to her, Isabella was roughly ten weeks along. Which meant she had concieved the last time we had had sex. I knew she had decided to keep the baby. I, however, was yet to decide how I felt about it. I had too many enemies looking for a weakness to strike on right now. And a child would be the biggest weakness of all. I didn't think it was a good idea to have a child at a time like this. "You should be resting," I said to her instead, leaning against the column. "I am resting," she replied without looking at me. There was no bite in her tone, but there was no softness either. "Isabella..." I exhaled slowly, running a hand through my hair. "If you're upset about what I said the other night-" She turned sharply, her eyes glinting even in the dim light. "Which part? The one where you accused me of trying to trap you? Or the part where you told me to think about my options?" I clenched my jaw. I'd been stressed because of work. And I'd taken it out on her. "I didn't mean-" "You meant every word, Dominic." She rose from the bench, brushing past me as though she couldn't stand to be there one more second. I stayed in the garden long after she left, my chest tight with something uncomfortably close to guilt. But instead of recognizing the emotion, I shoved it down, like I did with every single thing when it came to her. She was just angry. Hurt, maybe. Acting out for attention. I had bigger things to deal with than a wife trying to manipulate me with silence. Besides, it wasn’t like I was a cruel man. Okay, I was, but not to her. I provided for her—more than most women could dream of. Security, wealth, protection. She never wanted for anything material. I let her work, unlike other made men. I even let her have her own studio to work at however she pleased, both in the city and at home. And Alessia. She had always been a constant. She understood the business, the blood, the sacrifices. She could anticipate my decisions before I made them. She could spar with me in strategy without needing explanation. I often felt that Isabella thought of Alessia as a threat. But Alessia wasn’t a threat to anyone—she was an ally, one I needed in order to keep our empire intact. With a few important deals falling through and feds sniffing around, our family hadn't exactly been in a safe place when Alessia came back from Italy a year back. Everything had seemed good on the surface, but only I knew the struggles behind the scenes. I could've turned to my father for help, sure, but I didn't think it was wise to do so with his failing health, and already fragile heart. It was with the help of Alessia, and her father's business, that I'd been able to pull my shit together enough to keep us afloat. Alessia understood all that and had stayed by me through the thick of it. Best of all, she didn't complain, didn't nag, didn't expect me to do things I didn't have the time to. But Isabella didn't seem to understand any of that. What did she want from me, really? To sit in bed and whisper sweet words when there were wars to be fought? To hold her hand when my enemies were plotting to bury us both? I didn’t have time for that. Not yet. It wasn’t that I didn’t like Isabella. In fact, there were moments I admired her—her quiet resilience, the softness in her voice when she spoke with staff, the warmth in her smile when she thought no one was looking. But admiration was a luxury, and I didn’t live on luxuries. I lived on necessity. And necessity meant prioritizing the business. Prioritizing survival. Isabella would understand, one day, when things were calmer. When the smoke cleared, when Alessia and the others no longer had to sit at my side through every meeting, every negotiation. I would have the time then. For now, she needed to be patient. To trust me. But instead, she was folding travel clothes. Speaking with an edge in her voice. Acting as though I had failed her, when I had given her everything that mattered. I sighed, staring out into the night, the weight of a thousand unspoken things pressing against my chest. I lit a cigarette to calm my nerves. I wasn’t wrong. I couldn’t be wrong. Could I? The Vow Finally, it was time. After Dominic had rejected me, and our child, squashing all my hopes of reconciliation, I had quietly bided my time, waiting for a month to be over. I had rehearsed my departure so many times it felt like muscle memory now. I had moved everything I would need—which wasn't much, really—in small stacks from the Russo Mansion to my studio so no one would be suspicious. I didn't think anyone cared much about what I did or didn't do in this grand palace of a house, but I hadn't taken any risks, especially now that a child was involved as well. All my things would be shipped along with my studio supplies this morning, and the flight to Florence was booked for tonight. My assistant at the studio had arranged it all for me, believing I was simply relocating for work. Only I knew that I wasn't coming back. I'd already informed the HR head at my new job in Florence about my unexpected pregnancy, and they had been more than accommodating about it. Such kindness from strangers I was yet to meet in person when I hadn't recieved even an ounce of it at the place I called home had brought tears to my eyes. Not only had it made me emotional, but it had also cemented my decision to leave even more. I'd rather be somewhere I was valued and cared for than here, where I volleyed between a nobody, or an inconvenience. I double-checked the handbag I had readied to take with me: passport, medical file, appointment slip from my gynaecologist, the sonogram I hadn't shown anyone. I had barely slept. My escape plan was a fragile secret stitched together with trembling hands and whispered prayers. This morning, I was supposed to visit my gynecologist. Afterwards, I’d take a cab straight to the airport. From there, me and my child—our child—would vanish. I had already gotten my copy of the final divorce certificate yesterday, and had arranged for Dominic's copy to be mailed to him with a deliberate delay of three days after my departure. With a quiet sigh, I smoothed down my dress, and picked up my bag. Time to go. I hadn't expected, or wanted to see Dominic before leaving the Russo Mansion for the last time in my life. But when I walked down the stairs, he was sitting in the living room, dark suit immaculate, sipping coffee as though nothing in the world could touch him. His composure always left me breathless, once in awe, now in anguish. Though surprisingly enough, Alessia wasn't clinging to him today. Even though I'd mentally prepared for the possibility of seeing him, my heart still stuttered in my chest as he gave me a slow once over. “You’re dressed early,” Dominic noted, eyes narrowing at my simple dress. “Where are you going?” “The doctor,” I said evenly, with practiced ease, hand brushing over my stomach instinctively. “I have an appointment.” His gaze flicked downward, then back up, unreadable. “You’re still entertaining this idea?” His tone was too casual, too sharp. “Isabella, I told you before… think about what this means. A child, in our world, is leverage. A weakness.” My throat tightened. “A weakness? He’s our child, Dominic.” He set down his cup with deliberate care. “Don’t be naïve. This is not the right time for a baby. I already have a lot of enemies breathing down my neck right now. An heir paints a target on your back, too. On his back. I’ve seen what happens.” I shook my head. What was he talking about? He was an heir to his father's empire, too, wasn't he? He had taken over their business from his father when his health declined, had he not? And he was fine— clearly alive, well protected. So, why couldn't our child be protected the same way? What a pathetic excuse for not wanting a kid. My voice trembled, but I forced it to be steady. “So what? You want me to—” His jaw ticked. “I’m telling you, end it before someone else ends it for you. Because if you don’t, Isabella—” I froze. “If I don’t, what?” I challenged, my heart thundering in my chest. The silence between us stretched, suffocating. His eyes darkened, and the next words slipped out, low, cold, stripped of softness. “Then you’ll force my hand.” Blood rushed to my ears. The room spun. He hadn’t raised his voice. He hadn’t struck me. But the words sliced deeper than any blow. I heard nothing beyond them. The threat was clear as day. My chest hollowed. The air burned in my lungs. “You’d… kill me?” I whispered. His expression flickered, as though he hadn’t meant it the way I took it. But he didn’t take it back either. And that was worse. Something inside me fractured cleanly. I left without another word, the sound of the door slamming behind me echoing like a final vow. Leaving wasn't just a necessity now, it was a means to survival. The car ride to the hospital was a blur. I pressed trembling hands over my belly the entire way to the hospital, whispering to my unborn child promises I wasn’t sure I could keep. Inside the hospital, I met briefly with Dr. Marinelli, discussing vitamins, flight precautions, and early genetic tests. I left the office feeling much lighter than when I'd entered it. Every step I took out of the hospital felt closer to freedom. I was halfway to the car when the world ripped apart. The engine of my waiting car ignited in a sudden roar of fire, and everything around me turned to smoke and ash. The explosion flung me backward. Screams filled the street. Medics rushed to the scene from behind me. Heat licked my skin as I scrambled to my feet, terror thundering in my veins. I stared at the burning shell of the car, realization dawning with ice-cold clarity as I watched someone pull a charred body out. It was him. Dominic. He had done this. It had to be. Dominic had warned me. Threatened me. If I didn’t obey, he’d force my hand. He hadn't denied when I'd accused him of wanting to kill me. And now this. My heart clenched painfully in my chest. My baby. My sweet, innocent child. Dominic had tried to kill not only me, but our child, too. An innocent life that had done nothing to harm him. There was no going back from this. I staggered to the street corner, flagged down a bus with shaking hands, and boarded without looking back. My things were already shipped, my new life already waiting. Florence. A new name. A new future. And a vow carved into my soul: I would never return. Not to him. Not to this life. Not after this betrayal. His Return 5 years later "Mamma, faster!" Mateo's laughter rang through the sunny apartment as he sprinted across the living room, bare feet slapping against the wooden floor. I pretended to chase him, catching him just before he could duck under the table. I scooped him up, spinning him around until he squealed with delight. His curls bounced into his eyes—Dominic's eyes—and for a moment, I froze, my chest tightening with an ache I thought I'd long buried. I kissed my son's forehead, forcing the memory away. "Alright, alright. Time to calm down, little hurricane. Mamma has work." Work. The word meant something different now than it had five years ago. No longer was I just an employee with something to prove. I was now Signora Bianchi, Director of Curation and Exhibitions—a respected leader in the Florence arts scene, sought after for my innovative ideas. My colleagues had become my friends, my family. They knew me as a single mother who had made her life from scratch, and they admired me for it. None of them knew the truth. That morning, I was halfway through sorting the final list for an upcoming joint exhibition when Chiara knocked on my door, looking pleased but slightly tense. "Isa, do you have a minute?" "Of course." Chiara closed the door and sat across from me. "We've been offered a huge partnership, an international sponsor for the Renaissance Reborn project. It'll open doors for all of us. Funding, recognition, press. But..." My pen stilled mid-note. "But what?" "The sponsor is the Russo Group." The name hit me like a fist to the gut. Chiara continued, oblivious to my rigid posture. "The CEO himself is flying in for the final negotiations from New York. We'll need our head of curation at the table. Which means you." I stared at her blankly, heart pounding so loudly I barely heard anything else. "Isa? You alright?" I forced a smile, thin and shaky. "Yes. Of course. Just... surprised. I didn't know the Russo Group dealt with projects like that." Chiara nodded. "They only started a few years back. But they'll be a good start to take our business international, you know? The kind of connections they have is just what we need." I nodded, still trying to wrap my head around the information I'd just gotten. When Chiara left, I sat frozen, fingers clenched around my pen until it snapped in two. When I'd left New York City behind five years ago, I had never thought that I'd run into Dominic ever again. Let alone think that I'd ever have to work with him closely. However, I couldn't say no to Chiara. Even though she was my senior here at work, she had never let me feel that way. I still remembered the first time I'd stepped foot into Florence. Chiara was the one who had sent her own personal assistant, Luca, to get me from the airport and help me settle into my new apartment which was fully furnished with everything I would need. Not only had Luca helped me settle in, he had also stocked the house with groceries and other essentials so I didn't have to go out right away. He had even come to pick me up for work the next day, introducing me to everyone at the office as if he were my own personal assistant. I had felt more welcomed here on my first day than I'd felt my entire life at the Russo Mansion. And when I'd gotten three dinner invites by the time the first day ended, I knew I'd made the perfect decision to leave a place I was clearly neither welcome nor required at and come here to Florence instead. "Florence takes care of it's people," Chiara had told me while I was having dinner with her and a few other colleagues to celebrate my first day at work. And she'd been right, in a way. It wasn't Florence exactly who had taken care of me, but it's people. When my baby bump had started showing, my neighbour from down the hall, Ms Giardiano, an old Italian lady who lived alone, made sure to come check on me every other day. She would bring me nutritious home cooked meals so I wouldn't have to cook for myself after coming home from work. Everyone at work had been super helpful, too. They had gotten me the comfiest chair so my back wouldn't hurt while I sat and worked all day. They had hired an office masseuse on the pretext that everyone needed some relaxation while they worked, but I was the only one who got regular foot massages from her to help with my swollen feet. Hell, Chiara, Luca and Lizzy, another of my colleagues, had helped me buy and put my baby's crib together when the delivery date was nearing. On the day of the delivery, Chiara, Luca, Lizzy and Mrs Giardiano had been right outside the delivery room, waiting to hear the good news. Afterwards, they'd all taken turns staying at my place to take care of the two of us as if they were family. They'd done all this and so much more, making me feel more cared for than I'd ever felt in my entire marriage. I knew without a doubt that Dominic would never have done even half of what these practical strangers had done for me throughout my pregnancy and every day since. Leaving Dominic had been the best decision of my life and over the years, I'd built something beautiful from the ashes of the betrayal and pain he had left behind. But now, Dominic was coming here. And I wasn't sure I was ready to face him yet, or if I'd ever be. That evening, Mateo climbed onto my lap with his favorite book, demanding a story. I read, smiling when he giggled at his favorite part, but inside my thoughts churned. I hadn't told anyone about Dominic. Not my friends. Not my son. And now I was going to have to walk into a room and face the man who thought I was dead—who had, in a way, helped kill the woman I used to be. I hugged Mateo closer, inhaling the scent of his shampoo. Whatever Dominic Russo thought he could do to me now, he'd learn soon enough that I wasn't the same woman who used to wait for scraps of affection. I was stronger. Bolder. And most importantly, I wasn't alone. I had my friends with me. They'd shown me what it felt like to be truly loved and cared for. And my son had grown surrounded by the same love, care and affection from everyone around him. I'd be damned if I let anyone, let alone Dominic Russo take that away from us. This time, I wasn't running. I would show Dominic I wasn't the same pathetic woman he had once tried to kill. Unfinished Business The conference room smelled faintly of coffee and expensive leather, with tall windows overlooking Florence's skyline. I stood near the head of the table, reviewing my notes for the presentation I had practically memorized over the last two nights. I'd barely slept. Not from nerves about the project, but because I knew who would walk through that door. Before I could think too much and spiral for the umpteenth time since I'd gotten to know that I was going to face him again, the click of polished shoes on marble echoed down the hallway outside. I didn't have to look up to know it was him. Dominic Russo had a presence that warned of his arrival before he even entered the room. When the door opened, my breath hitched despite every wall I'd built. He walked in flanked by two men I vaguely recognized from old memories, Eduardo, his right-hand man, and Marco, one of the younger lieutenants. Dominic himself looked older, somehow. Harder around the edges but also worn, like someone who had fought too many battles and won too few of them cleanly. The moment his eyes met mine, the air in the room shifted. He stopped mid-step. For several seconds, no one spoke. Eduardo started to greet the team but faltered when Dominic's expression froze. I stood perfectly still, spine straight, hands clasped in front of me as if I were simply hosting any other business meeting. But inside, my pulse thundered. Old memories rushed back in waves, the way he'd held me late at night on our marital bed after we'd just made love, the way he'd sometimes take me out for lunch just because, and then, the way his gaze had hardened when he'd threatened to kill our unborn child and me. I barely concealed the disgust in my expression as I continued to stare at a seemingly flabbergasted Dominic. His voice was low, rough, almost disbelieving when he said, "Isabella?" It wasn't a question so much as a ghost trying to confirm it wasn't hallucinating. Chiara stepped in to bridge the awkward silence, smiling at Dominic and his team. "Mr. Russo, welcome. This is Isabella Bianchi, our Director of Curation. She'll be presenting the plans for the exhibit." The name seemed to hit Dominic like a blow. He blinked once, his jaw tightening, but his gaze never left my face. I offered a cool, professional nod, every inch the woman who had rebuilt her life from ashes. "Mr. Russo. Thank you for coming." My voice was steady, betraying none of the chaos inside. Dominic's hands curled into fists at his sides. "Five years," he muttered, barely audible, but I caught it. "Yes," I replied evenly, adjusting the papers in front of me as if we weren't standing in the middle of the world's most charged reunion. "Shall we begin?" Chiara and the others busied themselves setting up, unaware of the storm brewing just beneath the surface. Dominic hadn't moved an inch. He was still staring at me like I had clawed my way out of a grave, and maybe I had. I sure felt like a completely different woman from the one Dominic had tried to kill. I was no longer the young woman who once waited for scraps of affection for a man who didn't give a shit about her. I was no longer the quiet, meek woman who didn't have any self worth. Now, I was a self-made, independent woman who headed an entire team of professionals with ease, someone whom people looked up to. Channeling all the inner confidence I'd built over the years, I clicked the remote, and the first slide illuminated the screen behind me, washing the conference room in a pale glow. My voice was even, steady, perfectly professional. Years of practice had trained me to separate my emotions from my work, but never had I needed that skill as desperately as I did now. Though, much as I tried, I couldn't prevent a faint tremor from seeping into my voice. I could only hope no one noticed it as I forged on with the presentation. "The Renaissance Reborn project aims to merge classical artistry with modern interpretations, creating an immersive experience for visitors across multiple cities like Florence, Milan, Paris, and eventually, New York." I gestured towards the slide, explaining the phases, the budget, the partnerships, trying, and failing to ignore the elephant in the room aka Dominic. Dominic, though, sat stock still through it all. He sat at the far end of the table, elbows resting on the armrests of his chair, eyes locked on me with an intensity that burned even though I wasn't looking at him directly. I knew I looked different. More confident, more alive than he'd ever seen me. There was no trace of the quiet woman who had once waited for him to notice her presence at his side. Eduardo scribbled notes, occasionally asking questions about timelines and projections. Marco nodded, impressed by the scale of the exhibit. I didn't think either of them realised who I was, or if they did, they didn't show it. Dominic, however, stayed silent. Every time I risked a glance at him, his gaze caught mine, heavy and unreadable. I continued, refusing to falter. "We project a twenty-five percent increase in foot traffic within the first month of opening. That number grows exponentially if we secure press coverage in collaboration with the Russo Group." "Impressive," Eduardo murmured. "How soon could the installation begin?" "Within two months of finalizing contracts," I answered smoothly, flipping to another slide. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dominic lean forward slightly, his voice deep and clipped. "What name are you using these days?" The question sliced through the room, silencing even Eduardo and Chiara. I kept my hands steady on the table. "Isabella Bianchi," I said, without a hint of hesitation. A muscle in Dominic's jaw ticked. Chiara, oblivious to the underlying tension, jumped in. "Of course, Isa's name carries weight in Florence's art scene now. She's curated three exhibitions that received international recognition." Dominic's gaze didn't leave mine. "I'm sure she has," he said, voice deceptively neutral, but his eyes, his eyes promised a storm. I clicked to the final slide. "If there are no further questions, we can discuss the contracts with our legal teams later this afternoon." No one spoke. I closed my laptop with calm precision, but inside, my heart pounded so loudly I wondered if everyone could hear it. I had just stood in front of the man I once loved, and lost, and I hadn't flinched. But as I gathered my notes and turned to leave, Dominic's low murmur stopped me in my tracks, "You and I have unfinished business, bella mia." -------------------------------------------------- There are limited chapters to put here, click “learn more” to open App to continue reading (It will automatically jump to the book)