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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."

The Silent Bedroom Killer: Why Your CPAP Machine Might Be Saving Your Life, But Destroying Your Marriage A shocking discovery by a leading sleep specialist reveals the hidden link between sleep apnea and the sudden, devastating loss of male performance—and the controversial 12-in-1 "spicy" solution that is bringing dead bedrooms back to life. I am a board-certified pulmonologist and sleep specialist. For over two decades, I have treated thousands of men for obstructive sleep apnea. I have prescribed countless CPAP machines, monitored endless sleep studies, and helped men stop snoring so they—and their wives—could finally get a good night's rest. But behind the closed doors of my clinic, a darker, more devastating pattern began to emerge. A pattern that nobody in the medical community was talking about. A pattern that was quietly destroying marriages, shattering male confidence, and leaving men feeling like hollow shells of their former selves. It started as a whisper. A hesitant question at the end of a consultation. A man in his early fifties, staring at the floor, his voice barely audible over the hum of the air conditioner. "Doc," he said, his face flushed with embarrassment. "The CPAP is great. I'm sleeping better. But... things aren't working downstairs anymore. I can't... you know. I can't perform. Is there a connection?" At first, I dismissed it as a coincidence. Stress, age, the usual suspects. But then another patient asked. And another. And another. Men in their forties, fifties, and sixties. Men who were otherwise healthy. Men who loved their wives deeply but were suddenly, inexplicably, unable to show it. They were suffering from ED, and they were terrified. I decided to dig deeper. I started asking my patients directly, though gently, about their performance in the bedroom. The results were staggering. Absolutely horrifying. I discovered that a staggering 70% of my male patients with sleep apnea were also suffering from severe ED. Seventy percent. Let that sink in. Seven out of ten men who walked into my clinic struggling to breathe at night were also struggling to perform when the lights went out. And the worst part? Nobody was connecting the two. The cardiologists were handing out the "blue pill" like candy. The urologists were suggesting painful injections or awkward pumps. The therapists were talking about performance anxiety and relationship issues. But they were all missing the root cause. They were treating the symptoms, not the disease. They were putting a band-aid on a bullet wound. You see, sleep apnea isn't just about snoring. It's not just about feeling tired the next day. It is a violent, nightly assault on your cardiovascular system. Every time you stop breathing in your sleep—which can happen dozens, even hundreds of times a night—your oxygen levels plummet. Your body goes into a state of sheer panic. Your heart rate spikes, your blood pressure skyrockets, and your blood vessels constrict violently to force whatever little oxygen you have left to your brain and vital organs. This nightly trauma causes catastrophic damage to a delicate, microscopic layer of cells lining your blood vessels called the endothelium. The endothelium is the unsung hero of male performance. It is responsible for producing nitric oxide, the miracle molecule that signals your blood vessels to relax, open up, and allow the massive rush of blood needed to achieve and maintain rock-solid firmness. Without a healthy endothelium, you cannot produce enough nitric oxide. And without nitric oxide, you cannot get—or keep—the hardness you need. It is biologically impossible. Every night you suffer from sleep apnea, your endothelium takes a beating. It becomes scarred, stiff, and dysfunctional. Your nitric oxide production collapses. The pipes, so to speak, become rusted and clogged. And here is the tragic irony: The CPAP machine helps you breathe. It stops the snoring. It prevents you from suffocating in your sleep. But it does absolutely nothing to repair the vascular damage that has already been done. The CPAP stops the bleeding, but it doesn't heal the wound. The years of oxygen deprivation have already ravaged your endothelium. The damage is done. And that is why, even after months or years of using a CPAP, your performance down there remains dead in the water. This realization hit me like a freight train. I was saving these men's lives, but I was failing to save their manhood. I was sending them back to their wives alive, but emasculated. I saw the toll it took. I saw the shame in their eyes. I heard the stories of wives who felt unloved, unattractive, and rejected. I saw marriages crumbling under the weight of unspoken frustration and silent tears. One patient, a robust 55-year-old contractor named Mark, broke down in my office. "Doc, my wife thinks I'm having an affair," he sobbed. "She thinks I don't find her beautiful anymore. I love her more than anything, but my body just won't cooperate. I've tried the blue pill. It gives me a massive headache, makes my face flush, and half the time, it doesn't even work. And when it does, it feels so... mechanical. So planned. The spontaneity is gone. I feel like half a man." Mark's story broke my heart. And it ignited a fire in me. I couldn't just stand by and watch my patients suffer. I couldn't accept that the only options were dangerous synthetic chemicals with horrific side effects, or a lifetime of celibacy and shame. I became obsessed. I spent every waking hour outside of my clinic poring over medical journals, consulting with vascular specialists, and diving deep into the cutting-edge science of endothelial repair. I wasn't looking for a temporary fix. I wasn't looking for another blue pill that forces blood into the area for a few hours and leaves you with a pounding headache. I was looking for a way to actually heal the damage. A way to restore the endothelium, reignite natural nitric oxide production, and bring the dead tissue back to life. My research led me down a fascinating, unexpected path. I started looking into natural compounds that have been shown to stimulate vascular repair and enhance blood flow. I looked at L-arginine and L-citrulline, the usual suspects in male enhancement supplements. But the clinical data was disappointing. They provided a slight, temporary boost in nitric oxide, but they didn't do anything to repair the underlying endothelial dysfunction. They were like pouring premium gas into a car with a broken engine. I needed something that could fix the engine. Something that could activate the body's own healing mechanisms and rebuild the vascular network from the ground up. And that's when I stumbled upon a groundbreaking, almost unbelievable piece of research involving a specific, highly potent compound. A compound that you probably have in your kitchen right now, but in a completely different, infinitely weaker form. I'm talking about capsaicin. Yes, capsaicin. The active component that gives chili peppers their heat. At first, I thought it was a joke. How could the stuff that makes your mouth burn be the key to restoring male vitality? But as I dug into the peer-reviewed studies, my skepticism turned into sheer awe. The science was undeniable. Capsaicin is not just a spice. It is a powerful, biologically active molecule that interacts with a specific receptor in the human body called TRPV1. TRPV1 is often referred to as the "capsaicin receptor." It is found throughout your nervous system and, crucially, in the endothelial cells lining your blood vessels. When highly concentrated, pharmaceutical-grade capsaicin binds to the TRPV1 receptor, it triggers a massive, systemic release of nitric oxide. But it does something even more profound. Activation of TRPV1 by capsaicin has been shown to stimulate angiogenesis—the creation of new, healthy blood vessels. It reduces oxidative stress and inflammation in the vascular walls. It literally helps to repair and regenerate the damaged endothelium. It was the missing link. The holy grail of vascular health. Capsaicin wasn't just a temporary vasodilator; it was a structural healer. It could reverse the damage caused by years of sleep apnea and oxygen deprivation. But there was a massive problem. You can't just eat a bunch of jalapeños and expect to cure your ED. The amount of capsaicin required to trigger this profound vascular repair is enormous. You would have to consume an ungodly amount of raw chili peppers every single day. Your stomach would be in agony. The heartburn would be unbearable. It was practically impossible. Furthermore, capsaicin is notoriously difficult for the body to absorb in its raw form. Most of it gets destroyed by stomach acid before it ever reaches your bloodstream. I needed a way to deliver a massive, clinical dose of pure capsaicin directly into the bloodstream, bypassing the stomach entirely to avoid the excruciating burn. I started reaching out to compounding pharmacies, nutraceutical manufacturers, and formulation experts. I pitched my idea: a high-dose capsaicin supplement, protected by an enteric coating, designed specifically to repair endothelial damage and restore male performance. Most of them laughed me out of the room. They said it was too difficult, too expensive, and too unconventional. They told me to stick to prescribing CPAP machines and leave the ED treatments to the urologists. But I refused to give up. I knew I was onto something that could change millions of lives. Finally, after months of dead ends, I connected with a brilliant, forward-thinking formulation scientist at a boutique nutraceutical lab. He saw the vision. He understood the science. And he agreed to help me build the ultimate vascular repair formula. We didn't just stop at capsaicin. We wanted to create a comprehensive, synergistic blend that would attack endothelial dysfunction from every possible angle. We wanted a formula that would not only repair the damage but also supercharge energy, stamina, and overall vitality. We spent over a year meticulously sourcing the highest quality, most bioavailable ingredients on the planet. We tested dozens of iterations, tweaking the ratios, refining the delivery system, and demanding absolute perfection. And finally, we cracked the code. We created a masterpiece of nutritional science. A 12-in-1 powerhouse formula that I believe is the most significant breakthrough in men's health in the last fifty years. We called it Bare Willow Capsaicin Complex. This isn't just another cheap, gas-station pill filled with sawdust and caffeine. This is a clinical-grade, scientifically validated protocol designed to rebuild your vascular system and restore your manhood to its former glory. Let me break down exactly what makes Bare Willow Capsaicin Complex so incredibly powerful, and why it succeeds where everything else fails. The Core: 300mg of Pharmaceutical-Grade Capsaicin This is the engine of the formula. We sourced the purest, most potent capsaicin extract available, delivering a massive 300mg dose. This is the exact clinical amount needed to activate the TRPV1 receptors, flood your system with nitric oxide, and initiate the repair of your damaged endothelium. But remember the problem with raw capsaicin? The unbearable stomach burn? We solved it. We encapsulated the entire formula in state-of-the-art, enteric-coated softgels. This means the capsule does not dissolve in the harsh, acidic environment of your stomach. Instead, it passes safely through to your small intestine, where it is gently released and rapidly absorbed directly into your bloodstream. Zero stomach burn. Zero acid reflux. Just pure, unadulterated vascular healing. But capsaicin alone wasn't enough. We needed to support the healing process and amplify the results. So, we added 11 more clinically backed ingredients to create the ultimate 12-in-1 complex. CoQ10 (Coenzyme Q10) Your heart and blood vessels require massive amounts of cellular energy to repair themselves. CoQ10 is the spark plug of your cells. It supercharges mitochondrial function, providing the energy needed to rebuild the endothelium and supporting overall cardiovascular health. It's essential for men who have suffered the cardiovascular strain of sleep apnea. Turmeric (Curcumin) Years of oxygen deprivation leave your blood vessels inflamed and stiff. Turmeric is one of the most powerful natural anti-inflammatories on earth. It soothes the irritated vascular lining, reducing the swelling that restricts blood flow and allowing the capsaicin to do its repair work unimpeded. Beetroot Extract (100mg) Beetroot is nature's ultimate nitric oxide booster. While capsaicin repairs the factory (the endothelium), beetroot provides the raw materials. It is packed with dietary nitrates that your body rapidly converts into nitric oxide, providing an immediate, powerful surge in blood flow and supporting rock-solid firmness. BioPerine (Black Pepper Extract) This is the secret weapon that makes the entire formula work. BioPerine has been clinically proven to enhance the bioavailability and absorption of other nutrients by up to 2,000%. It ensures that every single milligram of capsaicin, CoQ10, and Turmeric is fully absorbed and utilized by your body, rather than being flushed down the toilet. Ginseng Revered for centuries in traditional medicine, Ginseng is a potent adaptogen that combats fatigue, reduces stress, and significantly enhances stamina and endurance. It helps banish the lingering exhaustion caused by sleep apnea and gives you the energy to perform like a man half your age. Vitamin D3 & K2 This dynamic duo is crucial for vascular health. Vitamin D3 supports testosterone production and immune function, while Vitamin K2 ensures that calcium is directed into your bones and kept out of your arteries. This prevents the calcification and stiffening of your blood vessels, keeping them flexible, youthful, and capable of massive expansion. When we finally finalized the Bare Willow Capsaicin Complex, I knew we had something special. But I needed proof. I needed to see it work in the real world, on real men who were suffering. I reached out to Mark, the 55-year-old contractor who had broken down in my office months earlier. I gave him a three-month supply of the Bare Willow formula and told him to take it every day, consistently. "Doc, I'll try anything," he said, his voice tinged with desperate hope. "But I've been let down so many times before." I told him to be patient. This wasn't a magic blue pill that forces an unnatural reaction in 30 minutes. This was a rebuilding process. It was going to take time to heal the years of damage caused by his sleep apnea. The first week, Mark reported feeling a bit more energetic. The brain fog was lifting. But downstairs, nothing had changed. The second week, he noticed a slight tingling sensation. A feeling of warmth and vitality returning to the area. By the end of the third week, I got a phone call. It was Mark, and he was laughing. Actually laughing. "Doc, you're not going to believe this," he said, his voice trembling with excitement. "I woke up this morning, and... well, let's just say the flag was flying at full mast. I haven't had morning wood in five years. It was so hard it actually woke me up!" I smiled. The capsaicin was working. The endothelium was healing. The nitric oxide was flowing again. But the real test was yet to come. Week four. Mark came into my office for a follow-up. He looked like a different man. He was standing taller, his shoulders were back, and there was a fierce, confident spark in his eyes that I hadn't seen before. "It happened, Doc," he said, grinning from ear to ear. "Last night. No planning. No awkward waiting for a pill to kick in. My wife brushed up against me in the kitchen, and boom. Instant response. We went upstairs, and... it was incredible. It was like we were in our twenties again. The firmness, the stamina, the sensitivity... it was all back. Better than before. My wife was in tears, Doc. Happy tears. She said she finally feels like she has her husband back." Mark's transformation was nothing short of miraculous. But he wasn't an anomaly. I started giving Bare Willow Capsaicin Complex to dozens of my patients who were struggling with ED linked to their sleep apnea. The results were consistent, undeniable, and absolutely life-changing. Men who had relied on the blue pill for years were throwing their prescriptions in the trash. Men who had given up hope of ever having a normal, spontaneous intimate life were suddenly experiencing the vitality and hardness of their youth. Here is what you can expect when you start taking Bare Willow Capsaicin Complex: Days 1-7: The Awakening As the massive dose of capsaicin and supporting nutrients floods your system, the healing process begins. You'll likely notice a significant boost in your overall energy levels and a reduction in brain fog. The inflammation in your blood vessels starts to subside. Days 8-14: The Return of Vitality This is when the magic starts to happen. As your endothelium begins to repair itself and nitric oxide production ramps up, you'll start to feel a renewed sense of warmth and fullness downstairs. Many men report the triumphant return of "morning wood" during this phase—a clear sign that your vascular system is coming back online. Days 15-21: Spontaneous Readiness The rust is cleared from the pipes. Your blood vessels are flexible, responsive, and capable of massive expansion. You'll find that you can achieve firmness quickly and naturally, without the need for intense stimulation or chemical intervention. The spontaneity returns to your relationship. Days 22 and Beyond: Unbreakable Confidence By the end of your first month, the transformation is complete. You are no longer a victim of your sleep apnea's collateral damage. You have rock-solid firmness, incredible stamina, and the unshakeable confidence of a man who knows he can perform whenever, wherever, and for however long he wants. You have reclaimed your manhood. Now, you might be wondering why you haven't heard about this before. Why isn't your doctor prescribing capsaicin instead of the blue pill? The answer is simple, and it's infuriating. The pharmaceutical industry makes billions of dollars every single year selling synthetic ED drugs. These drugs don't cure anything. They don't heal the underlying vascular damage. They just force a temporary, mechanical reaction, ensuring that you have to keep coming back, month after month, year after year, to buy more pills. They have zero financial incentive to promote a natural, healing solution like Bare Willow Capsaicin Complex. A solution that actually fixes the root cause of the problem and eventually makes their expensive, side-effect-laden drugs obsolete. They want you dependent. They want you treating the symptoms forever. But you don't have to play their game anymore. You don't have to settle for the headaches, the flushed face, the blurred vision, and the unnatural, mechanical feeling of the blue pill. You don't have to accept that your CPAP machine saved your life but cost you your marriage. You have a choice. You can choose to heal. You can choose to rebuild your vascular system from the inside out. You can choose Bare Willow Capsaicin Complex. I am so incredibly confident in the power of this formula that I demanded the manufacturers back it with an ironclad, no-questions-asked guarantee. The "Results Or It's Free" 30-Day Guarantee When you secure your supply of Bare Willow Capsaicin Complex today, you are doing so completely risk-free. I want you to take the full 30-day supply. Take it exactly as directed. Experience the surge in energy. Feel the return of your morning vitality. Enjoy the spontaneous, rock-solid firmness and the renewed passion in your relationship. If, for any reason whatsoever, you are not absolutely thrilled with the results... if you don't feel like a new man... if your wife doesn't notice a massive, undeniable difference... simply contact the customer support team within 30 days, and they will refund every single penny of your purchase. No hassle, no interrogations, no fine print. Results, or it's free. It's that simple. You have absolutely nothing to lose, and your entire manhood to regain. But I must warn you. Because Bare Willow Capsaicin Complex uses only the highest-grade, purest ingredients—including the incredibly difficult-to-source pharmaceutical-grade capsaicin and the specialized enteric-coated softgels—production is extremely limited. This isn't something that can be mass-produced in a cheap overseas factory. It requires meticulous, small-batch manufacturing to ensure absolute purity and potency. As a result, inventory is constantly selling out. And with the word spreading rapidly among men who are desperate for a real, lasting solution, the current batch is flying off the shelves faster than anyone anticipated. If you leave this page now and try to come back later, there is a very high probability that Bare Willow Capsaicin Complex will be completely sold out, and you could be forced to wait months for the next batch to be produced. Don't let that happen. Don't spend another night staring at the ceiling, feeling the crushing weight of inadequacy. Don't subject your wife to another night of silent disappointment. You have suffered enough. The damage caused by your sleep apnea is not your fault, but fixing it is your responsibility. It's time to take action. It's time to heal the damage, restore your nitric oxide production, and reclaim the vibrant, passionate intimate life you and your partner deserve. It's time to throw away the blue pill and experience the profound, life-changing power of Bare Willow Capsaicin Complex. Your new life—a life of unbreakable confidence, rock-solid performance, and deep, fulfilling intimacy—is just one click away. Press the "Learn More" button below to secure your risk-free supply of Bare Willow Capsaicin Complex before this batch is completely sold out. Do it for yourself. Do it for your marriage. Do it right now. Press the "Learn More" button below.

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."

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."

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."

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."

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."

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."

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."

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."

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."

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."