A Promise Drowned in Silence

I used to be that girl in the mafia—envied, untouchable.

Orlando Leone, the big bad Don everyone feared, had eyes only for me.

I took a bullet for him. After that? People whispered I couldn't have kids.

He tried to shut them up by knocking me up—ninety-nine tries.

Try number ten? His shiny new secretary texted, all confused over a decimal. He bailed on me.

By thirty, she crashed his sports car while shopping. Claimed she couldn't park. I was left freezing in a bathtub.

He said he loved me, but when it counted, he always picked the girl who played dumb and helpless.

That's when it hit me—his love was never really mine.

And by the time I disappeared for real, he lost his mind looking.

Too bad. Me and that promise? Already buried at sea.

This was attempt number ninety-nine at getting pregnant with Orlando Leone. His mom, Caterina, dragged in some old strega obsessed with dusty Sicilian rituals.

She made me chug a bunch of gross stuff—wine, oil, ashes, herbs—all supposedly "blessed" under the Madonna's statue. Her pitch? This was my golden shot at popping out an heir.

Orlando kissed me soft, pressed me into the headboard. "Aria, don't stress. You'll always be my only wife."

Cute, right? Meanwhile, the Leone Family—a hundred-year-old mafia dynasty—was running Sicily like a chessboard. But no heir? Panic mode. And guess who Caterina kept breathing down? Yep. Me.

Every time Caterina pushed, I swore I'd lose it.

And every single one of our almost hundred tries in the last six months? Interrupted by his secretary, Bianca Quinn—annoying but ugh, "charmingly quirky," according to him.

Right on cue, just as things were heating up, Bianca called.

My heart thudded. I waited for the usual—him pulling away.

That line was for family only. But Bianca? Total VIP access.

She cooed about slicing her hand while chopping veggies. At home. Alone. Obviously.

Just as he was about to be inside me, he froze. Concern replaced that sweet look on his face.

I clutched his hand as he reached for his coat, totally wrecked.

Caterina had dropped serious cash to bring in the strega. If he bailed now, I'd be a joke. Worse—punished.

He caught the panic in my eyes, just brushed my fingers. "Babe, I'll be right back. Tonight's ours. I'll handle Madre."

His car peeled off. Seconds later—knock, knock.

The strega was back.

She grabbed my wrist—way stronger than she looked.

With this creepy little laugh, she went, "If the Don leaves now, you've clearly failed to hold him. Time for punishment."

I tried to yank free. No luck.

"Let me go!"

She pulled out a silver pin, tied with red ribbon and rosemary.

"This isn't punishment, Signora Leone," she rasped. "Just a little pain. He'll come back. The baby will follow."

Before I could move, she jabbed the pin into my fingertip. Pain shot through my chest like lightning.

Next thing I knew, I was being dragged down to the old cistern