The Don and His Arranged Wife Had Three Kids Together, So I Ran

I pointed at the wreckage around us.

"Dante, you should be asking yourself that."

He looked at the crumpled photos on the floor. Something flickered across his face, guilt that went as fast as it came. Then he dropped to one knee, every inch of him radiating sincerity.

"Nora, I know these years have been hard on you. But trust me, with Bianca it's only ever been strategy. Once she delivers this baby, I'm cutting ties. The elders will hand power over to me, and we'll be free."

"We had a plan, remember? America. Art school. The gallery. Finishing what your mother started."

His phone rang. He stepped away to answer it, thinking I couldn't hear.

He underestimated the Costellos, because my phone buzzed at the same moment.

A wedding invitation. Dante and Bianca. The date: tomorrow.

The witness list ran long, top names from families across every territory. Men whose presence made a marriage permanent. Nobody walked away from a wedding they witnessed, not in this world. That was how you lost your standing, and without standing, you had no business.

Standing there holding that invitation, I finally understood where I ranked. Below Bianca's name. Below the children's bloodline. Below the family's reputation. Below everything.

Tears fell fast. My chest felt like something was grinding it apart.

I would not endure his excuses another moment. I grabbed my art case and walked.

He dropped the phone and caught my arm.

"Nora, so what if I'm marrying Bianca? You're still the one I love."

"Can you stop being so selfish? Your mother is gone, but my family is still alive. Don't make this harder than it has to be."

For a moment I couldn't breathe. Literally couldn't get any air.

I stood there until I came back to myself. By then the sky was dark. The guests had all gone. Dante and Bianca had left together.

Good. Time for me to leave too.

I went to the studio to get what was left of my mother's things. Her old paint case. Her sketchbook. Her voice recorder.

On that recorder was her voice, the recording she'd left me. Her application to the American art school that never got accepted. And her words.

"I hope my darling Nora gets to see the truly free art world one day. The one I never got to."

Those words kept me going through eight years of hell.

But when I opened the studio door, the room had been destroyed.

Daniel had kicked the lock in. He'd slashed through every piece of work I had. My mother's paint case was crushed. The voice recorder was in pieces underfoot.

He glared at me with real hatred, then picked up a can of paint and threw it at my face.

"Bitch! All of this is my father’s property. You gold-digging whore don’t get to take a single thing with you!"

I didn't care about the paint dripping from my hair and my face. I dropped to my knees and searched through the wreckage for my mother's recorder. Maybe the memory chip was still intact. Maybe I could still hear her voice one more time.

Daniel made a sound like he was calling a dog. He wanted me to look at him.

He was holding the memory chip between his fingers.

Snap.

Dante's footsteps came down the hall. He crouched beside me, took out a pocket square, and dabbed at my face.

"Nora, those things weren't worth anything. I'll get you new ones."

"Your body hasn't recovered. Stop making a scene."

My throat was raw. There was ringing in my ears. My mind went blank, my eyes closed, and I went down into the white paint spilled across the floor. Like a burial.

Dante carried me back to the estate. When I woke up the next morning, everyone had gone to the wedding. The house was empty.

I spent that time searching for evidence of the Costello family’s crimes.

The wedding march played in the Costello estate's hall, and I was already on a plane to the United States.