Chapter 2 - THE COLD PLASTIC OF A RING
The silence in room 412 of Mercy General was so heavy it felt like a physical weight pressing against my chest.
Lucian Moretti stared at the legal documents in his hands, his knuckles turning stark white as he gripped the heavy cream-colored paper. His dark eyes flicked up from the ink, locking onto mine with an expression I had never seen in all our years together.
It wasn't fury. Lucian’s fury was a terrifying, controlled hurricane that could crush men twice his size.
This was disbelief. The utter, shattering shock of a man who believed his world was eternal because he owned it, only to find the floor had vanished beneath his boots.
“A divorce petition, Serena?” His voice dropped into that low, dangerous register that made bodyguards flinch. “You filed for divorce while you were still bleeding from childbirth?”
“I didn't file it just now, Lucian,” I said, keeping my voice level, steady, and entirely devoid of the trembling that had gripped me hours before. “That petition was drawn up three weeks ago, right after I saw the photograph of you and Bianca Romano on that terrace in Sicily. I gave my lawyers instructions to hold it until Niko drew his first breath. If you were here, kissing my forehead like a loving husband, maybe I would have burned it. But you weren't. You chose a villa, lemon trees, and another woman while your wife labored alone.”
Lucian stepped closer to the bed, his expensive wool coat hanging open, revealing the tailored suit he had worn straight off the private jet. He looked exhausted, the dark circles under his eyes hinting at sleepless nights, but there was no remorse in his stance—only panic wrapped in pride.
“The photograph was a trap,” Lucian said, his voice rising, though he kept it low enough not to wake the sleeping infant against my chest. “Bianca’s father engineered that dinner. He wants a merger of our shipping routes, Serena. You know how the syndicates operate. I had to play a part to keep our family safe. I wasn't sleeping with her.”
“Weren't you?” Elena stepped forward, inserting herself between Lucian and the bed like a shield. Her dark eyes flashed with protective venom. “Is that why the luxury travel account tagged you both as ‘forever entangled’? Is that why your personal pilot filed a flight plan to Palermo four days before you even told Serena you were leaving New York? Don't insult her intelligence, Lucian. You're a mob boss, not a bad liar—though right now, you're failing at both.”
Lucian didn't even look at my sister. His gaze remained pinned to me, burning with an intensity that had once made me feel like I was the only woman in the universe.
“Serena, listen to me,” Lucian pleaded, taking another step forward, his hand reaching out toward the bundle in my arms. “Look at me. I am your husband. You cannot just discard seven years of marriage because of a smear campaign by the Romanos.”
“I’m not discarding a marriage, Lucian,” I whispered, shifting Niko slightly to the left, out of his father's reach. “You did that the moment you walked out our penthouse door. This paper is just the legal formality catching up to the truth.”
He stopped his hand mid-air. The diamond bracelet he had brought—still boxed in velvet inside his coat pocket—felt heavy and useless now. He slowly lowered his arm, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle twitched violently in his cheek.
“You think you can just walk away?” Lucian asked, a cold, dark edge creeping into his tone. “You think you can take my son, strip my name, and leave me standing here like a stranger? The Moretti name doesn't divorce, Serena. My enemies would tear you and Niko apart the second they realized you aren't under my protection anymore.”
“Your protection?” I let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Your protection is what put me in this hospital room alone. Your protection is what brought Bianca Romano into our lives. I’d rather face the wolves in the dark than stay in a cage built by a man who doesn't even remember my face when the sun goes down.”
Before Lucian could answer, the door of room 412 swung open. Marco Vitale, Lucian’s second-in-command and closest confidant, stepped inside, looking pale and deeply uncomfortable.
“Boss,” Marco murmured, keeping his eyes respectfully lowered toward the floor. “We have a situation. The Romano family just leaked word to the New York underworld that you’re currently estranged from your wife. The board members are calling my phone asking if the shipping merger is compromised. And... and outside the hospital lobby, a reporter from the Tribune is asking about your whereabouts last Tuesday.”
Lucian’s head snapped toward Marco. The distraction was brief, but it gave Elena the opening she needed.
“Get out,” Elena told Lucian, her voice ringing like crystal. “You’ve delivered your excuses, you’ve seen the divorce papers, and you’ve been rejected by your own son. Go back to Sicily, Lucian. Go back to Bianca. Because if you don't leave this room right now, I will call hospital security and have you dragged out by the very cops your bribes haven't reached yet.”
Lucian looked back at me, searching my face for a crack, a sign of weakness, a single tear that would tell him I was bluffing.
He found nothing. The ice inside me had frozen solid.
“This isn't over, Serena,” Lucian whispered, his voice thick with a dark, terrifying promise. “You are my wife. And Niko is my blood. You can sign all the papers you want, but a judge in this city won't grant a divorce from a Moretti without my consent. And I do not consent.”
He turned sharply on his heel, his coat swirling around his ankles, and strode out of the room, Marco trailing closely behind him.
The heavy door clicked shut.
The silence returned, but the air felt breathable again.
Elena let out a long, shuddering breath and slumped into the bedside chair, burying her face in her hands.
“You were magnificent,” she muttered through her fingers. “I thought for a second you were going to hand him the baby.”
“Never,” I whispered, looking down at Niko’s sleeping face. His tiny chest rose and fell in a steady, peaceful rhythm. “He lost that right the moment he chose another woman over the sound of my labor.”
I pulled the hospital blanket higher around my shoulders, feeling the exhaustion finally creeping into my bones. But as I closed my eyes, a heavy thud echoed from the hallway outside, followed by Marco’s raised voice and the sound of breaking glass.
May you like
Elena bolted upright. “What was that?”
Before I could answer, the doorhandle of room 412 rattled violently, and the door swung open to reveal a terrified nurse holding a shattered tray of medicine cups—and behind her, standing in the doorway with a bloodied envelope in his hand, was a man we thought was dead.
