Chapter 2
I held Amara against my chest, her tiny body cold, her breaths growing
weaker.
“Please, Lorenzo,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “She needs you. Our daughter needs you!”
Lorenzo’s jaw clenched as he looked between our daughter and the boy beside Isabella. Dante. His son. I saw the war in his eyes–the hesitation, the unbearable weight of his decision.
And then he spoke. “I’m sorry, Valeria.”
The words hit harder than any bullet.
My breath caught. “No…” I shook my head, clutching Amara tighter. “No, you don’t mean that.”
But he did.
Lorenzo turned to Dr. Romano. “Do it. Save Dante.”
A strangled sob tore from my throat. “Lorenzo-”
He didn’t even look at me.
Doctors rushed to prepare for the transfusion. Men stood guard, their expressions unreadable as they bore witness to the infamous Lorenzo De Luca’s choice. Not his daughter. Not our daughter.
I pressed my forehead against Amara’s, my tears soaking her cold skin. “I’m here, baby,” I whispered. “Mommy’s here.”
She didn’t answer. Didn’t even move. Her tiny fingers slipped away.
And then–nothing.
The world tilted. I don’t remember screaming, but I must have, because suddenly hands were on me, prying Amara from my arms.
“No! Don’t take her from me!” I thrashed, sobbing, my voice raw.
Lorenzo didn’t stop them. He just stood there, his hand on Dante’s shoulder as my world collapsed. And in that moment, I knew–I would never forgive him. Not in this life. Not in the next.
***
The funeral was small. Private.
Rain fell in a steady drizzle, soaking through my black dress, but I barely
He Let Our Daughter Die for His Ex’s Child
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felt it. I stood at the edge of the grave, staring at the small coffin being lowered into the earth. My tears had long dried. There was nothing left inside me. Nothing but hatred.
Lorenzo stood a few feet away, his men forming a silent wall around him. He hadn’t spoken to me since that night. Hadn’t even tried. Not that it mattered. He made his choice. And now, my baby–our baby–was gone.
The priest spoke of peace, of God’s plan. But there was no peace. No plan. Just a gaping hole where Amara used to be.
Then, movement.
Lorenzo stepped back, phone pressed to his ear, expression cold. And then he turned. Walked away. Didn’t even wait for the burial to finish.
I already knew why. Isabella. She had called him. And like a fool, he ran to her.
A bitter laugh bubbled in my throat, but I swallowed it. My hands clenched into fists, nails digging into my skin. Lorenzo De Luca had left his daughter’s burial because Isabella called.
I should have screamed. Should have begged him to stay. Should have demanded he grieve. But I was too broken. So I let him go. And as the last of the dirt covered Amara’s coffin, I swore I would never forgive him.
Because the truth was, Isabella had taken everything from me. She had left Lorenzo once, chosen another man over him. Then, when that man was shot dead, she had come crawling back.
Not just for Lorenzo. But for everything he had. For my daughter’s place. For my life.
And Lorenzo–blind, stupid, heartless Lorenzo–had let her.
I stood there until midnight. The cemetery was silent, the only sound the wind rustling through the trees. My legs ached, my body cold and drenched, but I couldn’t move. I was numb. Yet my mind wouldn’t stop.
lost.
Memories flooded in, drowning me in everything I once had–everything I
Lorenzo.
He used to be a loving husband, even with the blood of the mafia staining his hands. I remembered the night I was kidnapped. The ropes biting into my
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