Chapter 4

Francesca's hand froze in mid-air, staring at the tattoo on my chest.

"No... impossible..."she muttered.

"This is fake too!" Francesca shrieked, her voice twisted and shrill with fear and jealousy. "A temporary tattoo! This is definitely some cheap garbage you can buy for two dollars!"

She looked around, trying to find supporters, but the mob wives and family members had already retreated.

"Are you all blind?" Francesca roared, a crazed light flickering in her eyes. "How could the real Donna be a divorced woman? Does a bitch like this deserve it?"

She suddenly lunged, her sharp nails scratching at the skin of my left chest, trying to forcibly rip off the "fake" serpent.

"Get off!"

I shoved her away with all my might, but due to my pregnancy, my balance was off, and I stumbled backward into the head table.

"Vincent! Grab her!" Francesca yelled like a madwoman. "She is insulting our intelligence! If you don't expose her, when the Don comes later, do you want to be dealt with for being a fool too?"

Vincent hesitated for a split second, then moved.

Out of a desire to salvage that damn dignity, and out of fear of the Vitiello family's power, he chose to believe the crazier option.

"Stay still, Alessia," he restrained my arms from behind, forcefully pressing me onto the black-clothed head table. "Let me see if this is real skin or a fake painting."

"Let go!" I struggled desperately, but my pregnant body was no match for a grown man's strength. My face was brutally pressed against the tabletop, the cold silverware digging painfully into my skin.

Vincent's hand, which once wore a wedding ring, now moved with humiliating roughness directly to my chest.

He was rubbing it. Scrubbing at the tattoo hard.

The skin turned red and even bruised from the friction, but how could an eternal brand, inked into flesh with a needle, just rub off?

"Damn it, why won't it come off?" Vincent's voice panicked slightly, sweat trickling down his forehead.

"Use a knife!" Francesca grabbed a silver steak knife from the table, her eyes as vicious as a viper. "If it won't rub off, scrape it off! scrape that layer of skin off—I don't believe I won't see the fake underneath!"

She forced the knife into Vincent's hand.

"Do it! Do you want everyone to know you married a fraud?"

I snapped my head up, staring dead into his eyes.

"You wouldn't dare."

Vinent's hand was shaking, but he raised the knife. The tip glinted coldly under the crystal chandeliers.

"Bear with it, Alessia," he gritted his teeth, as if convincing himself. "This is for your own good. You can't be an imposter."

The cold edge pressed against my skin.

"Ah—!"

The searing pain made me scream. Blood flowed down the blade, staining the black velvet, and staining that rose red.

"What are you screaming for!" Francesca laughed excitedly from the side. "This cut is for daring to steal my spotlight!"

The blade came down again.

"This cut is for that useless womb of yours!"

"You broken goods! You think you're worthy to compete with me for a man? Go back to the slums!"

My vision began to blur; the intense pain and blood loss were making my consciousness drift. I could only helplessly shield my abdomen—my child, mine and Cassian's child...

Just then, the heavy double doors of the banquet hall let out a tremendous sound.

The doors were violently kicked open.

The entire world stopped in that instant. Even the knife in Vincent's hand paused in mid-air.

The man stood in the doorway, backlit, holding a little boy in a miniature black suit in his arms. His gaze wasn't angry; it was the lifeless, cold silence of looking at a corpse.

Cassian Vitiello.

And in his arms, Leo Vitiello, whose grey-blue eyes were identical to his father's, stared wide, horrified at the sight of his mother covered in blood.

"Put. Her. Down."

Just three words, yet Vincent looked as if his soul had been sucked out. His grip loosened, and I slid to the floor.

"Cassian!" Francesca, still not grasping the situation, actually dared to step forward, pointing at me limp on the ground to claim credit. "Look! This crazy woman is impersonating your wife! We are handling her for you..."

"Shut up!"

Cassian walked forward step by step, the heavy sound of his leather shoes trampling on everyone's heartbeat.

He ignored everyone, even the stupid woman still trying to claim credit. He strode quickly to my side, dropped to one knee, and carefully gathered my battered body into his arms.

Looking at the still-bleeding wound on my chest, looking at the ruined rose tattoo, a storm capable of swallowing everything instantly surged in Cassian's eyes.

"Papa!" Leo, finally reacting, jumped down from his father's arms and rushed crying toward me. "Mama is bleeding! Bad man!"

The knife clattered from Vincent's hand to the floor. Francesca retreated to a corner, shielding her own child.

"Mama...?"

Vincent's voice trembled until it nearly shattered. He pointed at me, then at the child, his face as pale as paper, as if witnessing the most impossible thing in the world.

"That's impossible..." he muttered to himself. "How could you have a child?"