Chapter 3

Mirella's POV

I don't remember how I walked back to the East Wing.

When I pushed open my bedroom door, Niccolo was sitting in a velvet armchair, quietly cleaning an old Colt revolver. Seeing my pale face, he set the gun down, poured a glass of bourbon, and shoved it into my hand. "She kicked you out."

I downed half the glass in one gulp, the liquor burning my throat. "I just can't watch her walk straight to her death. You don't know how twisted Pietro is."

The suffocation of my past life gripped my throat—that pitch-black basement where Pietro used to yank my head back by my hair, brutally forcing handfuls of unknown pills down my throat. "Swallow it, you useless bitch!" Even when I was throwing up blood and wasting away into a skeleton, he never showed an ounce of mercy. He was a castrated failure, yet he violently forced the blame onto women.

The glass shook violently in my hands.

Niccolo frowned, strode over, and snatched the glass away, wrapping his rough, warm hands around my freezing fingers. "Look at me, Mirella." His voice was low and commanding. "Stop worrying about them. You do not owe anyone in this family a life."

I looked into his deep eyes, my own growing hot.

I had planned it perfectly—wait until Giovanni’s wife gave birth, letting Pietro lose all hope for the Don’s seat, and then find a way to help Livia escape. But just one month later, a massive bomb dropped on the Ferraro estate.

Livia was pregnant!

When the maid gave me the news, I felt like I'd been struck by lightning. "That's impossible!" I shouted.

I knew the truth from my last life: Pietro produced zero sperm. How the hell had Livia gotten pregnant? Panic set in. My entire plan went up in smoke.

"I need to see her, right now," I said, grabbing my coat.

Niccolo caught my arm from behind. "I'm going with you."

The West Wing reeked of bitter herbs. Seeing Livia made me gasp. She was skin and bones, cheeks hollow, eyes bruised with dark circles. But her eyes burned with an unnatural, fanatic fire, radiating insane joy and arrogance.

"Jealous, Mirella?" She leaned against her pillows, stroking her flat stomach, and sneered. "Didn't you swear last month I'd never get pregnant?"

"Tell me the truth, Livia," I whispered, walking to the bed. "How did this happen?"

"Save your jealousy!" She lifted her chin triumphantly. "Pietro hired a private doctor, Cesare. He gave me a highly classified remedy. Worked instantly."

Her eyes suddenly flashed with aggression. "Look at you, Mirella. Want me to lend you Dr. Cesare for a little tune-up?"

My expression turned cold. I turned on my heel and slammed the door behind me.

Coming around the corner, thick cigar smoke hit my face. Pietro was standing with his men, hands in his pockets.

"Look who it is." He blew a cloud of smoke, his eyes mockingly drifting to my flat stomach, then up to Niccolo's face. "The most ascetic son of our family. You can’t even knock a woman up—what real man are you supposed to be?"

I clenched my fists, fury rushing to my head. Just as I was about to curse them out, Niccolo stepped forward, his broad shoulders completely blocking me from their view.

"You're talking too much lately, Pietro." Niccolo met his gaze, his eyes like ice. "If there's no child, it's my fault."

The hallway went dead silent. Pietro frowned. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Years ago, during the gang wars in the lower industrial district, I took a life-threatening hit. It ruined my body." Niccolo's tone was incredibly flat, as if talking about someone else entirely. "Understand? Stop making jokes about my wife."

In this mafia family, where fertility equaled a man's dignity, admitting impotence was a total surrender. Pietro stared at him like he was a freak, muttered "Lunatic," and walked away.

That night, the bedroom was dark. I lay on my side of the bed, tossing and turning, my mind racing with the memory of Niccolo's cold, resolute face shielding me during the day. For months of marriage, he had been an iron wall in front of me, tanking every filthy insult thrown my way, yet he never once crossed the line to demand anything in return. In this cannibalistic estate, he was the only warmth I had.

I took a deep breath, my heart beating out of my chest. I finally made my decision. I quietly rolled over, crossed the invisible line in the bed, reached out, and tightly hugged Niccolo's broad back.

His steady breathing instantly hitched. His entire body snapped rigid, muscles turning to stone.

"Mirella?"