The Don’s Buried Wife

Soraya

"Can't you be on my side? Just once."

"Soraya. Be good."

Soraya Basile has given birth three times and raised none of her children. The first was an heir, the second a daughter, the third a "sweet one," each handed to Rosalinda, the Donna who needs them to keep her throne. When Soraya fought back, her husband, Tiziano Scaffidi, shipped her off to Villa Serena, where ice baths and sedatives taught her to obey.

Now she has stopped fighting. No tears. No begging. She simply kneels, lowers her eyes, and counts down the days until his grandmother's promise comes due and she can be free for good.

But the Donna won't let her leave quietly. A staged slap. Fingers crushed in an iron door over a scratch the Donna twisted into a crime. A feverish child she must beg for on bloody gravel. And through it all, Tiziano looks away.

He doesn't notice his wife has stopped crying until it is far too late. By the time the Don goes looking for her, his grandmother is waiting with two words that will break him:

"She's dead."

——

Three years after they let me out of Villa Serena, I got pregnant again.

After ten agonizing months of pregnancy and a brutal delivery, my husband, Tiziano, handed my third child, a boy, to his sister-in-law, Rosalinda Caruso. I didn't weep. I didn't scream. I didn't fight.

I just dragged my emptied-out body to Concetta Scaffidi's sitting room and knelt in front of her.

"Nonna, it's been eight years," I whispered. "Please. Let me go."

She studied the hollows under my cheekbones for a long time.

"Don't hate Tiziano for this," she said. "This family lives and dies by its bloodline. He gave the baby to Rosalinda to keep her position as Donna secure."

"I don't hate him. I wouldn't dare. But eight years ago, you promised me. When the time was up, I'd get my freedom back."

She sighed. "You really mean to go? You'd leave all three of your children behind?"

I smiled, and I knew how it looked. Thin. Gray. Awful.

"They stopped being mine a long time ago, Nonna. I'm too scared to even try anymore."

Three years ago, I labored all night to bring my daughter Giovanna into the world. I was still bleeding when Tiziano told the nurse to carry her to Rosalinda's wing. I clutched her so hard she wailed.

"She's mine! She's my baby!"

He looked at me like I was a child throwing a tantrum.

"Rosalinda is the Donna. As far as anyone knows, she can't have children, and she needs them to hold her place in this house. Behave, and we'll have more."

"She already has Dario!" I screamed. "Isn't our son enough?"

"She's been so depressed without a little girl," he said flatly. "You can't just let her suffer when you have exactly what she needs."

When I lunged, two of his men pinned my arms to the mattress, and I could only watch as they carried my daughter away.

That night, I stole her back and ran for the iron gates. I was three steps away when a child's voice split the dark.

"That bad lady took my sister! Stop her!"

I turned. Dario, my firstborn, stood on the terrace in his pajamas, his beautiful little face twisted with disgust. He was the one who'd called the guards.

After that, Tiziano told everyone I'd had a breakdown and sent me to Villa Serena to rest.

Ice baths. The cold room. Sedatives every morning until I forgot what day it was. By the time they let me out, I'd stopped dreaming about getting my children back.

Pity crossed Concetta's face.

"Eight years ago, Alfonso dragged his failing body to me and begged me to save you," she said quietly. "After the Basiles fell, the only way to shield you from the loan sharks was to make you a Scaffidi. He loved you enough to do that. He promised that once he died, you would finally be free." She shook her head. "None of us imagined it would end up like this."

Then she nodded once.

"Fine. I'll arrange your departure. But I need two weeks to secure your travel documents and tie up the loose ends. Go back to the west wing and rest."

For the first time in years, something small and warm flickered in my chest.

I was turning the corner into the west wing when I saw him.

Tiziano stood by the window holding my youngest son, his finger caught in the baby's tiny fist. Velmora's most feared don looked almost gentle.

He glanced up. "Rosalinda picked a name. Cesare."

Another woman had named my son. He would call another woman Mamma. The air went thin in my lungs.

"The first time, you needed an heir," I said hoarsely. "The second time, you needed a daughter. What's the excuse this time?"

"Rosalinda says Dario's too wild. She wanted a sweet one." He shifted the baby in his arms. "I'm taking him over now. Do you want to say goodbye?"

He was braced for tears and begging. That was how it had always gone.

This time, I took half a step back.

"No need. Rosalinda will take good care of him."

His brows drew together. "That's your son. How can you be so cold?"

My eyes burned. "Don't worry. I'll never fight the Donna over a child again."

His phone buzzed. Rosalinda. He murmured something soothing into it and headed down the hall.

At the end of the corridor, he paused and looked back.

"This is the last time, Soraya. I promise. The next baby is yours to keep." He softened his voice.

I didn't answer. I texted Elio, my oldest friend, across the ocean in Port Marisol.

Can you find me an apartment? I'm coming.

Tiziano didn't get it. There wouldn't be another baby.

I was getting out.