The Don’s Discarded Surrogate

The next morning, Lorenzo held my hand tightly as we went for my check-up.

“The baby is perfectly healthy,” the doctor said, handing over the sonogram. “The due date is still the same.”

Lorenzo took the picture.

“Thank you, Doctor,” he said, his voice soft, almost paternal. “Arabella’s been so worried. I’m glad she’s okay.”

“You’re a lucky woman, Mrs. Falcone,” Dr. Reeves smiled. “The Boss is a perfect husband, here for every appointment.”

The perfect husband. I almost laughed out loud.

Lorenzo helped me with my coat, his eyes smiling. “This is the heir the Falcone family has been waiting for. Of course I’m going to take care of you.”

He took my hand as we left the exam room.

Down the hall, a familiar figure stopped me cold.

Isabella.

Her belly was high and round under a loose maternity dress. She was talking to a nurse.

She saw us and her face lit up with a sickeningly sweet smile.

“Arabella! What a coincidence!”

She hurried toward us. I felt Lorenzo tense for a split second before his mask slid back into place.

“Isabella. You’re here for a check-up, too?” My voice was even.

“I am,” she said, her hand resting on her fake bump. “My due date is right around yours.”

It took everything I had not to lose my temper.

Of course it is. Because you’re not pregnant. You’re just waiting for me to give birth to your child.

She reached for me. “Let me touch your belly. They say it’s good luck—”

Her hand, nails painted blood-red, came right for my stomach.

My eyes went cold. I shot my hand out and clamped down on her wrist.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Isabella’s face hardened, her eyes flashing with anger.

Just as she was about to snap, I winced, pressing my other hand to my stomach. “My belly… it hurts…” I said weakly.

The angry words died in her throat, her look of triumph freezing on her face.

Lorenzo immediately pulled me into his arms. “Are you alright? Let’s get you home.”

His voice was drenched in concern, but I saw it clearly. His eyes went right over my shoulder to Isabella. A silent reassurance.

“I think I just stood up too long,” I said, looking down. “I just want to sit in the waiting room for a minute.”

“I’ll go with you—”

“No,” I cut him off. “You and Isabella should talk. I’ll just be a few minutes.”

Lorenzo hesitated, then nodded.

“Alright. Be careful.”

I turned and walked into the waiting room. The second the door closed, I looked through the crack. He was already rushing to Isabella’s side.

Just as I expected. Off to comfort his one true love.

I followed them quietly, hiding around a corner.

They slipped into an empty ward.

“Lorenzo, are you actually falling for her?” Isabella’s voice was sharp, dripping with jealousy.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lorenzo said softly. “Everything is going according to plan.”

“Then why didn’t you back me up out there? She said her stomach hurt, and you looked genuinely worried.”

Lorenzo sighed. “I’m doing all of this for our child. She’s carrying him, after all…” His voice trailed off. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a velvet jewelry box. Inside was an antique sapphire brooch. He pinned it gently to her dress. “You wanted this at the auction. I bought it for you.”

Isabella softened, a smug little smile playing on her lips.

"By the way," she purred, her tone spoiled, "that tip about the O’Connell shipment was very helpful. Matteo and Moretti were very pleased with me. What about the upcoming deal in Venice?”

“It's all set. Two hundred million in art is coming in next week. Arabella's going to check the final manifests for me. It will all be authentic."

A sharp pain twisted in my gut.

My expertise. My judgment. I was just a tool for their profit. A way to build their power, to strengthen their alliance.

And my body? Just a vessel. A surrogate.

I fought back the tears, turned away, and pulled out my phone.

“Dr. Martinez? It’s Arabella.”

“Mrs. Falcone. What can I do for you?”

“The procedure for tomorrow afternoon. Can we confirm the time?”

There was a brief silence on the other end.

“Are you certain you want to go through with this?”

“I’m certain. Three p.m. tomorrow. I’ll be there.”

I had just hung up when a familiar footstep sounded behind me.

“Tomorrow?” Lorenzo’s voice was sharp with suspicion. “Where are you going?”

I turned to face him, a faint smile on my lips. “I have an appointment with a painter. I want a portrait of the three of us before the baby comes. A keepsake.”

The tension in Lorenzo’s eyes eased.

“When?”

“Tomorrow afternoon. You have that family meeting, right? It’s perfect.”

“I can postpone it—”

“Don’t,” I said, playing the part of the considerate wife. “You hate sitting still for portraits. I’ll just bring a photo of you.”

Lorenzo stared at me for a few long seconds, trying to read me.

I smiled and wrapped my arms around him, playing the part of the loving, adoring wife.

He finally relaxed, a smile touching his lips. He stroked my cheek, his voice dripping with condescending affection. “You’re always so understanding. What would I do without you?”