The Don’s Secret Child

When I finally returned to the villa, the staff nearly wept with relief.

“Madam! Thank God you’re back. The Don has been unbearable these past few days—nothing we did could please him. He hasn’t slept, hasn’t eaten…”

Their voices overlapped, filled with nervous joy, as though my absence had nearly broken the household apart.

So that was it. Without me, Vincent lost his balance.

But he would have to get used to it. Soon enough, I’d be gone for good, and his life would be nothing but the silence I left behind.

I reassured the staff with a small smile and stepped into the house. The villa was dark, not a single light on, only the fractured glow of the moon through the windows.

Vincent sat on the sofa, a shadow cut by pale light, his sharp profile unreadable.

When he finally raised his eyes to me, his gaze lingered far too long. His voice was low, carrying the edge of something I couldn’t name.

“Where have you been?”

I slipped off my coat, my tone detached.

“Along the coast. Painting.”

His brows drew tight. “Since when are you interested in painting?”

Not since when. Always.

I had been a promising student, a woman who once dreamed of art academies and galleries, before loyalty chained me to Vincent’s name. Before my life was swallowed by the Bonanno empire.

But I didn’t explain that to him. I simply poured myself a glass of water and answered lightly:

“I felt like it.”

He rubbed his temples, exhaling.

“About the night at the restaurant—I didn’t mean to leave you behind. Alessia has always been delicate, fragile. I grew up protecting her, so my instincts—”

His voice faltered when my silence held.

“You didn’t even object at the time,” he pressed, irritation edging in. “So why disappear afterward? You know Alessia’s moved back to her own apartment. That whole… scene is over. Don’t hold a grudge over something so small.”

So small.

His tone carried reproach, as though my pain had been nothing but an inconvenience. As though the burns on my arms were less important than Alessia’s pretense of fragility.

I didn’t bother answering. I turned toward the stairs, but his voice cracked through the silence again.

“Valentina.”

I looked back, and for the first time, I saw him standing—unsteady.

“I’m hungry. Make me some pasta.”

I lifted my bandaged hand, the gauze stark in the moonlight.

“Did you forget? My hands are still burned.”

His expression shifted, a flicker of something almost—regret. But I didn’t wait to read it. I turned away and climbed the stairs.

The next morning, he stopped me in the hall, a velvet box in hand.

I opened it. Emeralds. Rare, gleaming, heavy with wealth.

His throat cleared awkwardly. “About that night. I was… distracted with Alessia. I should’ve taken better care of you. Consider this a gesture.”

My chest tightened. Five years.

Five years of silence, indifference, neglect. And only now—my first gift from him.

Not out of love, but penance. Not for me, but for the guilt he carried over Alessia.

I remembered the countless gifts tucked in his office, each one carefully chosen for her. A hollow laugh nearly rose in my throat, but I swallowed it down.

I had long since stopped expecting anything from Vincent Bonanno. And now? I didn’t need his jewels.

I hesitated just long enough for him to misinterpret.

“If you don’t like it… my assistant picked it up at auction. I’ll find something else.”

Before I could respond, Bianca’s voice rang out as she swept inside, dragging Alessia with her.

“Brother, I told Alessia she shouldn’t have moved out—you love her too much to let her go. At least come visit us more often, hm?”

She swept inside with Alessia in tow, all bright chatter.

“Brother, I told Alessia she shouldn’t have moved out—you love her too much to let her go. At least come visit us more often, hm?”

Her words froze me, then the velvet box in my hand drew her eyes.

“Oh my God! Vincent, you actually bought that set? Alessia was just saying how much she loved it!”

My heart plummeted.

So that was it. Not for me. Never for me.

Alessia’s cheeks flushed, eyes lowered in practiced modesty. And Vincent—Vincent hesitated, his gaze flickering toward her, not me.

The emeralds turned to ice in my palms. The first gift he had ever handed me, and it wasn’t even mine to keep.

I pressed the box into Alessia’s hands, my voice even, sharp enough to cut the air.

“If it’s meant for you, then keep it.”

The room fell into a stunned silence.

Bianca’s lips parted in delight, Alessia blinked as if caught off guard, and Vincent—Vincent didn’t look at Alessia this time. His eyes locked on me, unsettled, almost desperate.

But the damage was done. My brief flicker of hope had been extinguished.

In his heart, Alessia would always come first—whether he named it love or loyalty, it didn’t matter. To me, it felt the same.

And in that silence, I knew something had shifted irreversibly.

I wasn’t the same woman anymore.

While he falters, I am steady.

While he clings to Alessia, I am already loosening every tie that bound me here—piece by piece, quietly, without fanfare.

The passports are ready, my sketches rolled and hidden, the dates marked in my mind like a countdown only I can hear.

His world can collapse around him, but I won’t turn back. Not for his hunger, not for his guilt, not even for his love—because whatever bound me to Vincent Bonanno has already burned to ash.