Chapter 10
Aurora’s POV
Bridget arrived with Jenna the next afternoon.
I watched from the kitchen doorway while Enzo’s mother embraced mine, their voices easy. Bridget asked about my mother’s recovery, her medication schedule, whether she was resting enough, whether she was eating properly.
It was considerate.
But it wasn’t why she was here.
Once the polite conversation faded and tea cups were filled, Bridget turned toward me with an expression I knew too well. It was the face of a woman preparing to defend her child at any cost.
“Aurora,” she said carefully. “I know Enzo has done wrong. But I’m asking you not to give up on him. Please go home and speak with him. Try to fix this together.”
I drew in a breath, but my mother answered before I qould.
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“That won’t be happening.”
Bridget startled.
My mother almost never inserted herself into matters that weren’t hers, but she sat straighter, her spine rigid.
“Enzo has damaged my daughter beyond repair,” my mother said. “He abandoned her on their anniversary. He left her unconscious while he ran to another woman. He humiliated her, dismissed her, and broke her heart in ways no apology can undo.” Her voice shook, restrained fury simmering beneath it. “I will not send my child back into that house. I will not allow her to suffer any longer.”
Bridget’s expression collapsed. “I understand your anger. I truly do. But marriage is work. It requires forgiveness.”
“Forgiveness requires remorse,” my mother replied coolly. “Has your son shown any?”
The silence answered for her.
Jenna leaned forward, glancing between us. “Aurora, please. I know my brother is a fool. I’ve said it to his face.
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But if you would just go back and talk to him, maybe he would finally realize how serious this is.”
I shook my head. “My decision is final.”
“But…”
“No.” I met her gaze, ensuring she saw the certainty there. “I know you mean well. I know you care. But nothing you say will change this. I’m finished.”
Bridget set her cup down, her fingers trembling. When she spoke again, her voice was barely audible.
“I lived through this.”
The room stilled.
“Antonio betrayed me too,” she said with a bitter laugh. “When the children were young. I discovered it, confronted him, and he promised it would never happen again.”
Her gaze drifted. “It did. More than once. I stayed because I loved him, and because I believed leaving would destroy our family. In our world, a Don’s wife doesn’t
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simply leave. There are alliances, appearances, the Family’s standing to think of. So I smiled at every dinner and every gala, and I endured.”
Bridget had always seemed composed, unshakeable. Knowing she had endured the same pain tightened my chest with sympathy and resentment all at once.
“It’s a pattern,” she continued softly. “Antonio’s father was the same. The men of this Family are raised to believe the world belongs to them, and the women in it too. And now Enzo…” Her words trailed off. “I’m not excusing him. I’m only asking you to consider that he could change. That he might need help to become better.”
Better.
My hand moved instinctively to my stomach, resting there briefly before I stopped myself.
If betrayal were inherited, passed quietly from father to son like the Family name and the Family business, what would that mean for the life growing inside me?
Would my child grow up believing love was something that hurt, something that demanded endurance instead 28
< Chapter 10
of joy?
I refused that future.
“You’ve told me it’s a pattern,” I said quietly. “That only confirms my choice.”
Bridget flinched.
“I understand why you want to go,” she said, tears breaking through. “As a woman, I understand completely. But as a mother…” Her hand pressed to her chest. “I can’t watch my son lose his marriage. I can’t stand by while he loses the best thing that ever happened to him.”
My mother stood and came to my side, her hand settling firmly on my shoulder.
“I am a mother as well,” she said. “And I will not watch my daughter suffer in a marriage she should be happy in. I won’t force her to stay with a man who treats her as disposable.” Her grip tightened slightly. “We both love our children, Bridget. But Aurora’s happiness must come first.”
Bridget looked at me one final time, searching for
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hesitation, for weakness, for anything she could still reach.
There was nothing.
Two days passed before I found the nerve to return.
I chose Monday morning on purpose. Enzo would be at headquarters, lost in council meetings and territory disputes and all the obligations of a Don. The house would be empty. I could collect my belongings without facing him.
Despite everything, I couldn’t trust myself to see him. He wouldn’t apologize. He would find no wrong in his actions, and I simply did not want to see his face.
I needed to do this alone.
The house was silent. No footsteps, no proof of
anyone
living here. When I walked in, it felt the same as walking into a museum of what used to be.
I went straight to the bedroom and stopped short.
The soup bowl sat on the nightstand.
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I remembered leaving it there the night before everything collapsed, planning to wash it in the morning. Over a week had passed, and it remained untouched, dried residue clinging to the rim.
Which meant Enzo hadn’t slept in this room since that / night.
He hadn’t truly been living in this house at all.
While I cried myself to sleep in a rundown motel, convincing myself he was searching for me, missing me, worrying about me, he had been elsewhere.
With her.
Playing family with Sophie and her child while his wife unraveled alone.
He hadn’t cared. He hadn’t even noticed my absence.
I pulled a suitcase from the closet and began packing.
Most of my wardrobe carried memories I no longer wanted: gowns from Family galas, jewelry given as hollow
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peace offerings, shoes bought to earn his attention.
I left them behind. I took only what existed before I became his wife, before I became the Donna, fragments of. myself I barely recognized anymore.
Then I found the shirt.
Plain white cotton. It looked unremarkable until I
unfolded it and saw the names painted across the back,
his intertwined with mine.
We had ordered them during our honeymoon, laughing as the artist worked, imagining lazy mornings and quiet nights.
I had worn mine countless times. He had never worn his.
No matter how many times I begged, he never saw the need to wear it. Always one excuse, then another.
I dropped it into the trash.
Once packed, I stood in the center of the bedroom, taking in everything we had built. The furniture, the art, and the photographs capturing moments that felt borrowed now.
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I called a cleaning service.
They arrived within the hour.
I guided them room to room, pointing out what needed to disappear.
The wedding photographs, anniversary gifts, souvenirs, matching décor, every trace of the life we had shared.
Everything that held our memories.
I watched it vanish without feeling anything at all.
When they finished, the house looked unfamiliar. It looked more like a hotel room than a home that belonged to two people.
Perfect.
I rolled my suitcases into the living room and sat on the couch.
I took out my phone, then opened my messages and
typed Enzo’s name.
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