3

At first, it was subtle. Missed calls. Late nights. Then it was whispers. Secret meetings.

Rafe stopped answering. Adam stopped caring.

I’d tried to justify it. Over and over.

Rafe was a casino boss—late nights, pressure, meetings with unsavory people. It came with the territory. And Adam? He was probably too busy with those offshore accounts, encrypted deals.

And now—finally, painfully—Isla and I understood.

There was never a missed call or a scheduling conflict or a damn business emergency.

There was just Bianca Rotti.

I called around, pieced the truth together one ugly shard at a time.

Bianca Rotti, the Moretti’s old friend, came back to New York about six months ago—desperate, vulnerable, crying about some dangerous ex who wouldn’t leave her alone.

She ran straight to Rafe. And he, in all his shining-knight delusion, opened the gates and let her in.

She needed protection. Rafe had power. It was a perfect match—for her, anyway.

And soon, Adam got involved too. Bianca’s ex? Another mafia leader. One the Moretti family used to partner with—until Adam cut ties for Bianca, even stole some of his deals, and claimed Bianca like a prize.

Uncle and nephew.

Both Morettis. Both head over heels for the same woman.

While Isla and I? We were quietly erased. The real wives. The forgotten ones.

No wonder Rafe hadn’t done a single thing for me in over a year. No Valentine's Day. No anniversary. Not even a goddamn apology. Instead, he gaslit me—told me I was the disappointment. That my inability to get pregnant had hurt him.

Maybe they didn’t love us anymore. Or maybe they never had.

But it didn’t matter.

Because the moment they chose her over us? That was the only answer we ever needed.

They weren’t husbands. They were cowards.

…

I was sipping water when my friend sent me the post. “Is this your husband and nephew-in-law?”

I clicked the link, already knowing I wouldn’t like what I saw.

There they were. Rafe on one side, Adam on the other. Flanking Bianca like prize guards at a debutante ball.

The caption?

“Grateful to my two saviors. They helped me escape a dangerous past—and now, I can raise my baby in peace.”

Over ten thousand likes. And the comments?

“Envy you. When can I get a hero like that?”

“Momma needs that handsome boy.”

“Manifesting this kind of love.”

“Wait… aren’t these the Moretti men? Weren’t they already married? To sisters???”

“OMFG—uncle and nephew both in love with the same woman? The drama is unreal.”

I showed the post to Isla.

Her face didn’t twist in anger and her eyes didn’t tear up.

We were past that stage. Way past it.

“If she’s what they want,” I said, smiling coldly, “then let them have her.”

“You’re damn right,” Isla muttered, not even sparing the screen a second glance. “I’m done with Adam.”

So I called the lawyer. Again.

We’d already sent the divorce papers once. The Moretti ignored them—probably assuming we were emotional, unstable, playing games.

Doesn’t matter. If they kept ignoring, I will just keep sending.

Rafe still didn’t respond, and so did Adam. Not to the email, not to the lawyer, not even a text.

For a second, I wondered if the address was wrong or the courier never delivered.

But no. I told myself that I knew better.

Rafe Moretti was many things. A ruthless leader. A calculated strategist. And above all, never careless.

No, he got the papers. He just didn’t think he had to care.

Rafe and Adam were mafia royalty. And men like them? They didn’t chase. They expected you to break first.

Whoever blinked first lost. And I’d done enough losing for one lifetime.

So I stayed silent.

…

Two days later, my phone rang—and Rafe’s name lit up my screen.

Finally.

“What the hell do you want, Serena?” Rafe’s voice snapped through the line like a whip. “Haven’t I given you enough? A house? Fucking bank account? A yacht? What more do you want?”

I didn’t flinch.

“I want a divorce.”

There was a loud crash—glass, maybe. Then a string of muttered curses.

“Are you done?” he growled. “I’ll forgive you for this tantrum, but if you keep pushing, I swear—I'll lose it. And you don’t want to see what I’ll do when I lose it, Serena.”

In that moment, I saw Rafe for who he really was. Not the powerful man I once admired. Not the husband I once adored. Just a petulant, self-absorbed manchild, shocked the world didn’t revolve around him anymore.

And then, like clockwork—her voice.

“Rafe, I brought your coffee,” Bianca purred in the background. “Adam’s joining us soon. Should we head to the restaurant?”

Of course.

“Right,” I said, my voice cool as steel. “I thought you were too busy running a casino. But it turns out you’re just busy being Bianca’s lapdog. Don’t worry, Rafe. Take your time with the divorce papers—I’d hate to interrupt your little date.”

He snapped.

“Watch your tone, Serena. Have I given you too much power? Don’t you dare mock me—or Bianca. I’m only helping her because she’s pregnant. And alone.”

Pregnant. And alone.

Like I hadn’t been.

“Huh.” I laughed, bitter and broken. “So busy taking care of someone else… when you couldn’t even take care of your own family.”

“Failed at taking care of you?” Rafe barked. “Are you insane—”

“Is that Serena?” Bianca cut in, sweet as poisoned honey. “Let me talk to her. I don’t want her to… misunderstand.”

She took the phone, her voice laced in concern. “Hey, Serena. I just wanted you to know this isn’t Rafe’s fault. I’ve been on my own here in the city. And he’s just… being kind.”

I snorted. “Oh, I know. Rafe never does anything he doesn’t want to do.”

“Serena, I hope you can be a bit more understanding,” she said gently. “Being pregnant… going back and forth between appointments, dealing with stress… it’s hard.”

Then came the knife.

“I heard from Rafe that… you can’t get pregnant, right? So maybe you’re lucky. You’ll never have to feel what I’m feeling.”

I went still. And quietly, I whispered, “You bitch.”

Then came Rafe’s voice, cruel and indifferent.

“She’ll never understand what it’s like. Bianca. Let’s get going—you are pregnant.You need the food.”

The call cut.

And all I could hear was the blood pounding in my ears.

I didn’t even realize I was crying until Isla reached out, gently wiping the tears from my cheek.

“Don’t cry,” she whispered. “You told me they’re not worth it. And you were right.”

I wasn’t crying for Rafe. I was crying for the baby I lost.

The child I never knew. The one I never even got the chance to love.