The day my mother was wheeled into the ICU, I knelt before my husband—the Don of the Valenti family—and begged him for the treatment money. He didn't lift a finger. He said: "Every dollar this family has was bought with blood. I don't throw money where there's no return." "I had Russo send you a list of private lenders. Clean ones. Handle it yourself." But a moment later, I heard him on the phone with Serena Kovac, a Hollywood actress looking to break into producing. "The five million's already in your production account." "Even if the whole thing tanks, it's on me. Consider it tuition for learning the business." That was his new pet project. A twenty-four-year-old actress he called a "strategic asset." I gripped the insurance denial so tight my nails broke skin. Dominic turned around and saw me standing there. No tears. No scene. No more begging. He nodded approvingly: "Good. That's what I want to see." "A Valenti woman doesn't go crawling to someone else every time things get hard." "You solve your own problems. That's how this family survives." I said a quiet "mm." "You're right, Dominic. I'll solve my own problems." Just make sure you can live with the consequences. He didn't look at me again. He straightened his cuffs and left. I pulled out my phone and called my attorney. "Prepare the divorce papers. And those files—the ones that could bring the entire Valenti family to the ground? Get those ready too." ...... By the time Dominic came home, it was nearly one in the morning. I sat in the living room of the Long Island estate. In front of me were the hospital bills, the critical condition notice. And the signed divorce agreement. He walked in, saw me, and only frowned. "Why are you still up?" I looked up at him. "My mother is still in the ICU." He hung his overcoat on the rack and walked to the bar to pour himself a whiskey. "I know." His tone was as calm as if he were commenting on the weather. "But you're no good to anyone running on empty. Rest. Deal with it fresh." I stared at the glass in his hand, and suddenly thought of that afternoon in the hospital corridor. The way I'd looked when I begged him for money. I'd said: "Dominic, thirty thousand dollars. That's all. Just to keep her alive." He'd said: "Amber, people have to learn to accept what they can't control." I thought I was already numb, but seeing him come home as if nothing had happened— something still slammed hard against my chest. Dominic finished his whiskey. His gaze fell on the table. "What's all this?" "Divorce papers." His hand froze on the glass. A few seconds later, he looked as if he'd heard some absurd joke. "Amber, what are you throwing a fit about now?" I pushed the papers toward him. "I've already signed." He didn't pick them up. He just looked down at the words, his eyes going cold by degrees. "Because I didn't give you money?" "No." My voice was very soft. "It's because I finally realized today—the Don of the Valenti family could not possibly be short of $30,000." "You just won't help me." Dominic's expression darkened. “I just don't want my money to go into a bottomless pit; I won't get anything in return for giving you $30,000.” I looked up and stared straight at him. "But you gave Serena five million dollars." Dominic's face turned grim. "The Serena deal is family business. It's a laundering channel. It's not personal." "I've seen the wire confirmations." I looked at him. "Sent from your personal offshore account. Personal guarantee. You eat the losses." "You call that family business?" A flash of impatience crossed his eyes. "You went through my desk?" I smiled. So his first reaction wasn't to explain. It was to blame me for finding out. Dominic set the glass down hard on the table. "Amber, you're out of control right now. I'm not discussing this with you." "Your mother's situation—I understand. But you can't take your pressure out on me." I looked at him. "She's been your mother-in-law for six years. She sat at your table every Thanksgiving." Dominic looked away. "I never said I wouldn't help." "I just don't think we should hemorrhage money into something with no foreseeable outcome." After he said it, as if realizing how harsh it sounded, he added: "I can have Dr. Ferraro make calls. Pull some strings at the hospital." "But the cash—you need to figure that out yourself." I suddenly felt my stomach lurch. I stood up, picked up the divorce papers, and slid them into the folder. "Tomorrow morning. Ten o'clock. Russo's office. We sign together and file uncontested." Dominic stared at me for a long time. “Valentis don't divorce. The last wife who tried ended up in witness protection—and even that didn't save her reputation.” "Also, if you leave me, how exactly do you plan to pay for her treatment?" The moment those words landed, my fingers went white. He knew exactly what I feared most. And exactly what I needed most. So he used it to force me to submit. I looked up at him. "I'll figure it out myself. I always do." "But Dominic—you might want to think about what I'll figure out to do with you." Something shifted in his jaw. A barely perceptible tension. He recovered quickly. His expression turned cold again. "Don't threaten me, Amber. The last man who threatened this family is feeding crabs off the Rockaways. You want to test whether I make exceptions for blood?" "I'm not threatening the family." I held his gaze. "I'm warning my husband,a husband who won't spend thirty thousand to keep my mother alive." I said nothing more. I turned and went to the bedroom. Before I closed the door, I heard him answer a call in the living room. His voice dropped much lower. "Serena, I've gone over the distribution contracts." "Don't worry. I'll be at the signing with you tomorrow." I knew exactly what I was doing. In this world, betraying the family carried one sentence—and there was no appeals court. But Dominic had taught me something useful over ten years: fear only works on people who still have something to lose. I shut the door, leaned against it, and slowly sank to the floor. A low, dragging ache pulled through my belly. I'd been so consumed with my mother these past days, I never went back for the follow-up. A reminder from the hospital still sat unread in my phone. [Ms. Marchetti, you are currently 7 weeks pregnant. Please schedule your prenatal checkup.] I stared at that line for a long time. Then I pressed the screen dark.
The next day, Dominic didn't show up at Russo's office. I waited for him two hours. I called. He didn't answer. It wasn't until eleven-thirty that he finally sent a message. [Serena's signing with Paramount is today. Can't step away.] The next one popped up right after. [Before you file anything, remember where you are. You're not some civilian wife walking into family court. You're inside the organization. Think very carefully about what "leaving" means in our world.] I stood outside the brownstone law office, still holding the unsigned papers. Wind swept up from the street, stinging my eyes. I didn't reply. I went to the hospital. The doctor said my mother's condition had worsened. Insurance had denied coverage for the experimental treatment she needed, and the out-of-pocket cost was crushing. Without it, they could only keep her on the basic protocol. "The family really needs to sort out the funding for the advanced treatment. The longer you wait, the greater the risk." I looked down and said okay. I listed my father's apartment—the one place that still smelled like him—for emergency sale. Signed the papers with a hand that wouldn't stop shaking,and maxed out my credit cards. The realtor went quiet for a few seconds when he heard my asking price. "Ms. Marchetti, this is way below market value." "Can it close today?" "It can, but—are you sure?" I said: "I'm sure." After I hung up, I crouched in the hospital stairwell, palms slick with cold sweat. A notification popped up on my phone. Serena Kovac had posted something new on Instagram. In the photo, she stood on a stage at a studio lot in a white blazer, shaking hands with a Paramount executive. Dominic sat in the front row, looking up at her with a patience I hadn't seen from him in a very long time. The caption read: [Signed my first major deal with someone who has my back. So this is what it feels like to be chosen. ] Someone commented below: [Don Valenti is so generous with his people.] Serena replied: [He just said he didn't want to see me fail on my first try.] I stared at those words, my fingertips going cold inch by inch. That afternoon, Dominic came to the hospital. He stood in the corridor, suit impeccably pressed, holding a manila envelope. "Russo put this together. Private lenders, all vetted. Off the books, no family paper trail. Clean enough that it won't trigger any federal flags." "A few of them have decent limits. Should bridge you through." I stared at the papers. I didn't take them. He pressed them into my hands. "The money situation—that's your call." Then he turned and left. I looked down at the loan applications in my hands, tore them up one by one, and dropped the pieces into the trash. A few minutes later, a nurse came running. "Ms. Marchetti, your mother's blood pressure is dropping. The doctor needs you to sign off immediately." My legs buckled. I grabbed the wall just in time to keep from falling. The pain in my lower abdomen flared again. This time, sharper than last night.
They worked on my mother for four hours. When the doctor came out, his mask was still on. "She's stable for now." "But she needs the advanced treatment protocol. Without it, we can only do so much." I nodded. My throat was too dry to speak. The apartment sale closed that same evening. Fire-sale price. The buyer barely hesitated. The moment the funds hit my account, I called the hospital's financial counselor to authorize the treatment. She glanced up at me from her desk. "Just you, then? No other family?" I said mm. "Your husband?" I didn't answer. In that moment, my skin burned. I couldn't look up. I was married to the Don of the most feared family on the Eastern Seaboard. A man whose name made federal judges recuse themselves. Yet I couldn't get thirty thousand dollars to keep my mother breathing. That night, I went back to the estate to get my documents. The moment I pushed open the front door, I heard a woman's laughter in the living room. Serena Kovac was sitting on the sofa. In front of her was a bottle of Dom Pérignon, two flutes already poured. Dominic was handing her a glass. When she saw me, Serena jumped to her feet immediately. "Amber! You're home." She said it sweetly. But around her neck hung a diamond pendant. I recognized that pendant. Last month, on my birthday, I'd lingered at the Cartier counter for a moment too long. Dominic had said: "The markup on those things is obscene. That's not your style." Now it was on Serena's neck. Dominic frowned at me. "Why are you back?" I looked at him. "This is my home." Serena's expression froze for a second. Dominic set the champagne flute down. "Serena closed her deal with Paramount today. I brought her back to grab some contracts." "And to celebrate, while we're at it." While we're at it. My mother lay in the hospital with tubes in her body. I'd sold my father's apartment to scrape together the money. And he was here, in our home, celebrating with another woman. Serena ducked her head, voice soft. "Amber, please don't misunderstand." "Mr. Valenti was just worried I'd be nervous for my first big signing, so he encouraged me." She touched the pendant at her throat. "This was a token for the deal. It's not what you think." I walked over and looked at the writing on the champagne bottle—a custom engraving. It read: To Serena — First victory down, limitless future ahead. The handwriting was Dominic's. He'd once told me even a birthday dinner out was unnecessary. Said that kind of sentimentality was pointless for people like us. I didn't cry. I didn't yell. I just went to the study, opened the safe, and collected my documents. Dominic followed me in. "Who exactly are you putting on this face for?" I gathered my passport, my birth certificate, and my important papers into my bag. "Move." He blocked the doorway. "Amber, you're becoming completely unreasonable." "Serena is twenty-four. She's alone in this country with no family. As her patron, is it so wrong for me to look after her?" I looked up at him. "My mother is alone in the ICU too." "Have you looked after her?" He was caught short. His expression quickly turned cold again. "Your mother's situation is different from hers." "How is it different?" "Serena still has a future." After those words left his mouth, the room went silent. Dominic seemed to realize it himself. But he didn't apologize. He just turned his face away and said quietly: "What I mean is—every dollar has to factor in return." I looked at him. My chest felt as though something had been carved out of it with a blade. My mother had no future. So she wasn't worth it. I had no future either. So I didn't deserve it. I picked up my bag and walked past him. In the living room, Serena was sipping champagne from her flute. Seeing me, she seemed to gather her courage and said softly: "Amber, honestly? A woman really should be more independent." "You can't rely on a man for everything." I stopped. Dominic stood behind me. He said nothing to stop her. I looked at Serena, and I actually laughed. "Did he teach you that line?" Her face flushed. I nodded. "Then remember it well." "The day he decides you have no return on investment either, you'll hear that exact same speech." I looked at her a moment longer, then added: "And Serena? When that day comes, you won't have ten years of the family's financial architecture stored in your head." "You'll just have nothing." Serena's smile froze. Her eyes darted to Dominic. Dominic's voice cut in—the same tone I'd heard him use with soldiers who spoke out of turn at sit-downs. "Amber. That's enough." I didn't look back. On my way downstairs, a sharp, dragging pain pulled through my lower abdomen. I braced myself against the elevator wall and stayed there a long time. My palms were drenched in sweat. My phone rang. It was the hospital. "Ms. Marchetti, your mother's condition has deteriorated again. Please come back immediately." My vision went black. I nearly collapsed right there in the elevator.
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