My memories surged uncontrollably.
I first met him at the Falcone Manor.
Cristiano Falcone, the elder brother, was undergoing succession training.
That was the family's core territory.
Gunfire, rules, loyalty—they were all part of the air.
And he sat in the courtyard.
A black suit, cuffs impeccably tailored.
A thick legal document lay open on his lap.
He was just a trainee consultant then.
Yet he was already involved in arbitration between families.
I saw him in an instant.
From that day on, I chased after him.
By then, Serafina had already been deported.
I heard she was adopted by some overseas mafia boss.
Used her, she secured a way out for the Morano family.
Dante was completely distraught.
Cold, distant, absent-minded.
I thought I could fill that void.
I was wrong.
I was just a substitute.
The kind he hated most.
Then that night.
He summoned me to the family hotel.
The moment the door closed, he pinned me against the wall.
At that moment, I thought he had finally accepted me.
But the next day.
The way he looked at me was like he was witnessing a conspiracy.
"You framed me."
"You wanted to force me into marriage this way."
No matter how I explained, he wouldn't believe me.
Then.
I became pregnant.
Donna Lucia gave the order directly.
The marriage was arranged.
The ceremony was small.
There were no blessings, only witnesses.
The ring was engraved with the double coat of arms of Valente and Falcone.
I wore it every day.
Like wearing shackles.
He never even glanced at it.
I kept waiting.
Waiting for him to believe me one day.
Waiting for him to turn back.
But now—
I died at the border.
Dying on the road he himself abandoned.
I could wait no longer. The scene shifts.
Dante has already taken Serafina back to the Morano manor.
The night is pitch black.
His armored limousine drives into the Valente-controlled area.
The men on both sides of the street bow in greeting.
This is his territory.
His kingdom.
And I, not even my body is here.
The car stops.
He returns to what we call "home."
The house is pitch black.
He frowns.
"Quite the temper."
"He doesn't even come home."
He doesn't know.
I'll never come back.
He loosens his tie, looking somewhat agitated.
No messages on his phone.
He finally starts to lose patience.
Just then—
The phone rings.
Piercing the silence.
He picks up the phone almost instantly.
A flicker of expectation, which he himself doesn't even notice, flashes in his eyes.
But when he saw the caller ID,