In those three days, Tomasso didn't call me once. Not a message. Not a soldier sent to check. Not even Nino Basile with his careful glasses-cleaning and his rehearsed condolences. Nothing. As if I had already ceased to exist inside the Rossetti world.
But I saw his social media post.
Blessed with a baby boy.
Four words. Accompanied by a photo of a woman and child sleeping, shot from behind. Catarina's dark hair fanned across a pillow. The infant tucked against her chest. The angle chosen with the same deliberate care she used when she tucked her hair behind her left ear before a lie. Even in sleep, she was performing.
The comments were flooded with congratulations. Associates. Allied Family heads. Men whose names I recognized from sit-downs and territory negotiations, men who owed their positions to Valente protection they didn't even know about, falling over themselves to celebrate the Rossetti heir.
I stared at that photo. The tears came anyway.
Some things are simply cruel.
The girl I'd lost didn't even have a name yet. I'd been saving that. Waiting until she was further along, until it felt safe to say it out loud. In this world, you learned not to name things you loved too early. The Families taught you that. Name it, and someone can take it from you.
But I was grateful, at least, that I'd found out before it was too late. I could still walk away.
The day I was discharged, a nurse helped me pack my things. My hands were steady. My face was washed. I had put myself back together the way my mother had taught me, the way a Valente woman does it: from the inside out, so that by the time anyone sees you, there is nothing left to pity.
"Ms. Valente, how come no one's visited you these past few days? Are you sure you'll be okay going home alone?"
"I'm fine. Thank you all for taking care of me. I'm feeling much better."
I managed a smile and walked out of the room.
I hadn't gone more than a few steps when I heard the nurses whispering behind me. Their voices carried in the tiled hallway, bouncing off the walls the way secrets do in places that are supposed to be sterile.
"Poor thing. A miscarriage, and not a single person by her side. Where's her husband?"