Chapter 1After I Refused the Ninth IVF Attempt, the Don Was Consumed by Regret

The night Cassiano Vireli was officially named Don, I took a bullet for him. It went straight into my pelvis.

The doctors said shrapnel had torn into my ovary. Within three years, I'd get nine rounds of ovarian stimulation, tops.

He missed the first eight. Every single one. Because of Livia.

The first time, the trigger shot hurt so badly I broke out in cold sweat. He said, "Hang in there. I'm on my way."

Twenty minutes later, he called back. Livia was overseeing a dockside handoff on her own for the first time. He had to make sure she was safe. Told me to get some sleep.

The second time, I was throwing up nonstop from the meds. Over his Bluetooth, I could hear Livia in the background, running through the protection payments for each district.

"If we miss this cycle, we'll just push it to next month. The protocol's the same either way."

By the ninth round, I was running a 104-degree fever after the trigger shot, lying on the anesthesia bed waiting for him to sign the consent form. His phone had been off for a full twenty-four hours.

The next day, Livia posted a notice on the family's encrypted channel.

"Sorry, everyone. My stomach was acting up yesterday, so the Don cleared his schedule and stayed with me at the clinic all night. I've already rearranged Monday for the Donna. No delays."

Everyone thought Livia was so on top of things.

Because she had complete control over every hour of Cassiano's day.

I turned off my phone, called the fertility clinic, and revoked authorization for the embryo culture. Then I typed one line back on the channel:

"Don't bother. I'm not doing the ninth round."

...

Messages kept scrolling up the channel.

Everyone ignored what I'd said. Or figured I was just throwing a tantrum.

Some praised Livia for caring more than Cassiano, the actual husband. Others reminded Cassiano not to be late this time.

A few minutes later, Cassiano replied: "I'll be there Monday."

He didn't ask me. Didn't message me privately to confirm.

Like the ninth egg retrieval wasn't my treatment at all—just another appointment Livia had neatly slotted into his calendar.

I closed the channel and called the fertility center.

The staff verified my identity three times, then reminded me that once I withdrew authorization, this cycle wouldn't proceed to formal retrieval or embryo culture. The costs already incurred for medication and testing were non-refundable.

"Are you sure?"

I looked down at the needle marks still fresh on my stomach.

"I'm sure."

The cancellation confirmation hit my phone minutes later.

Cassiano came home before ten that night, which was rare.

He shrugged off his coat, still carrying that lingering smell of gunpowder from the dock warehouses, cut through with something metallic—like rust and blood. He was on the phone with Livia. Only when he hung up did he finally look at me.

"Livia's got everything handled. Don't stress. It'll go smoothly this time."

The treatment withdrawal form I'd just printed was sitting on the dining table.

He reached out and picked it up.

My chest tightened.

If he'd looked at it—really looked—if he'd asked even one question, I would've told him. This wasn't just canceling a treatment.

But his phone buzzed again. Livia.

He picked up, and his voice was nothing like the cold edge he used with his other men.

"Your stomach again? Lay off the coffee. I'll have someone bring you soup. The meds are in the second-floor drawer at the safehouse."

Whatever she said next made him grab his coat and head for the door.

I stopped him. "Don't have Livia bother with Monday."

Cassiano paused. His eyes settled on my pale face.

He frowned and lifted a hand, meaning to touch my forehead.

Once upon a time, I would've gone up on my toes and buried myself in his chest.

This time, I turned my head away.

He didn't seem to notice.

"I know I let you down the last few times."

"This time, I'm clearing everything. I'll get there early. Nothing scheduled after, either."

Eight years ago, when I had my first uterine exam, he'd been the one holding my hand, promising he'd always be there.

He'd just taken over the family back then. Four hours of sleep a night, if that. But he'd waited outside that exam room all night long.

For a split second, I actually thought about it. About believing him one last time.

Then his phone buzzed again. Livia.

"Don, I'm having trouble breathing."

Cassiano glanced down at the screen and immediately frowned. "Might be an anxiety attack. I need to check on her. We'll talk about Monday when I'm back."

I didn't try to stop him.

"Cassiano, it's not just Monday I want to talk about."

His hand was already on the doorknob. He turned back, impatient. "What else, then?"

I looked at him. The words wouldn't come.

"Go."

There was nothing left to say.

After the door shut, I picked the form back up and drew a clean line through the "family member's signature" box.

In the Vireli household, every decision the Donna made had to go through the Don.

Except this one.