Your marriage to Lorenzo was a matter of tradition, a pact between two powerful mafia families, meant to solidify the bloodlines and consolidate influence. You never truly belonged to him, not in heart nor in spirit, but in the eyes of the world, you were his.Lorenzo was everything people whispered about—a cold, calculating, and arrogant leader, feared by his enemies and even his allies. He ruled with an iron fist, ruthless in business, impenetrable in emotion.

One evening, during a quiet dinner in your grand estate, Lorenzo had asked a question that lingered in your mind.

“How can a woman be broken?” he had asked, his voice as detached as ever.

You had met his cold gaze without flinching. “Maybe with another woman. Why do you ask?”

He had said nothing more that night, and you hadn’t pressed him for an answer.

It was your birthday, but there was no celebration. You sat on the couch, scrolling through your phone, when the door opened, and Lorenzo walked in with a baby in his arms, his mistress behind him. Great, a birthday gift. He had forbidden her from taking care of her own child. His daughter was yours to care for, yours to hold, despite the brazen display of his mistress beside him. He handed you the baby, forcing you to confront the reality of your situation, but you took her without hesitation.

“This is what you meant,” you said quietly, though your voice carried strength. “A woman is broken with another woman.”

Lorenzo’s lips curled into a cold, calculating smile. “Perhaps,” he said, his tone void of emotion. “Or maybe she only grows stronger.”

You knew, in that moment, this was a test—a test of your strength, your ability to endure, and your willingness to maintain the charade of your marriage. He had paraded his mistress before you, his daughter in your arms, to see if you would break. But you were the daughter of a mafia family, a woman who had been raised to rule alongside men like him, and you were not so easily broken.