"I didn't choose anything! You forced me into that church! You stole my life!"
The words echoed in the small room. Too loud. Too raw.
I stood. "I can't do this. Not now. Cesare is fighting for his life upstairs and I'm six weeks pregnant and I don't have the energy to—"
I stopped. Realized what I'd just said.
Bianca's eyes went wide. "You're pregnant?"
Fuck.
"You can't tell anyone," I said immediately. "No one knows except Cesare and Piero and—"
"I won't tell anyone," Bianca said quietly. "I promise."
I wanted to trust her. My heart ached with how badly I wanted that, but I just couldn’t. "Your promises mean nothing to me."
The words landed like a slap. Bianca looked away.
"I know. I know I destroyed any trust between us. But Paola... a baby. You're having Cesare's baby."
"Yes."
"That's... that's huge. You're going to be a mother."
My hand drifted to my stomach. "I know."
"Are you happy? About it?"
The question surprised me. Was I happy? Terrified, yes. Overwhelmed, absolutely. But happy?
"Yes," I admitted. "I'm happy. Despite everything—despite how it started, despite this insane world—I'm happy."
Bianca's eyes filled with tears. "I'm glad. I know I don't have the right to say this, but... I'm glad you found something good in all this mess I created."
We sat in silence. Not comfortable, but not hostile anymore either.
"Why did you do it?" I asked finally. "Really. Why drug me and disappear?"
Bianca was quiet for a long moment. "Because I was a coward. Father arranged the marriage and I said yes because it was what he wanted. But the closer it got, the more terrified I became."
"Of Cesare?"
"Of the life. Of being a mafia wife. Of violence and danger and losing myself completely." She wiped her eyes. "I told myself it didn't matter. That you were quiet, invisible. That no one would notice the difference. That your life wasn't important enough to protect."
She looked at me, shame written across her face. "I convinced myself that because you weren't the favorite, because Father barely noticed you, that sacrificing you was... acceptable. That my life, my happiness, my freedom mattered more than yours."
The honesty was brutal. And somehow worse than a lie would have been.
"You thought I was disposable," I said flatly.
"Yes. I'm ashamed to say it, but yes. I thought my life as the golden daughter was more valuable than yours as the invisible one." Fresh tears streamed down her face. "I was wrong. So completely wrong. You built a life from the wreckage I left you. You're stronger than I ever gave you credit for—not because I thought you were strong, but because you became strong despite everything I did to you.”
“That was a lie you told yourself to justify the betrayal."
"Yes. It was. And I'm sorry. I know sorry doesn't fix anything, but I'm sorry."
I wanted to stay angry. Wanted to hold onto the rage that had sustained me through six weeks of chaos.
