I tried to swallow. There was nothing there. Just dry air.
My heart slammed hard against my ribs—so forcefully I thought something might crack again.
For a moment—I couldn’t process the words.
Couldn’t attach meaning to them.
Then—slowly—they settled.
Violet.
Pregnant.
With his child.
The room felt smaller.
I lifted my head slightly.
Just enough.
“May I... speak?” My voice wavered, cautious.
Every instinct reminded me of the unspoken rule—no words unless spoken to—lest Ciro’s baton find its mark again.
He studied me for a long moment.
Then—a single nod.
My breath trembled slightly as I spoke.
“What about the promise you made—the vows of this marriage?” I asked, my voice trembling despite my effort to stay steady.
“I understand that you hate me, want me isolated, want me never to be loved by anyone... but is it part of your punishment to betray me? To let another woman carry a child?”
Vincenzo leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, his dark gaze fixed on me.
His voice was low, measured, and chillingly calm.
“First,” he said, each word deliberate, “I did not cheat on you. The child in Violet is not mine.”
“I have never—ever—touched her in that way. Not then, not now. The thought of it has always repelled me.”
I scoffed, the sound slicing through the thick silence.
“And you expect me to believe that?” I said, disbelief and anger threading my voice.
“You’ve spent your life loving her, protecting her, dropping everything the moment she needed you. If that child is anyone’s, it’s yours. And even if it isn’t... does that mean she’s been unfaithful? You wouldn’t allow that, would you? So just say it, Vincenzo. Speak the truth. Not like I could do a damn thing to stop you anyway.”
Vincenzo didn’t flinch.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Vincenzo said coldly, “I’m not explaining myself to you. Who the fuck are you again?”
A bitter, mocking laugh escaped him.
“Oh, right. You’re the daughter of the man who violated me repeatedly and stole my innocence.”
His eyes burned with pure hatred as he stared at me.
