He Stole My Babies for Her

Three years ago, to quell a mafia feud and save my father's life, I married Alessio.

Over the past three years, the occasional scraps of tenderness he threw my way had slowly tricked me into falling in love.

Until the day I nearly bled to death giving birth to our twins—only for him to immediately hand them over to his true love. His adoptive sister, Bianca, had been left sterile after taking a bullet for him years ago.

In the end, the reality was clear. I was just a breeding vessel, kept around merely to bear children for the only woman he ever loved.

My dignity, my flesh and blood, and my ridiculous love were unapologetically trampled into the dirt.

And when the devastating news of my father's brutal murder followed, the very last trace of weakness in my heart disintegrated into ash.

...

Bianca nestled up to Alessio's side, trailing her fingers over the newborns.

"Alessio, they look just like you," she said, looking up at him with deep affection.

Alessio reached out to pull her in by the shoulder, his voice softening with a gentleness he had never once shown me. "They are our children, Bianca. You will be their only mother."

Something snapped in my head.

"No... no!"

I threw myself off the delivery bed, dragging myself across the floor until I caught the hem of his pants. Blood ran down my legs, trailing a garish crimson path behind me.

"Alessio, I'm begging you! You can't take my children!"

"Serafina, don't push me." He looked away. "Your father's life was bought with your body. Now, the transaction is complete. Bianca lost her womb because of me, and this is what I owe her."

Five years ago, Bianca had taken a bullet for him during an assassination attempt.

It had pierced her abdomen, permanently stripping her of the right to become a mother. Since then, she had become Alessio's untouchable weakness—a lifelong debt he swore to repay.

"You can't do this..." I gripped his pant leg with a death clutch. "They are my children! Alessio!"

"Enough." His voice was deadpan. "From today on, these two babies will be raised by Bianca. They will call Bianca their mother."

I was stripped of the right to see my children and thrown into solitary confinement.

The basement was cold and damp. I curled up there, hugging my knees like an empty shell stripped of its soul, my tears completely bled dry.

During the two days when the fever burned the hottest, I dreamed a lot.

I dreamed of the winter three years ago.

I had a fever then, too. Alessio had come back from a meeting at three in the morning, sat by my bed, and spoon-fed me my medicine.

In my haze, I heard him call me "Fina," his voice so soft. That was the only time he had ever called me that.

I dreamed of the time he came back with a bullet in his shoulder, and I stitched him up. When I reached the last stitch, my hands shook. He suddenly grabbed my wrist and said, "Your hands are so cold."

The next day, a mink-lined cloak was resting in my closet.

But today, he had mercilessly ripped away the veil, revealing the cruel truth of this relationship: "Serafina, your father's life was bought with your body."

So, from the very beginning, everything between us had been nothing more than a transaction with a clear price tag.

What did that tenderness, the kind that had tricked my heart, even mean?

Perhaps in his eyes, it was all just an operating cost, a meager tip handed out just to keep a vessel willing enough to breed.

The next day, Bianca's head maid dragged me to the greenhouse.

Bianca was sitting in the master chair. Piled up at her feet was a massive bundle of roses, their stems covered in long, sharp, brutal thorns.

"The babies' nursery needs some flowers to brighten it up. You know, these thorns are far too dangerous. But using scissors would ruin their aura, so—Serafina, use your hands to pluck these thorns off."

I was forced to kneel on the floor and snap those steel-hard thorns off with my bare hands.

Before long, my ten fingers were pierced and dripping with blood, dark red beads seeping out from under my fingernails. The agonizing pain made me tremble uncontrollably.

Just as I was about to pass out from blood loss and sheer exhaustion, Alessio strode in.

The moment he saw me kneeling in the mess, hands covered in blood, his face darkened to an absolute pitch.

"Alessio..." At his arrival, Bianca immediately switched to a startled, fragile tone. "I only asked her to help prep some flowers. Who knew she would refuse to use tools on purpose, just to make herself look like this and win your sympathy..."

Alessio looked at Bianca, then down at my paper-white face, before finally saying a single sentence.

"Help her back to her room and bandage her up."

When I woke up again, Alessio was sitting by my bed.

"You're awake? The doctor said you're too weak postpartum. Bianca doesn't have bad intentions. Don't take it to heart."

Once upon a time, I thought this man was worth risking my life for. Now here he was, sitting right in front of me, handing out his cruelest favoritism packaged as twisted comfort.

"I understand," I replied, my voice completely deadpan.

"Bianca is the mistress of this house. It is only right that I respect her. I wouldn't dare harbor an ounce of resentment."

He stared at me, a flicker of concealed shock in his eyes.

The Serafina in his memories should be crying right now, should be begging him to let her see the babies.

"About the babies," he started, as if panicked by the dead silence. "I owe Bianca this, after all..."

I cut him off, curling my lips into a chillingly cold smile. "For someone of my lowly status, to have the Don and Lady Bianca raise my flesh and blood, it is a blessing."

A blessing.

His jawline snapped taut.

A mobster's voice came from outside the door: "Boss, Miss Bianca says the young master and miss won't stop crying. She's asking you to go check on them."

He stood up, paused, and threw a look over his shoulder.

"Rest up. If you get pregnant again... that next child, you can keep to raise yourself."

I didn't answer.

A long time later, I opened my eyes and looked at Rosa, my personal maid. She had followed me from my father's house.

"Rosa," I asked softly, "it's been exactly three years since Alessio took over the Family, hasn't it?"

"Yes, Madam."

"The Irish mob is scattered. And... last week, the Boss officially took over all the docks and shipping lanes under the Master's name." Rosa choked on her tears. "Madam, the Cosa Nostra has never been this strong before."

I smiled. The smile was hauntingly bleak.

"That is good, then. Since he has gotten everything he ever wanted, I can finally leave this tomb."