I returned home instead of going to Lorenzo. And hours later, I heard the front door open and close behind me. Lorenzo staggered in, his movements sluggish, his shirt slightly rumpled. He reeked of whiskey and perfume.
I waited for him to say something. To look at me.
He didn't.
"I'm exhausted," he muttered, shrugging off his jacket and collapsing onto the bed. Within seconds, his breathing evened out and he was asleep.
I stood frozen, my hands trembling. Santino's words and the video gnawed at me. Moving quietly, I stepped toward Lorenzo's sleeping form, fingers slipping into his pockets.
His phone.
My pulse pounded as I pressed his limp finger to the screen, unlocking it. I scrolled through messages—cold, factual words that ripped the air from my lungs.
Every miscarriage was planned. Every stillborn, their dead body had been sent to Seraphina Marone just for her twisted love.
~Valeria’s POV
The scent of a warm breakfast filled the Ricci mansion. I stood at the stove, flipping pancakes, my hands steady despite the storm brewing inside me.
I had spent the last hour preparing every dish he loved, laying it on the dining table. However, behind the facade I put up, was a woman unraveling.