Four Days After The Wedding
Analise
Doctor Patel closed the file like it offended him. He didn't look me in the eyes when he spoke. I was seated in his office, after I'd brought my son two days ago for a checkup. The medication Luca got at the wedding helped him through the night, but he'd continued to get worse after morning.
"The results confirm it. The treatment is holding off the worst of it, but we're running out of time. His immune system is collapsing faster than we anticipated."
I didn't say anything. Words wouldn't come anyway. I thought I had more time, more time to find my ghost of a husband and force him to help our son.
"We've done all we can with what we have. We need a full genetic profile. A parental match, ideally the father." He looked at me then. "The sooner the better."
I held my breath. And I held it for too long.
"I understand this is… complicated," he added, in that carefully neutral way doctors use when they don't want to offend the mother of a child they can't save.
I blinked once. Twice. "There is no father."
"There always is," he replied softly, and that pissed me off more than it should've.
I stood up before he could say anything else. The file was still on the table, but he didn't hand it to me. He knew I wouldn't take it.
…
I sat behind the wheel long after the hospital faded in the rearview mirror. I should've driven straight to my son and held him close. But instead, I sat there in that hospital parking lot like a ghost with a heartbeat.
There was nothing left to try. No names to chase. No leads, no family history, no photos — not even a surname. Just a boy whose blood didn't match anyone on file, and a mother who'd already failed him once by trusting the wrong man.
The phone on the passenger seat lit up. A number I didn't recognize. I watched it ring once, twice.
I didn't answer.
It rang again.
This time I picked it up, more out of spite. "Yes?"
There was a pause on the line, like the caller was deciding how much truth I deserved.
"Analise."
The voice was male. Older. Calm in a way that didn't come from patience, but power.
"I'm Sofia's father."
I blinked hard, unsure if I'd misheard. Sofia's father? The ever dangerous man who had connections to the mafia, why would he be calling me?
"Why are you calling me?" I blurted out.
"I gave my daughter my word that I'd help you get your husband back.''
My grip on the phone tightened, I held my breath.
"C..can you?''
There was silence on the other end, I grew desperate.
"Do you know how to find someone who doesn't exist? Because I've tried. There's nothing."
Another pause. Then, in that same unbothered tone: "I can help you. Understand that I do not do favours, this is only for my daughter."
I waited for more, but he gave me nothing. Just a low click as he ended the call.
A few seconds later, a message pinged through. One single location.
No explanation. No confirmation. No questions.
I stared at the address on the screen, unsure what I hated more — the arrogance of it, or the fact that some small part of me was already considering it.
There was no way he had anything useful. After I searched my house, I realised that John must have taken all the pictures of himself before he left. I had nothing from him but Luca and my memories. No pictures existed. No name. No paper trail.
How could my best friend's mafia father help me find John?
My thoughts spiraled faster than I could control them, dragging old memories to the surface.
I should've driven away. I should've chalked it up to mafia theatrics.
But I didn't.
Instead, I tapped the message, copied the coordinates into the GPS, and started the car.
Ivan
Dinner was served by the second-best chef in Venice. I didn't taste a single bite.
Sofia sat across from me, her wine untouched, her mouth running a mile a minute — not because she wanted to talk, but because she didn't know how to sit in silence with a man like me.
"I was thinking," she said, "that maybe I could learn to cook. Not because I have to, but because I want this to feel like a marriage, not a merger. You know?"
I nodded once. It wasn't an answer.
She laughed awkwardly. "God, I sound like an idiot. I just… I promised my father I'd make this work. Not just for me. For the families. For everyone who depends on the peace this union brings."
The word peace hit differently. It was a joke, really. There was nothing peaceful about this. My marriage to her would put her in the crosshairs. Mikhail would come for her, and I'd get to him though her. She was the bait, but she was also my responsibility. Whether or not I loved her, she was my wife. I'd protect her.
She leaned forward. "You haven't said a word since we sat down. If there's something wrong with me, just say it. I can fix it."
That word — fix — lit something in my chest. My jaw clenched. She had no idea. Nothing could fix the emptiness inside me, the unfair comparison of her to the woman I loved. I couldn't bear a second longer looking at sofia. For four days, all she'd done is talk my ear off. Turns out, she was the kind who talked when nervous, when scared. Sofia was nothing like the women in our world. She was scared of the gun I carried everywhere, acting like it was a snake that could bite her. She vomited on our second day here, when one of the waiters turned out to be a spy and I jammed my fork into his eye. For a nurse, she was afraid of death, afraid of blood.
There was nothing broken about her. But I was nothing but cracks.
I pushed the plate away and stood. "I need air."
I left her sitting at the table alone, it didn't bother me. This was nothing but business, this marriage was a charade. Today, my heart wept for the woman I truly loved. Once fresh out of this honeymoon, I'd have betrayed my wife for good.
The night wind hit hard on the balcony. I lit a cigar. The smoke didn't help.
I stared out at the water but saw nothing. Just flickers of a woman I'd left behind. Her face, the way her hands shook when she lied and said she'd be fine. The way she looked while seated on my lap, shaving my beard and drawing on my eyebrows. How she kissed me, held my hand, looked at me cheekily. I loved Analise so much it hurt.
I've never had to step away from something I love. Something I want. As heir to the bratva, I could get anything I wanted.
But not her. Now when having her means killing her.
The guilt wasn't loud. It was quiet. Constant. A dull pressure that sat between my ribs and twisted every time Sofia smiled like she was hopeful.
The door slid open.
Sofia stepped out, arms crossed. Her voice was softer now. "You hate me."
I didn't look at her.
"I'm not stupid, Ivan. You barely touch me. You don't ask about me. You don't even pretend to care. I get it — this marriage isn't what you wanted."
She moved closer.
"My mother spent twenty years chasing a man who never looked at her like a woman. She used to cry in her bathrobe, thinking we couldn't hear her. I don't want to be like her."
She took a shaky breath. "Tell me what it is about me that's wrong. I'll change it."
I turned slowly.
The look on her face wasn't dramatic. It was real. Raw. Not the spoiled mafia princess everyone thought she was.
"There's another woman.'' She murmured, slowly like she could read my face. "Of Course. A handsome powerful man like yourself..''
I said nothing.
"I have this best friend who's suffering because she chose the wrong man to be the father of her baby. I know what being in love looks like.'' She blabbed away. "You have the same look she has when she thinks about her deadbeat ex. However, Ivan, this marriage can only work if we work together. Love or not. I just want a chance. Just one."
I took a step toward her.
"Even if I'm just a duty to you… let me be one you don't hate."
My hand reached for her jaw without thinking. Her lips parted, but she didn't move back.
I kissed her. Not because I loved her. Not because I wanted to.
Because I didn't know what else to do.
Because pretending for five seconds was easier than telling the truth — that I was a husband who left the only woman who ever mattered.
She didn't pull away.
When I stepped back, she blinked fast. "Okay," she whispered.