The man in the frame had a reckless smile, his nose brushing against my temple. 

It was taken at the height of our love. 

Julian and I were both kids who grew up in the orphanage. 

When I was seventeen, the headmaster decided to marry me off to a vicious old mobster to settle a debt. 

It was Julian who grabbed my hand, pulled me over the high brick wall, and helped me escape, running all the way to the shipping docks. 

The headmaster cursed at our backs, “Julian Marchetti! If you’re so tough, let’s see you protect her for the rest of your life!” 

He had turned around, a reckless determination in his eyes. “Then I’ll protect her with my life!” 

He used the meager earnings from his underground fights to rent a basement apartment, then started collecting protection money on the streets for the Family. 

“Once I’m a made man, I’ll get you away from all this.” 

“When that time comes, no one will dare lay a finger on you.” 

During his first three years on the streets, he nearly died fighting for territory. 

Every time he drew his gun and stepped into a shootout, he would carefully tuck a photo of me into the breast pocket of his leather jacket. 

I kept the books at a laundromat owned by the Family, saving up every single penny. 

During our hardest Christmas, we emptied our pockets and couldn’t even scrape together a few coins. We had to share a slice of cold pizza just to get through the holiday. 

Later, he climbed the ranks step by step through sheer ruthlessness, while I began strategizing for him, handling logistics and running things behind the scenes. 

We moved from that moldy basement into a luxury penthouse, and finally into the hilltop estate that symbolized ultimate power. 

As Julian’s web of power expanded, the “partners” surrounding him became increasingly flashy. 

Until one day, I found a smear of lipstick on the inside of his shirt collar. 

It was a loud, vibrant shade I would never wear. 

“A new dancer at the casino tripped. I helped her up and it rubbed off!” He impatiently loosened his bowtie. “Serafina, you’ve seen the world. Can’t you stop being so paranoid, acting like some bitter housewife?” 

“Does my trust guarantee your loyalty? Julian, we said forever. Not a single day less!” 

From that day on, we plunged into an endless cycle of arguments and cold wars. 

I went through his call logs and his itinerary. Even on nights when he claimed to be inspecting the docks, I would secretly drive out and wait outside the warehouses. 

Pushed to the brink, Julian simply dropped all pretense. 

He cycled through women one after another. At his absolute worst, he would intentionally leave his shirt unbuttoned just so I could clearly see the crisscrossing scratch marks on his back. 

“Done investigating?” he sneered. “You wanted proof? There it is.” 

I felt like an out-of-control lunatic. My rational mind screamed at me to let go, but I felt frozen to the spot. 

It had been over a decade. Julian and I had long since woven ourselves into each other’s bones. 

Tearing ourselves apart would be agony, but staying together meant we’d destroy each other. 

A year ago, he suddenly “settled down.” He dropped every other woman, keeping only a casino dancer named Mia. 

I had someone look into her background. The moment I saw her picture, I almost laughed. 

That face was a mirror of mine at seventeen, back when I still believed in a forever with him. 

By then, I was eight months pregnant and close to my due date. When the estate was attacked, I discovered that he had reassigned his best men just to protect Mia. 

I managed to survive, but the shock sent me into premature labor. Our baby was born far too weak, struggling in an incubator for three agonizing days before passing away. 

I finally understood. Julian would rather love a cheap imitation than look at the real me ever again. 

The night after the funeral, I swallowed a whole bottle of sleeping pills in despair. When Julian kicked down the bedroom door, his body couldn’t stop shaking. 

He carried me and rushed into the hospital, his eyes terrifyingly bloodshot. “Serafina! Do you have a death wish?! We’ll start over. I swear, from now on it’ll just be you. I’ll never see that woman again!” 

Lying on the stretcher, I just felt hollow. Too tired to even cry. 

It was also on that very day that Vittorio, the old Consigliere of San Celano, sent someone with a secret letter and a yellowed file. 

“Miss Serafina, the Commission has re-examined the records from the bloody war between the Five Families twenty years ago. The two people in this file are your biological parents.” 

I gripped the file, my knuckles turning white. 

That was the first time I learned that my father, Elias Vitale, was once the most respected Consigliere in this underworld, the man who single-handedly negotiated a twenty-year ceasefire. 

After burning the secret letter, I walked over to the window like a ghost. 

Down in the garden, Julian had Mia wrapped in his arms. 

“I’m sorry, baby. She just lost our baby and is emotionally unstable. I can’t leave her right now.” 

“Just give me a little more time. Once she’s stable, I promise I’ll make things right with you.” 

The two kissed passionately, unwilling to part, looking like a pair of tragic lovers kept apart by fate. 

At that moment, something inside my chest tore wide open, and the pain was so sharp I couldn’t make a sound. 

On my seventh day in that hospital bed, a cold clarity washed over me. 

I was going to leave Julian. I was going to sever this tie with my own hands.