After I Refused the Ninth IVF Attempt, the Don Was Consumed by Regret

The night Cassiano Vireli was officially named Don, I took a bullet for him. It went straight into my pelvis. The doctors said shrapnel had torn into my ovary. Within three years, I'd get nine rounds of ovarian stimulation, tops. He missed the first eight. Every single one. Because of Livia. The first time, the trigger shot hurt so badly I broke out in cold sweat. He said, "Hang in there. I'm on my way." Twenty minutes later, he called back. Livia was overseeing a dockside handoff on her own for the first time. He had to make sure she was safe. Told me to get some sleep. The second time, I was throwing up nonstop from the meds. Over his Bluetooth, I could hear Livia in the background, running through the protection payments for each district. "If we miss this cycle, we'll just push it to next month. The protocol's the same either way." By the ninth round, I was running a 104-degree fever after the trigger shot, lying on the anesthesia bed waiting for him to sign the consent form. His phone had been off for a full twenty-four hours. The next day, Livia posted a notice on the family's encrypted channel. "Sorry, everyone. My stomach was acting up yesterday, so the Don cleared his schedule and stayed with me at the clinic all night. I've already rearranged Monday for the Donna. No delays." Everyone thought Livia was so on top of things. Because she had complete control over every hour of Cassiano's day. I turned off my phone, called the fertility clinic, and revoked authorization for the embryo culture. Then I typed one line back on the channel: "Don't bother. I'm not doing the ninth round." ... Messages kept scrolling up the channel. Everyone ignored what I'd said. Or figured I was just throwing a tantrum. Some praised Livia for caring more than Cassiano, the actual husband. Others reminded Cassiano not to be late this time. A few minutes later, Cassiano replied: "I'll be there Monday." He didn't ask me. Didn't message me privately to confirm. Like the ninth egg retrieval wasn't my treatment at all—just another appointment Livia had neatly slotted into his calendar. I closed the channel and called the fertility center. The staff verified my identity three times, then reminded me that once I withdrew authorization, this cycle wouldn't proceed to formal retrieval or embryo culture. The costs already incurred for medication and testing were non-refundable. "Are you sure?" I looked down at the needle marks still fresh on my stomach. "I'm sure." The cancellation confirmation hit my phone minutes later. Cassiano came home before ten that night, which was rare. He shrugged off his coat, still carrying that lingering smell of gunpowder from the dock warehouses, cut through with something metallic—like rust and blood. He was on the phone with Livia. Only when he hung up did he finally look at me. "Livia's got everything handled. Don't stress. It'll go smoothly this time." The treatment withdrawal form I'd just printed was sitting on the dining table. He reached out and picked it up. My chest tightened. If he'd looked at it—really looked—if he'd asked even one question, I would've told him. This wasn't just canceling a treatment. But his phone buzzed again. Livia. He picked up, and his voice was nothing like the cold edge he used with his other men. "Your stomach again? Lay off the coffee. I'll have someone bring you soup. The meds are in the second-floor drawer at the safehouse." Whatever she said next made him grab his coat and head for the door. I stopped him. "Don't have Livia bother with Monday." Cassiano paused. His eyes settled on my pale face. He frowned and lifted a hand, meaning to touch my forehead. Once upon a time, I would've gone up on my toes and buried myself in his chest. This time, I turned my head away. He didn't seem to notice. "I know I let you down the last few times." "This time, I'm clearing everything. I'll get there early. Nothing scheduled after, either." Eight years ago, when I had my first uterine exam, he'd been the one holding my hand, promising he'd always be there. He'd just taken over the family back then. Four hours of sleep a night, if that. But he'd waited outside that exam room all night long. For a split second, I actually thought about it. About believing him one last time. Then his phone buzzed again. Livia. "Don, I'm having trouble breathing." Cassiano glanced down at the screen and immediately frowned. "Might be an anxiety attack. I need to check on her. We'll talk about Monday when I'm back." I didn't try to stop him. "Cassiano, it's not just Monday I want to talk about." His hand was already on the doorknob. He turned back, impatient. "What else, then?" I looked at him. The words wouldn't come. "Go." There was nothing left to say. After the door shut, I picked the form back up and drew a clean line through the "family member's signature" box. In the Vireli household, every decision the Donna made had to go through the Don. Except this one.

Three in the morning. Livia texted me. 【Donna, sorry to be tying up the Don's time in the middle of the night again. Hope you don't mind?】 Below that, a photo of Cassiano in the kitchen, cooking her pasta. Six years of marriage. Cassiano was buried in family business every night—underground casinos, the docks—he practically never touched a stove. I brought it up once. He told me his hands were made for a gun, not a spatula. And now here he was, cooking dinner for another woman with his own two hands. I stared at the photo. Three seconds. Then I burned the letter I'd written him. First thing the next morning, I booked a therapist and called a divorce lawyer. I dragged all eight rounds of medical files out from the back of the cabinet. The cardboard box could barely hold them. Stim protocols, anesthesia consent forms, post-op observation charts. Every single one had Cassiano Vireli's name on it. And every single one had a blank space where the family member's signature should have been. Cassiano walked in, saw the box in the living room, and frowned. "You'll need those for follow-ups. Don't move them around." I looked down at the files. "There won't be any follow-ups." He didn't catch it. He bent down and grabbed one at random—the observation log from my fifth retrieval. A nurse had scrawled in red pen: Significant abdominal pain, family accompaniment recommended. That night, I'd stayed at the hospital until three in the morning. Cassiano had been at the safehouse, helping Livia close out a money-laundering ledger. He set the file down. "Are you still holding the last few times against me?" I didn't answer. That afternoon, we drove to my pre-op appointment. I opened the passenger door and found a bottle of stomach medication sitting on the seat. A sticky note on it read: Don't drink coffee on an empty stomach. Cassiano followed my eyes. "Livia's stomach acts up. She left it in the car a while back." I put the bottle back down. "Since when does the Don personally stock meds for one of his people?" "It's just backup medication." His face cooled noticeably. "She's the one handling every last detail for you. And you can't even let something this small slide?" "I never asked her for help." Cassiano studied me for a moment. "Whatever." He was just about to start the car when Livia called again. Cassiano hit speaker. Her voice came through breathless. "Don, the Corsinis just moved the meeting up. I'm kind of freaking out—can you come?" Cassiano looked at me. "It's just bloodwork and an ultrasound. Head in on your own. I'll have the driver take you." I stared at the door he'd already opened. "So anything that happens to her comes before me? Cassiano, I'm your wife." "Don't mix the two up." His brow tightened. "You need to stay relaxed right now. Don't let this get in the way of the treatment." "If you walk out that door, we're getting divorced." I watched him. I thought I'd be furious. Instead, I felt calmer than I had in years. "You're bringing up divorce over something this small?" His face went cold. He looked at me like I was a problem he needed to deal with later. "Enough. I don't have time for this right now. Have someone call me when it's over." He swung the wheel around. Before he pulled off, I saw him bend over the phone, texting Livia back. Fully focused. I only glanced once. Then I turned and walked into the fertility center alone. The nurse recognized me. "Your husband's not here again? You can't go home alone after formal retrieval. Don't try to tough it out this time." I turned the ticket over in my fingers. "There won't be a formal retrieval." I handed the confirmation forms to the desk, then canceled the family authorization in the hospital system. From this moment on, Cassiano Vireli had no right to ask about a single thing regarding my treatment. Then I opened my phone, ran through the document checklist my divorce lawyer had sent, and booked a one-way ticket out of this city.

When I walked out of the fertility center, Cassiano had just pulled up. The black sedan was parked at the curb. He climbed out of the back seat, coat hanging open, tie loosened halfway. "You're done? Anything hurting?" He reached out to steady me. I stepped aside, out of his reach. His hand hung in the air for a second. Then he turned back to the car and pulled out a takeout container of soup. "Eat something first." The paper bag had the logo of an Italian restaurant on it. I didn't take it. "My husband can cook dinner for another woman with his own hands, but I only get takeout?" "You saw the photo?" "Livia's stomach was acting up. That's the only reason I made her something." Cassiano frowned, edging into impatience. "Sera, why do you keep hung up on this petty stuff?" I knew the look on his face right now. He was waiting. Waiting for me to blow up like every other time. To scream at him about why it was Livia. Again. Instead, I just nodded, calm. "Okay." His expression didn't relax. "You're… not mad?" I glanced at the soup in his hand. "You're right. It's just a meal. Not worth losing it over." His brow pulled tighter. He was probably searching my face for signs I was holding it in, faking calm. But there was nothing there to find. "Get in the car." He opened the passenger door for me. "It's cold out." We drove a few blocks before he said, "You free the rest of the day?" "Yes." "Good." His grip on the wheel loosened a little. "Let's pick up some things for the baby." I looked out the window. "No need. Won't be using them." "Don't be like that, Sera." As if he'd finally found the tantrum he'd been waiting for, that in-control expression settled back onto his face. "Get whatever you want." He said it so naturally. Like we were still both looking forward to some future coming toward us. I remembered when we first started trying. Back then, Cassiano hadn't brought Livia into the inner circle yet. He'd walked through the baby aisles with me, cupped a pair of tiny socks in his palm, and laughed. "How are they this small? Barely the size of your finger." That was the softest I'd ever seen him. Softer than the hand that held a gun. Softer than the hand that signed execution orders. Halfway there, Cassiano pulled over to the side of the road. "Livia's sister-in-law is pregnant. She wants to grab some things to send over. It's on the way." The next second the door opened, and Livia slid into the back seat. "I'm not interrupting, am I?" I gave a thin smile. "It's not the first time." She bit her lip like I'd humiliated her. "There's nothing going on between me and the Don. If it bothers you, I'll just—" The instant she reached for the door handle, Cassiano hit the locks. He turned to me, and his voice went cold—the same tone he used interrogating traitors. "That's enough, Sera. Do you have to embarrass everyone?" "Livia is family. I trained her myself. I'm not cutting her loose. If you can't handle even that—" he paused, "then there's no point in having this baby either." My fingernails dug into my palm. I'd thought I was past the point of hurting over him. But my chest still ached, dull and heavy. "Then let's not have it." Cassiano's frown deepened. He sighed after a long moment. "I know how much you wanted this baby, but that's enough, Sera. Livia doesn't have any ulterior motives." I pulled the corner of my mouth up. Right. Dragging Cassiano away in the middle of the night—no ulterior motives. Sabotaging one IVF cycle after another—also no ulterior motives. I closed my eyes. Suddenly I didn't have it in me to speak anymore. The rest of the ride, the car was full of the two of them talking. I stayed silent. At the mall, Livia settled right in beside Cassiano like she belonged there. The two of them murmured back and forth—this one's better, that one's not good for pregnancy. A saleswoman came over, all smiles. Her eyes flicked between the two of them. "You two make such a lovely couple. How far along are you, ma'am?" Livia flushed. Cassiano's brow tightened. "No, she—" Before he could finish, a voice cut in behind us. "Sera, you here with Cassiano?" Matteo Corsini, an old associate of his, walked up. He saw me standing a few paces off by myself, then took in the way Livia was standing at Cassiano's side like it was the most natural thing in the world. His face slowly shifted into something odd. "Cassiano. You know what you're doing? Sera took a bullet for you." Cassiano was quiet for a second. His jaw tightened. "You're reading too much into it." Matteo looked at him, shook his head, and didn't say anything else. The saleswoman had already realized her mistake and was apologizing over and over. "It's fine," I said first. "Easy mix-up." Cassiano looked at me. Something complicated moved across his face.