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My Daughter Came Back From the Future to Save Me From the Don
Novelix
Completed
"I'm 250 pounds, eight weeks pregnant, and twelve hours away from marrying the heir to the Cavallo crime family. Then my unborn daughter walks into my dream — eighteen years old, stick-thin, dying — and tells me the truth. The weight? He's been poisoning my meals to break me. The ""late meetings""? He's in our bed with his mistress. And the second I give birth, he locks me in a psych ward and lets our baby die at eighteen. Not this time. This time, I switch the bride, burn the empire, and walk out of the fire alone."
Chapters (3)
第1章
The night before my mob wedding, all 250 pounds of me collapses onto the couch. And then I dream of my daughter.
BUT—— She's not born yet. She's inside me. Right now. Eight weeks along. About the size of a raspberry.
In the dream, she's eighteen. Stick-thin. Drowning in a hospital gown two sizes too big. Collarbones like knives. Eyes like she'd crawled out of a war.
Her eyes drag down my body. Slow. Belly. Hips. Thighs. Back up.
Corner of her mouth twitches. A tiny, tired scoff. Gone in a second.
"Mom. In four minutes, you're gonna get morning sickness. Don't interrupt. Just listen."
I open my mouth. Nothing.
"I'm your daughter. Came back from eighteen years ahead to stop you from marrying that bastard tomorrow."
"Second I'm born, he ships you off to Ridgewood. Locked ward. And me? I don't make it to nineteen."
Bullshit. Cold feet. That's all.
Her eyes fill up.
"You don't believe me. Fine. One more thing. That weight you've been putting on? Sixty pounds in two months?"
My hand freezes on my belly.
"Not the baby, Mom. It's him."
A sudden flash cuts through my mind.
Dante at the dinner table. Pushing another plate at me. "Eat it, baby, for the kid." His hand on my thigh, pinching. "You're getting soft again, sweetheart. Who else is gonna want this? Nobody but me. Lucky you."
Same night. Him behind me in the mirror. Voice going low and sweet. "Nah. Eat more. I like you thick. I like knowing nobody else touches this."
His face changing. Back and forth. Soft. Cruel. Soft. Cruel.
The flash cuts. I'm shaking.
"Every meal Dante sends you? Custom recipe. Hormones. His personal chef. His personal plan. He's been fattening you up like a Thanksgiving turkey since day one, Mom."
"Because you outgrew his control. Because you got too confident for him to handle. "
"Because when a woman like you looks in the mirror and hates herself, she doesn't run."
Rory's voice cracks.
"He told his crew you'd be easier to leash if you couldn't stand your own face."
I can't breathe.
"Wake up. Go to the penthouse. He said family sit-down. He's not at a sit-down, Mom. He's in our bed. With her."
"Prove me wrong. I dare you."
---
I jolt awake. Sweat down my back. Heart slamming.
Hand shoots to my belly.
Just a dream. Just hormones. Dante loves me. Dante would never—
Then, soft. From somewhere deep under my ribs:
"I'm still here, Mom. Not going anywhere till you go upstairs to the penthouse."
My hand closes around my keys.
---
Private code. Elevator up forty floors. I whisper the whole ride.
She's wrong. She's wrong. She's wrong.
Then I hear him. Through the bedroom door. That sound. His sound. The one I thought was only for me.
"God, you're beautiful."
"You're so damn thin. I love that."
"Yeah. Just like that. Feels so good."
I freeze in the hallway. One hand on my belly. One hand clamped over my mouth. My eyes burn so hot it hurts.
"Don't marry him, Mommy," she whispers, small and tired. "Don't be my mom. I'm begging you. I don't wanna live that life again."
I back away. Heels silent on the carpet. Thank God for that.
Six months I spent on this place. Every pillow. Every damn candle. I used to picture our baby crawling on that rug.
One more second in here and I'm gonna throw up on it.
"Hurts, huh?" she says. "If you still love him, it'll hurt way worse. Trust me."
"Saturday's the wedding. You waited ten years for this day."
"But the reception video? It's not you and Daddy. It's Daddy and *her*."
"Bianca sets it up. Everybody laughs at you. Everybody points."
"And Daddy tells you to shut up. Says you're crazy. Says you're embarrassing him in front of the whole family."
I make it to the sidewalk before my legs give out. Grab a lamppost. Sob into my sleeve like some drunk lady outside a bar at 2 a.m.
"What's your name, baby?" I choke. "If you're really mine, what did we name you?"
A pause.
"Aurora, Mommy. My name is Aurora. You called me Rory."
My knees almost buckle.
Dante and I picked that name in bed three weeks ago. Under the sheets. Nobody else knows. Not one soul.
Belly cramps again. I drop onto a bench. Breathe. Breathe.
"Just let me go, Mommy," Rory whispers, and God, she sounds so tired. "Don't fight anymore. Please."
"No." I hug my stomach like it's the last thing on Earth. "No. You're my baby. I don't care what happens later. I am not giving you up."
She cries harder.
"That's the problem, Mom! That's why they break you! You love me too much!"
"You had a hundred chances to walk. Every single time, you stayed. For me. So I'd have a 'real family.'"
"And it didn't matter! None of it mattered!"
My chest caves. I fold over the bench. Arms wrapped around her.
"Rory. Baby. Tell Mommy. What happens?"
"Why couldn't I keep you safe? Why did you die at eighteen?"
The words come out like broken glass.
Rory is quiet for a long time.
Then, very small:
"You're right, Mommy. Some people, no matter how hard you fight, were never yours to keep."
---
第2章
Dante doesn't come home till 3 a.m.
I'm curled up on the couch. He loosens his tie. Hand stops mid-air when he sees me.
"Baby. Why are you waiting up again?"
He scoops me up like I don't weigh 250 pounds. Carries me back to bed. Sets me down.
"You're gonna wear yourself out, sweetheart. Kills me to see this."
I press my face into his chest.
And I smell it. Citrus. Sharp. Sweet. Orange blossom.
Last year he started smelling like this. Told me the whole family switched cologne. Every soldier on the payroll. I believed him.
Of course I did.
Now I get it. It's *her*.
My mouth opens before my brain catches up.
"Dante. I hate citrus. Switch it back. Roses. Like before."
His hand pauses on my hair. Just a beat.
Then he laughs. Soft. Flicks my nose.
"Baby. Come on. Whole family wears it. Can't turn the ship around over one bottle." His thumb drags down my cheek. Down to my chin. Tips it up. "Be a good girl for me. Let it go."
I see it as he leans in. Red smear. Right on his collar.
That's not an accident. She wants me to see it.
I turn my head. Gag.
Dante rubs my back. Face full of concern. Oscar-worthy.
"Morning sickness again? What'd Dr. Ellis say at the checkup?"
I wipe my cheeks. Voice flat. "She said I'm tired. Told me to rest."
He opens his mouth. Phone buzzes.
His hand drops off my back. Looks at the screen.
Corner of his mouth ticks up.
I watch him. Say nothing.
He doesn't ask about the checkup again all night.
---
Next morning. Ten minutes after his SUV rolls out the gate, I get in my car.
I drive out to Montauk. The cliffside estate. The Cavallo compound.
There's a white Porsche parked in my spot. Right next to Dante's armored SUV.
A girl climbs out. Young. Cute. Barely ninety pounds. Swipes into the private elevator like she's done it a hundred times.
My knuckles go white on the wheel.
I walk into the marble foyer. My painting used to hang on that wall. The huge one. The one I made after the worst year of my life.
Gone. In its place, some pretty little watercolor. Signed *Bianca Rossi*.
I keep walking. Past the receptionist. Past his consigliere. Straight to the office he gave me. The one right next to his.
"My wife doesn't need to work," he'd whispered once, holding me. "But the Don's wife needs a seat at the table. Always."
The plaque now reads:
BIANCA ROSSI — EXECUTIVE ASSISTANT TO THE PRINCIPAL
Office is empty. But the connecting door — the one that opens straight into Dante's — has sounds coming through it.
Wet ones.
I walk toward it. One foot. Then the other.
I think about the red smear on his collar. The way his mouth ticked at that text.
I think about the nor'easter the night he told me he loved me. Both of us soaked. Both of us laughing and crying in his crappy walk-up in Newark.
I think about us in bed with a baby name book, circling Aurora together. So she has light. So she has dawn.
I think about Rory's voice. I didn't make it, Mommy.
Sounds get louder.
Yesterday I ran.
Today?
I turn the handle.
Bianca shrieks. Sharp. Staged. She still doesn't get off his lap.
Then she looks at me.
She glances down at her own slim body, then at mine. A fake little gasp. Almost a smile.
Dante shoves her aside. Coming at me. Shirt half open. Lipstick smeared across his mouth.
My voice shakes. Tears blur my eyes.
"We're done."
I turn and walk away.
---
I race down the stairs and out the front doors, straight to where the cars are parked.
The cliff. The Atlantic. Wind ripping the hair off my face.
Waves smash the rocks below. White. Loud. Over and over.
"SIENNA!"
He grabs my elbow. Spins me around.
I rip my arm back. Stumble to the edge. The stone wall hits the backs of my thighs. Below me, a hundred feet of nothing.
"Baby. Careful. *Careful.*"
His voice drops soft. Dangerous. He steps closer. Slow. Like I'm a spooked animal.
"Come here."
"Don't."
"Sienna—"
"*Don't.*"
Another wave slams the rocks. I taste salt on my mouth.
His eyes flick to my belly. Back to my face. And something in him shifts. That look. Soft. Cruel. Soft. Cruel.
"You drove yourself here?" he says. Quiet. "You're eight weeks pregnant. You could've cracked your head open. You that stupid?"
"Don't."
"Baby, listen—"
"I said don't."
He takes one more step. Right into my space. Hand comes up. Cups my jaw.
Thumb drags across my bottom lip. Slow.
"You're not gonna do anything crazy. Right?" His voice is velvet. "You wouldn't hurt my baby."
The wind cuts under my dress. I'm shaking.
I swallow the copper taste in my mouth.
"Dante. We're done."
---
第3章
He laughs.
Not loud. Just a soft breath through his nose. Like I told him a joke.
His thumb is still on my mouth.
"Done." He tastes the word. "Say it again."
"Done."
The laugh dies. His hand drops. Slides to my throat. Doesn't squeeze. Just rests there. Warm. Heavy. A promise.
"Baby. Look at me."
I do.
His eyes are dead flat.
"You don't get to be done. You got a ring on your finger. A kid in your belly. My name on the paperwork. Done is not on the menu, sweetheart."
Behind him, heels click on the flagstone.
Bianca. Sobbing already. Tears on cue.
"Sienna, I'm so sorry. This is all my fault. Dante only feels bad for me because I'm sick."
"Yell at me. Slap me. I deserve it. But he loves *you*. He's always loved you."
Rory hisses in my head. "There it is. Victim card. Classic."
I don't need Rory to tell me. I can see it on Dante's face.
He winces. Slides an arm around Bianca. Steadies her like she's about to faint. But his eyes are locked on me.
"Sienna. Bianca has severe depression. She's fragile. Don't do this to her."
I haven't said one word to that girl.
Not one.
And he's already picked a side.
"Doesn't matter how bad her acting is, Mom," Rory whispers. "Daddy will always, always pick her. See it. See it now."
I walk past them. Back inside. To the terrace bar. Pick up the crystal award. The one Dante had made when he launched the foundation.
THE MOONLIGHT FUND. FOUNDER: DANTE CAVALLO.
I turn it in my hand. Smile. It hurts my face.
"Dante. You remember I had depression too, right?"
His eyes drop to the award. His pupils shrink.
He remembers.
The year I pressed charges against my stepfather. Senator Rick Vance. Republican from New Jersey. Family man. Church man.
The man who crawled into my bed the year I turned fourteen.
The year my own mother, Marlene, sat in the witness box in a black dress and pearls.
She dabbed at her eyes and told the jury, "My daughter has always been troubled. She craves attention. She makes things up for the drama."
"I was home with Rick every night she claims he wasn't."
She lied six ways to Sunday.
Then she walked out of that courthouse on his arm.
The year I stopped eating. The year I started cutting.
Dante sat on my bathroom floor with me. For weeks. Wouldn't let go of my hand even when he slept. Dragged me out of hell one inch at a time.
Later, the painting I made from that year sold at Sotheby's. Seven figures. That check became the seed money for the family's clean front.
He named the foundation after me. The Moonlight Fund.
Bianca was one of the first girls we "saved."
Somewhere along the way, saving me stopped being enough for him. He got hooked on the feeling. Being the hero. The man in the white shirt in the rain.
Dante's lips part. Whatever he's about to say —
Bianca cuts him off. Tears streaming.
"The Moonlight Fund saved my life. And I fell in love with him. I couldn't help it. I'm so sorry, Sienna. Dante — I wish you'd never rescued me."
She runs. Sobbing. Hair flying. Oscar. Emmy. Golden Globe.
"Bianca!"
Dante bolts after her.
Doesn't even look at me on his way out. His shoulder clips mine hard enough to knock me back a step.
The award slips out of my hand. Hits the marble.
The words MOONLIGHT FUND crack clean in half.
I press both hands to my belly.
Breathe. Breathe. Don't spike your blood pressure. Don't. Protect the baby.
My man is already gone. Has been gone.
My job now is to keep this baby safe.
I will not walk this Earth alone again.
---
