The Capo's Regret: The Curse Was A Lie

For fifteen years, my husband Bennett refused to let me get pregnant.

"My blood is a curse, Kelsey," he would say, gripping my hand with terrified intensity. "It kills the women who carry it. I won't risk you."

I believed him. I mourned the children we never had just to stay alive for him.

Then he brought Aria home.

He claimed she was a distant cousin in trouble. But from the shadows of the ballroom, I watched him caress her swollen belly with a tenderness he never showed me.

When I confronted him, the mask fell.

"You provide the image, Kelsey," he said coldly. "She provides the bloodline. Do not make a scene."

To teach me a lesson in obedience, my horse's reins were sabotaged.

I woke up in the hospital with a fractured leg, only to learn he had ignored my emergency calls to hold Aria's hand during a routine ultrasound.

Lying in that sterile bed, the truth hit me harder than the fall.

There was no curse.

He had medically gaslighted me for a decade, stealing my fertility with a lie, just to replace me with a mistress he called "cousin."

He thought he had broken me. He thought I would fade quietly into the east wing.

Instead, I wiped my tears and planted listening devices in his office.

He wanted a legacy?

I boarded a train to Paris, leaving behind a bomb that would burn his entire world to ash.

Chapter 1

(Kelsey POV)

I stood in the shadows of a massive marble pillar, weighed down by diamonds that cost more than most people earn in a lifetime, and watched my husband caress another woman's swollen belly.

He didn't see me.

He saw only her, and the child that was supposed to be impossible-a miracle denied to us by the curse that had kept my own womb empty for fifteen desolate years.

It felt like a lifetime ago, but it was only this morning that I had woken up in our penthouse overlooking Central Park.

The sheets were cold on his side.

They were always cold.

I had spent the morning meticulously constructing the mask I presented to the world.

Foundation to conceal the violet shadows under my eyes.

Silk to drape over the hollowness in my chest.

I was Mrs. Kelsey Randolph.

The wife of Bennett Randolph, the most feared Capo in the New York syndicate.

Downstairs, the house manager and the wives of three senior soldiers had been waiting for me.

They perched on the edge of the velvet sofas, clutching their china cups as if they were lifelines.

"Mrs. Randolph, the charity gala is set for next week," one of them ventured.

Her eyes flickered to my flat stomach.

They always did.

I ignored the slight, taking a slow sip of my black coffee.

"Excellent," I said.

My voice was steady.

It was the voice of a woman who had everything.

But I had nothing.

Later, at breakfast, Bennett had sat across from me at the long mahogany table.

He didn't look up from his tablet.

"Bennett," I had started, my voice small. "I was reading about that agency in California again. The surrogacy one."

He stopped scrolling.

The temperature in the room seemed to plummet ten degrees.

"Kelsey," he said.

His voice was a low rumble-a sound that used to make my toes curl but now only made me flinch.

"We have discussed this."

"But if we use a donor egg," I tried, desperate.

"No." He cut me off.

He looked at me then, his eyes dark and unreadable.

"You know the history, Kelsey. My mother died screaming while giving birth to me. My blood is a curse. It kills the women who carry it."

He reached across the table and took my hand.

His grip was firm. Possessive.

"I will not risk you," he said. "I will not let you die for a child."

I believed him.

I let his lie wrap around me like a warm blanket because the alternative was too cold to bear.

I was such a fool.

The hours bled into evening.

I found myself at the family gallery, overseeing the installation of the new exhibit before the guests arrived.

Two new associates were maneuvering a crate near the back.

They didn't see me standing behind the partition.

"The Boss is dropping a fortune on that new girl," one whispered.

"Yeah, Aria. She looks just like the wife did ten years ago," the other laughed.

"Only fertile."

The word struck me like a physical blow.

I froze.

Aria.

I knew that name.

Bennett had introduced her months ago.

"A distant cousin," he had claimed. "She is in trouble. She needs family."

I had welcomed her.

I had bought her clothes.

I had found her an apartment.

A wave of nausea rose in my throat, violent and acidic.

I moved through the rest of the evening on autopilot, smiling at people I despised, shaking hands with men who had blood under their fingernails.

Finally, I needed air.

I walked toward the terrace but stopped dead when I heard a low laugh emanating from the alcove near the restrooms.

It was Bennett.

I stepped closer, concealed by the heavy velvet curtains.

He was standing there with Aria.

She was wearing a dress I had paid for.

Her hands were resting on the small, undeniable bump of her lower abdomen.

Bennett's hand covered hers.

He was smiling.

It wasn't the cold, practiced smile he gave me.

It was real.

I made a noise-a sharp intake of breath that I couldn't suppress.

Bennett looked up.

His eyes met mine.

For a second, there was panic.

But then the mask slammed down.

He didn't pull away from her.

He didn't apologize.

"Kelsey," he said.

His tone was flat. Business-like.

I stared at his hand on her stomach.

"The curse," I whispered. "You said it would kill her."

"It was necessary," he said.

He stepped in front of Aria, shielding her from my gaze.

"The family needs an heir, Kelsey. You know this."

"But you said..."

"I said what I needed to say to keep you safe," he interrupted. "You are my wife. My responsibility."

He looked back at Aria, and his expression softened in a way that shattered my heart into a million jagged pieces.

"But she gives me a future."

He looked back at me, cold and unyielding.

"You provide the image, Kelsey. She provides the bloodline. Do not make a scene."

He turned his back on me.

He turned his back on fifteen years.

I felt the bile rise in my throat.

I grabbed the wall to keep from sliding to the floor.

My hands were shaking so hard I could hear my bracelets rattling against each other.

He didn't care.

He had what he wanted.

And I realized, with a clarity that was more painful than any physical wound, that my marriage wasn't just dying.

It had been a corpse for a long time.

I was just the last one to notice the smell.

(Kelsey POV)

The private office of Mr. Randolph Sr., the patriarch and Don of the family, was steeped in the scent of aged leather and stale cigar smoke.

It was an aroma that once choked me with intimidation.

Now, I felt nothing but a cold, hollow calm.

I sat rigid in the stiff wooden chair, my hands folded demurely in my lap.

"I want to step down from the foundation," I stated, my voice steady.

The Don regarded me from behind the expanse of his massive oak desk.

He was an old man, weathered by power, yet his eyes remained sharp-a hawk scanning the brush for movement.

"Why?" he asked, the single word heavy with implication.

I didn't blink.

"I want to focus on my own career. My curation."

He leaned back, the leather of his chair groaning under the shift in weight.

He knew.

In this world, secrets were the only currency that mattered, and he was the richest man in town.

"Bennett has secured the line," the Don said finally. His voice was devoid of sympathy, clinical and cold.

I felt a phantom pain flare in my chest, a ghost of a heartbreak, but I kept my features masked in porcelain.

"Yes," I replied.

"Then your primary duty is relieved," he declared. "It is logical for you to shift your focus."

He picked up a fountain pen and scribbled a note on a legal pad, the scratching sound loud in the silence.

"However, you are still a Randolph. You represent us."

"I will be discreet," I promised.

He nodded, satisfied.

"I will have the lawyers draw up the papers for the separation of assets regarding the foundation. It is better this way. A quiet transition."

He wasn't talking about the foundation.

He was talking about my marriage.

He was facilitating my erasure.

"Thank you," I said, and rose to my feet.

I walked out of the office, a strange sensation washing over me-I felt lighter and heavier all at once.

I had just severed my own supply line.

I was refusing to play the role of the perfect wife for one second longer.

Two days later, I was summoned to the main estate.

A welcome party for the mother-to-be.

It wasn't a request; it was a command.

I walked down the long, vaulted hallway, the heels of my boots clicking a sharp, lonely rhythm against the marble.

I turned the corner and saw her.

Aria.

She was glowing, radiant with triumph.

She wore a white dress that clung possessively to her new curves.

She spotted me and smiled.

It was a sweet expression, technically, but her eyes danced with mockery.

"Kelsey," she cooed.

She drifted over and linked her arm through mine with feigned intimacy.

I tried to pull away, but she held on with surprising strength.

"I'm so glad you came," she whispered, leaning in close enough for me to smell her perfume.

"I know this must be hard for you."

She cast a pitying glance down at her own stomach.

"Being so... empty."

The cruelty was so casual, so effortlessly delivered, that it stole the breath from my lungs.

I jerked my arm back as if burned.

"Don't touch me," I snapped. My voice was low, shaking with visceral revulsion.

I looked at her face and felt physically ill.

I didn't see a rival.

I saw a parasite.

Aria's eyes widened, seizing the moment.

She took a step back.

Then, she threw herself backward.

It was a bad performance-theatrical and clumsy to my eyes-but effective enough for the audience she knew was watching.

She hit the carpeted floor with a dull thud and let out a piercing scream.

"My baby!" she shrieked, clutching her belly. "She pushed me!"

Doors flew open.

People poured into the hallway like water breaching a dam.

Aunts, cousins, soldiers.

They looked at Aria on the floor, sobbing, and then they looked at me.

Their eyes were filled with instant, lethal judgment.

"Jealousy makes women so ugly," I heard a voice whisper.

"She's trying to kill the heir," another hissed venomously.

I stood there, frozen in the spotlight of their scorn.

I didn't defend myself.

What was the point? The verdict had been delivered before the crime was even committed.

Then Bennett was there.

He pushed through the crowd, his face drained of color.

"Aria!"

He fell to his knees beside her, frantically gathering her into his arms.

"Are you hurt? Tell me where it hurts."

His voice was frantic, laced with a terror I had never heard him direct at me.

He looked up.

His eyes were black holes of hatred.

"Get out of my sight," he snarled.

He didn't ask what happened.

He didn't ask for my side.

He simply condemned me.

I looked at him-really looked at him-holding another woman while the family I had served for a decade spat on my name.

I didn't say a word.

I turned on my heel and walked away.

I went straight to my studio downtown.

I locked the door, bolted it, and turned off my phone.

I spent the next three days in isolation, restoring a 17th-century oil painting.

I focused entirely on the microscopic cracks in the canvas.

I told myself that if I could fix the painting, maybe I wouldn't have to think about how unfixable my own life had become.

But the family demanded attendance.

Sunday was the polo match.

I stood on the sidelines, wearing oversized dark glasses to hide my swollen, sleepless eyes.

Bennett rode out onto the field.

He was riding Obsidian.

My horse.

The black stallion I had raised from a foal, nursing him through sickness when everyone else said to put him down.

The horse Bennett had sworn no one else would ever ride because the beast was too temperamental for anyone but me.

But Bennett wasn't alone in the saddle.

Aria was seated in front of him.

She was laughing, her head thrown back against his chest in a display of pure joy.

Bennett's arms were wrapped around her, his hands guiding hers on the reins.

The crowd cheered.

"Look at them," the woman next to me sighed dreamily. "So in love."

I felt like I had been stabbed in the gut.

He had taken my home.

He had taken my dignity.

Now, he was taking the one thing that was just mine.

I watched them parade past me.

Bennett looked at me.

He smirked.

It was a small, cruel lifting of his lips.

He was showing me my place.

I wasn't the wife anymore.

I was merely the spectator.

(Kelsey POV)

I couldn't breathe.

The image of Aria draped over Obsidian burned behind my eyelids, a brand I couldn't wash away.

I needed to feel something other than this hollow, devouring ache.

I needed the sharp bite of adrenaline.

I made my way to the stables after the match cleared out.

With the grooms distracted by the party guests, I slipped inside and saddled a different horse-a roan mare named Fury.

She was fast, skittish, and dangerous.

Perfect.

I didn't reach for the safety vest Bennett had custom-ordered for me years ago.

I had seen Aria wearing it earlier. It hung on the rack now, tainted by her touch.

I led Fury out to the jumping course.

The obstacles were still set high for the competition.

I mounted up and kicked her into a gallop.

The wind lashed at my face, stinging my eyes, blurring the world into streaks of green and brown.

Faster.

I needed to outrun the humiliation.

We took the first jump. Clean.

The second. Smooth.

I lined up for the triple bar, the highest jump on the course.

I urged Fury forward, feeling her muscles coil beneath me.

She launched into the air.

I leaned forward, putting my weight into the stirrups, tightening my grip on the reins to guide her descent.

Snap.

The sound was like a gunshot cracking through the silence.

The left rein disintegrated in my hand.

My balance vanished instantly.

I fell backward, gravity claiming me with violent force.

The ground rushed up to meet me.

My head hit the hard-packed dirt with a sickening crack.

The world flashed white, then dissolved into black.

I woke up to agony.

It radiated from my skull, pulsing in time with the frantic beat of my heart.

I was lying in the dirt.

I tried to move my legs, but they wouldn't obey.

I tried to call out, but my voice was nothing more than a broken croak.

With trembling fingers, I fumbled for my phone in my pocket.

I dialed the only number that mattered.

Bennett.

It rang.

And rang.

I looked across the field, my vision swimming.

I could see him.

He was standing by the paddock, three hundred yards away.

Aria's horse had spooked at a bird.

Bennett was holding the bridle, stroking the horse's nose, talking softly to Aria.

He checked his phone.

He looked at the screen.

And then, without a second thought, he slid it back into his pocket.

He ignored me.

I dropped the phone in the dust.

Gritting my teeth against the screaming pain, I dragged myself toward the fence.

Eventually, a stable hand found me.

The ambulance ride was a blur of sirens and blinding lights.

I woke up in a private room at the family hospital.

My head was heavily bandaged. My leg was encased in a cast.

Bennett was sitting in the chair by the window.

He was reading a file, looking entirely unbothered.

"You're awake," he said. He didn't stand up.

"You ignored my call," I rasped, my throat dry as sandpaper.

"I was busy," he said, turning a page. "Aria was shaken up."

"I almost died, Bennett."

"You fell," he corrected, his voice devoid of sympathy. "You were reckless. You shouldn't have been riding that course."

He finally stood up and walked to the door.

"The doctors say you'll be fine. Just a concussion and a fracture."

He checked his watch.

"I have to go. Aria has an ultrasound."

He left.

He left his wife in a hospital bed to go hold his mistress's hand.

I lay there, staring at the sterile white ceiling.

Tears leaked out of the corners of my eyes, hot and salty.

Later that night, the door was left slightly ajar.

Two nurses were whispering in the hallway.

"I heard the rein was cut," one murmured.

"Shh," the other hissed. "Don't talk about that."

"I heard the doctor tell Mr. Randolph. The leather was sliced clean through. It wasn't wear and tear."

"What did he say?"

"He told the doctor to lose the report. Said his wife needed to learn a lesson about obedience."

The blood in my veins turned to ice.

It wasn't an accident.

It was a punishment.

Because I had been cold to Aria.

Because I hadn't smiled enough while they humiliated me.

Bennett didn't just stop loving me.

He hated me.

He hated me enough to risk my life.

The realization didn't make me cry.

It cauterized the wound.

The pain in my leg was throbbing, but the pain in my heart stopped.

It simply died.

I lay in the dark, listening to the rhythmic beep of the monitor.

I didn't call the nurse.

I didn't call my parents.

I just stared into the abyss.

I made a vow then.

I would not shed another tear for Bennett Randolph.

He wanted a lesson?

I would give him one.

I would give him the silence he wanted.

I would give him the space he wanted.

I would give him exactly what he asked for, until he choked on it.