I've stood before a priest and sworn my vows to the same man seven times.

And for the seventh time, I've signed divorce papers in front of the family lawyer.

At our first wedding, the youngest Capo of the Throne family held my hand and promised, "From this day forward, my life is yours and yours alone."

But whenever his childhood sweetheart stirred up trouble and needed his protection, Carter's vow to me would conveniently become a sanctuary for her.

"Tessa's in trouble again, Maeve. For your own safety, we have to get a divorce for now."

The first time I was forced to divorce, I threatened him with the honor of our families' alliance, even vowing to expose his betrayal at a family gathering. His men dragged me out of the manor.

The third time I signed the papers, I humbled myself, sneaking into the family's private club just to catch a glimpse of him from afar.

By the sixth time, I had learned to quietly pack my few belongings in this house of lies, without putting up a fight.

My breakdowns and desperate, undignified attempts to save us were only ever met with Carter's reliable promise to remarry me, just before another round of the divorce game he played for Tessa's sake.

Until this time. After hearing Tessa was returning to New York from Italy, I didn't wait for Carter to speak.

I placed the signed divorce papers in his study myself.

Just like always, he casually set a date for our remarriage.

But he didn't know that day was the day I would disappear from his world forever.

My mafia husband married me seven times. And seven times, he made me sign divorce papers, all to protect his childhood sweetheart, who was always getting into trouble. He'd always say it was for my own safety, and just as he always did, he'd set a date for our remarriage.

He just didn't know that this time, when I handed him the divorce papers, there would be no remarriage.

"Tessa's back. Sign it, Carter."

I kept my expression carefully neutral as I slid the signed divorce papers across the vast mahogany desk and into his hand.

His long, well-defined fingers paused.

Carter looked up, a flicker of surprise in his eyes.

But he quickly regained his composure and expertly signed his name on the document.

This was the first time in all these years that I had beaten him to it, that I had been the one to initiate the divorce.

After signing, he took a sip of whiskey and casually assured me,

"The usual arrangement, Maeve."

"Give her a month to clean up her mess, and we'll get married again."

In the past, that empty promise wouldn't have been enough. I would have forced him to swear on a statue of the Holy Mother or sign a pact in blood just to feel secure.

But this time, my heart was a silent wasteland. I couldn't be bothered to respond.

"Maeve, I'm talking to you."

Carter's brow furrowed. My silence had clearly bruised his ego.

I just gave a slight nod.

"Yes, I heard you."

I turned and walked toward the closet, folding my clothes one by one and packing them into a small black suitcase.

When Carter said we would remarry, he would always keep his promise.

His word was his bond across the East Coast's underworld, and this was no exception.

It was just a shame we were never really like husband and wife.

Our marriage felt more like a periodically renewed arms deal, a routine transaction requiring the signing of two legal documents: a marriage certificate and a divorce decree.

Two useless papers a year. By now, twelve of them were piled up in the safe.

He had promised on our wedding day: absolute fidelity, as long as the marriage lasted.

And he did keep that promise, like a devout believer following doctrine.

That was why he needed to get divorced again and again, so he could have a legitimate reason to go clean up Tessa's messes.

Still, my unusual reaction today seemed to leave Carter at a loss.

After all, the memory of my hysterics and even my self-harm during our previous divorces was still seared into his mind.

"If you don't want to move out, I'll stay at a hotel this time..."

Click.

The latch of the suitcase snapped shut, and I cut him off. "No need. I've already arranged it with Ava. I'm staying at her apartment for a few days."

At the mention of Ava's name, Carter's face darkened.

Ava was the only woman who dared to curse him to his face.

"Maeve, don't tell me you're playing hard to get."

He scoffed, his eyes filled with a certain mockery. "You're not planning to hide in a corner of the club to spy on me again, are you?"

"Can't you live without a man? Without me?"

I knew exactly what he meant. He was afraid I would disrupt his "reunion" with Tessa.

After all, Tessa was in deep trouble this time and needed the Throne family's protector by her side, every second.

After our third divorce, I had secretly snuck into the family's private club, just wanting to see him from a distance.

Instead, I'd walked in on him at the shooting range, his arms wrapped around Tessa from behind, teaching her how to pull the trigger.

I couldn't stop myself from rushing up to confront him. The family members watching the spectacle all assumed I was still Carter's wife, and their gazes toward Tessa were filled with obvious disdain.

To protect Tessa from gossip, Carter ignored my tears of betrayal and had his men drag me out.

From then on, every time we divorced, Carter would publicly announce it within the family.

Everyone knew that the person Capo Carter held in his heart was the princess of the Costello family.

And I was just the obsessive, nagging wife he could never seem to get rid of.

I remembered once asking him to teach me to shoot, but he had refused. "Guns are dangerous, Maeve. You're not suited to them."

Now I understood. It was never about whether I was suited for it, only about whether he was willing.

But this time, he was worrying for nothing.

I picked up my suitcase. "Don't worry, Carter. This time, I won't disturb you two at all."

Carter studied me with suspicion for a moment. It wasn't until I had the door open and one foot out that he raised his voice, a note of urgency creeping in.

"We remarry on the 20th of next month. Don't forget your position as Mrs. Throne."

My steps faltered for a second.

What a coincidence.

The escape I had so meticulously planned was set for the 20th as well.

In the days after we signed the papers, Carter was like a ghost. He didn't contact me once.

The old me would have gone insane. I would have locked myself in my room, numbing the pain with alcohol and antidepressants like an addict.

But now, the very air I breathed felt sweeter.

Less than three weeks remained until my "death."

I no longer shut myself away in that gilded cage of a mansion. Instead, Ava and I partied every night.

Raising her champagne flute, Ava teased that I was having a late-blooming rebellion, "If you'd shown this 'fuck it all' attitude sooner, that arrogant bastard would have been on his knees at your feet long ago."

Then came the night of the gala at a top private gallery in Manhattan.

I was lost in thought, staring at a portrait of the Madonna, a favorite of my father's from the Renaissance, when a commotion erupted behind me.

No matter where he went, Carter Throne carried an oppressive weight that clung to him like a second skin.

He was dressed in a perfectly tailored black Italian suit, and on his arm was Tessa, draped in a couture white dress.

They looked perfect together.

Carter saw me almost immediately.

Even from several feet away, I could feel the muscles in his body tense.

Tessa followed his gaze, then broke into her signature smile. "Oh my god, Maeve, what a coincidence!"

She leaned her head intimately on Carter's shoulder, as if staking her claim.

Seeing me, Carter instinctively shielded Tessa behind him, a clear gesture of protection.

He was probably afraid I would fly into a rage like I did at the shooting range, that this "lunatic" would rush over and tear his precious little princess to shreds.

Ava scoffed beside me and started to move forward.

But I placed a hand on her wrist. Meeting Carter's wary gaze, I simply raised my champagne glass in a cool, subtle gesture.

"It is a coincidence."

Seeing how calm I was, the triumphant look in Tessa's eyes faltered for a second.

She peeked out from behind Carter and pointed to the painting I had been looking at, her voice a sugary coo.

"Oh, Maeve. It's a shame about the painting. Carter just had someone buy it for three times the asking price."

She paused deliberately. "He said my bedroom is too plain, that it needs a little art to liven it up."

The barb hit its mark.

I had pleaded with Carter for that painting for a long time.

I told him I missed my father and wanted to buy back his favorite work.

What had Carter said then?

He'd said, "It's just some gloomy old painting. That style isn't suitable for our home. It's bad luck."

And now, this "bad luck" painting had become a trophy to win a smile from his pretty companion.

Carter's throat bobbed.

He was watching me, seemingly waiting for my explosion, waiting for me to question him like a madwoman.

But I didn't even twitch an eyebrow.

"Congratulations, then, Tessa. I hope you sleep soundly with it hanging over your bed."

With that, I took Ava's arm and turned to leave, treating them like complete strangers.

Ava was reluctant, muttering a curse under her breath.

"We're just leaving? That's not like you, Maeve."

"I don't waste my time on fools," I replied softly, my pace never faltering.

Behind me, Tessa was showing off her new gift to the people around them.

And I could feel his gaze burning into my back like a brand.

He just stood there, clutching the glass of whiskey he hadn't had a chance to drink.

He didn't seem to snap out of it until Tessa shook his arm, whining his name in a petulant pout.

The feared Capo finally broke his gaze, a flicker of something I had never seen in his eyes before: confusion.

I thought that encounter at the gallery would be my last with Carter before I "died."

But just as I was encrypting the final asset transfer document to the Swiss bank, the burner phone, the one I only ever used for his divorce notices, started vibrating wildly on the table.

Carter's name flashed on the screen. A rare sight.

I used to wait for his calls so desperately I'd take my phone into the shower in a waterproof bag.

And I'd wait for nothing.

Now, this was the first time he had called me since we'd signed the papers.

But the phone's insistent ringing filled me with a strange anxiety, like I was staring at a ticking time bomb.

I stared at the screen for three seconds before finally answering.

I said nothing, listening to the sound of Carter exhaling smoke on the other end. "Maeve, did you empty our joint account at Credit Suisse?"

"Twenty million dollars. What do you think you're doing?"

His voice was laced with anger, the irritation of a man in power whose authority has been challenged.

I swiped a layer of bright red lipstick across my lips and answered nonchalantly, "For all my years as Mrs. Throne, I'd say it's a fair price for my pain and suffering, don't you think?"

There was a moment of silence on the other end.

Carter clearly hadn't expected me to admit it so readily.

His tone softened. "The money isn't the issue. You can have as much as you want. But you shouldn't be throwing a tantrum like this."

"Emptying an account like that gets the Feds' attention. You're making problems for me, Maeve."

I let out a short, bitter laugh. "Problems? Isn't your biggest problem Tessa, who's probably crying in your arms right now?"

His breath hitched on the other end. I'd hit a nerve.

"It's not what you think with Tessa." His tone softened further, laced with a rare, pleading quality. "Stop this, Maeve. Come back. That apartment isn't safe."

"I'm worried about you. That friend of yours, Ava, has been taking you to too many shady places."

"The 19th is the anniversary of the day we first met. I'll be waiting for you at the villa on Lake George."

"Just the two of us, like before. I'll make you that Sicilian stew you like. How about it?"

A memory I thought I had buried began to stir. On the 19th, all those years ago, he'd taken a bullet for me by the lake. It was the beginning of our cursed fate.

But now, it all meant nothing to me.

I was about to refuse when a soft cry of pain came from his end of the line.

"Ngh... Carter, it hurts! I think the wound opened up..."

Tessa's voice was so close, it was as if she were pressed against his chest.

Carter's breathing immediately grew ragged.

"Dammit."

He cursed under his breath, then, remembering I was still on the phone, his tone became dismissive. "Maeve, don't hang up. Give me a minute."

He tossed the phone carelessly onto what sounded like a sofa, not even bothering to mute the call.

And so, I was forced to listen to a nauseating private performance.

"The tape is stuck so tight... can you be gentle..."

Her suggestive gasps drilled clearly into my ear.

The rustle of fabric, the sharp rip of medical tape.

And then Tessa's tearful, coquettish plea:

"It hurts here, too... Can you kiss it better for me?"

"Alright, just bear with it. It'll be over in a second," Carter's voice was so gentle, laced with a patience he had never once shown me.

I looked at my own expressionless face in the mirror and suddenly found the situation hilarious.

This blatant humiliation was louder than a slap across the face.

So this was his "not what you think."

This was his "just the two of us."

He was inviting me on an anniversary date while kneeling at another woman's feet, personally tending to her feigned injuries.

My finger tapped the screen, and the red button put an end to the farce.

"Goodbye, Carter."

I laughed at the dial tone. "Enjoy your little performance."

The door opened and Ava strode in, dressed in a daring leather outfit and dangling two VIP passes for an underground bar.

"Handled that asshole?" Ava asked, raising an eyebrow.

"What are you still moping about for? It's the opening night of a new club. They say all the wildest men in New York will be there."

She was right. There were so many wonderful things in this world, why was I wasting my energy on that one man?

I tossed the phone into the trash can, grabbed my jacket, and strode toward the door.

"Let's go."

"Tonight, we're breaking out the hard stuff."

A toast to my new life, in advance.