The Don's Memorial Obsession

With Thanksgiving approaching, I planned a private island trip for my family's inner circle.

The private jet was ready, all for a few precious moments of family time.

But on the day of our departure, my husband and son were nowhere to be found.

I contacted my husband Caspian's assistant. On the other end of the line, his voice was strained. "The Don is handling an urgent family matter." Then he hung up abruptly.

The next day, a gossip rag headline gave me my answer.

In the photo, Caspian—the Don of the Serrano family, the king of the Chicago underworld—had one arm wrapped around his late brother's widow, Miley. His other hand was holding our son Adrian’s. The background was a luxurious ski resort in Aspen, their bodies intimately close.

The family spokesman's official explanation, printed below the photo, was that "the Donna has taken ill and is resting at the estate."

The now-useless flight plan lay on the table.

Ten years of marriage, ten years of loyalty.

An elaborately orchestrated scam.

It was time to bring the curtain down.

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1

I stared at the photo, a bitter, metallic taste flooding my mouth.

I had stood by Caspian Serrano's side as he fought his way through bloody infighting, using my father's wisdom and my family's influence to help him secure the title of Don.

For ten years we stood shoulder to shoulder, and I thought we were an unbreakable alliance.

It turned out I was just a symbol, a tool he used to consolidate his power.

I was just a stand-in, a placeholder for the woman he could never have.

Trembling, I stumbled toward a room deep within the estate.

The "Matteo Memorial Room."

In ten years of marriage, he had never let me set foot inside.

He said it was a place for him to remember his older brother, a sanctuary that could not be disturbed.

I believed him. I never once doubted it.

The door was unlocked. With a gentle push, a wave of stale air washed over me.

The room's furnishings were solemn and sparse, containing only a massive ebony table and an empty display cabinet.

However, there wasn't a single photograph of Matteo to be found.

Instead, I found a large, hidden compartment concealed behind one of the walls.

The moment I opened it, a bone-deep chill pierced my heart.

There wasn't a single memento of his brother inside.

It was filled entirely with portraits Caspian had painted of Miley.

A teenage Miley, looking over her shoulder in the sunlight on the shores of Lake Como.

A college-aged Miley, holding a bouquet of daisies on the streets of Florence.

Miley in a wedding dress…

My eyes burned with a fiery pain.

Through my blurry vision, I saw that deep inside the compartment, he had also treasured old trinkets she had used years ago.

Miley was his brother Matteo's wife.

There were also several notebooks in the compartment. I opened one, each word I read a fresh cut from a knife:

[I saw her again today. She was wearing the dress Matteo gave her, a rose armed with thorns. I wish I had been the one to offer her that bouquet.]

[Matteo said he's going to propose. I drank all night. I should be happy for him. Why does my heart feel like it's been gouged out?]

[They're married. She's my sister-in-law. Every time I have to call her that, it's like swallowing glass.]

Page after page, line after line, it was all his secret, twisted, and overwhelming obsession with Miley.

He had loved her long before Matteo, long before me, and long before our ten-year marriage, which had been nothing but a pawn in his game.

When I met Caspian, Matteo was already gone. I knew nothing of the past.

So… Caspian had been lying to me for ten whole years.

You only get so many years in this life. How could he throw a decade of mine away like it was nothing?

I couldn't read anymore and slammed the notebook shut. I snatched the most precious portrait in the compartment—the one of Miley in her wedding dress. Flames licked the canvas, devouring that innocent, smiling face.

With burning eyes, I watched it turn to ash.

The fire reflected in my eyes was my own heart, burning down to scorched earth.

I don't know how much time passed. When the flames finally died out, leaving a black scorch mark on the wall, my strength gave out and I collapsed to the floor.

A long time later, I called my best friend, Chloe Vance. "Chloe, I'm leaving the Family. Didn't you say you needed a partner in Miami? I'm in."

Chloe was stunned for a moment, then her voice firmed with resolve. "I'll get everything arranged. I'll be waiting for you, whenever you're ready."

After hanging up, I called the lawyer renowned for handling "difficult matters" and told him to draw up the dissolution papers immediately. I was leaving the Serrano family.