Thirty minutes later, the armored Mercedes pulled up to the iron gates of Il Nonno’s—the Moretti family’s oldest front.

Vincenzo’s parents had never accepted me.

To them, I was nothing but a street rat with a paintbrush who’d tricked their golden boy into a morganatic marriage.

Only Don Salvatore, his grandfather, had ever looked at me as anything more than a liability.

They’d never forgiven me for failing to give them a male heir to run the rackets, and after three years of marriage with no pregnancy, their contempt curdled into something venomous.

Every Sunday lunch felt like walking into a room full of loaded guns, all pointed at me.

This time, his mother had called at dawn. She said it was family business. I had no choice but to show up.

We stepped into the dimly lit dining room.

His parents were sitting at the head table, sipping espresso. The second their eyes landed on me, their forced smiles dropped.

I kept my gaze fixed on the tablecloth, but Vincenzo noticed. His hand tightened around mine.

“If you two keep treating my wife like garbage, we won’t be coming back. Ever.”

The room went dead silent.

His father slammed his espresso cup so hard against the marble tabletop it shattered.The waiters scrambled to clean up the mess without making a sound.

“Watch your mouth, boy!” he snarled. “Are you really going to turn your back on your own blood for this whore?”

Vincenzo pulled me closer, his jaw clenched.

“Elena is the only woman I’ll ever love. The only person in this world who matters to me. If you can’t respect that, you can keep your damn empire. I don’t want it.”

The mafia boss who could order a hit with a flick of his wrist sounded like a devoted husband willing to burn everything down for me.

It was almost convincing.

After a long, tense silence, his mother sighed,

“Fine.”

Lunch passed in a suffocating quiet.

His mother kept shooting me disgusted glances, and I gripped my fork so tight my knuckles turned white.

I knew what was coming.

She dropped her fork with a clatter.

“Enough waiting. It’s been three years. The Moretti bloodline can’t die with you.”

“Get pregnant.Give us a son.”

The words sliced through me like a switchblade, but before I could speak, Vincenzo set his fork down.

“I told you both.I won’t force her to have a child right now. If we never have a kid, so be it.”

Their faces twisted with rage. Just as they were about to explode, I spoke, my voice steady and calm.

“You’ll have your grandson.”

The room froze. Three pairs of eyes snapped to me.

Vincenzo squeezed my hand, his face painted with that fake, sickening concern.

“Baby, you don’t have to do this. I don’t care about an heir. I only care about you.”

I almost laughed. Care about me? He couldn't even stay faithful long enough to finish a family dinner.

I smiled anyway.

“You want a grandson so badly. Let’s make it happen.”

Their faces softened instantly, greedy and pleased. But Vincenzo looked uneasy, like he could sense the trap but couldn’t see the wire.

Then his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, and I caught the name: Lila.

Vincenzo, the charity luncheon is a mess. I need you here now to go over it.

He stood up, grabbing his jacket.

“Elena, I have to run back to the house to handle some business. Stay and finish lunch. I’ll send a car for you later.”

He didn’t wait for me to answer. He just walked out the door.

The second the door shut, all pretense vanished.

“You have two months,” his mother hissed. “If you’re not pregnant by then, don’t ever show your face here again. We’ll throw you out on the street.”

And Vincenzo? He never came back.

He finally showed up at seven that evening, calm and relaxed.

We got into the car, and I stared out the window.

“Everything okay?” I asked lightly.

He hesitated for a split second, then nodded.

“Yeah. It was nothing major.”

The silence stretched for minutes.

Then he said, “Did my parents give you a hard time after I left?”

I was about to answer when my eyes fell on the floor between the seats. A single pearl earring. Not mine. I’d seen it before—on Lila’s ear.

So that's where he'd been. Not going over contracts. Sleeping with her in the backseat of our car.

Three years of marriage. I’d always been quiet, reserved.

Once, I’d asked him if he found me boring. If he wanted me to be more like the other mob wives.

He’d held me close, kissing the top of my head.

“Baby, I don’t want other women. I want you. Don’t ever change for anyone.”

But the man who’d said those words now reeked of jasmine and lies.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “What do you think?”

He thought I was talking about his parents. He had no idea I’d already seen through every single one of his lies.

He slammed on the brakes, pulling the car over to the side of the road. He pulled me into his arms.

“I’m so sorry, Elena. I shouldn’t have left you alone with them. I promise it’ll never happen again.”

His embrace felt like a cage. I pressed my hands against his chest, pushing him away gently.

“Just drive, Vincenzo. I’m tired.”

I stared out the window at the passing streetlights, the pearl earring burning a hole in my pocket.

One more day, and I'd be gone.

And this time, I'd leave forever.

The armored gates clanged shut behind me, and I froze in the marble foyer. Lila was draped over the baby grand piano in the drawing room, wearing nothing but a sheer white silk slip.

"I thought you were at the Ritz charity luncheon," I said, my voice flat. "Said you were going to find yourself a proper boyfriend."

She twirled a grape between her manicured fingers, a lazy smile playing on her lips.

"Oh, I did go. Met the most charming man there. So powerful, so possessive... we left before the first course was even served."

Her eyes locked onto mine, triumphant, like this was some twisted game she'd already won.

"He got so jealous when another man looked at me," she purred.

"We spent three hours in his car in the parking garage. He couldn't keep his hands off me."

My nails dug into my palms until I tasted blood.

"When did this start? You never mentioned him before."

She laughed, a sharp, bitter sound.

"Ten months ago. The day my brother's body was brought home. Vincenzo introduced us. Said he was the only man who could protect me."

Ten months. Exactly when the late nights at the"warehouse"began.

A cold rage settled in my bones. Then I felt Vincenzo's hands on my shoulders, heavy and warm.

"You've had a brutal day, amore," he said, like he hadn't just spent the afternoon sleeping with another woman in our car.

"Let me draw you a bath. You need to rest."

I slipped into the bathroom and locked the door, leaning against it until my knees stopped shaking. I'd just stripped off my clothes when I realized I'd left my robe on the bed.

I cracked the door open. And the world stopped.

Ten feet away, Vincenzo had Lila bent over the piano keys.

His fist was tangled in her hair, yanking her head back, while his other hand dug into her hip hard enough to bruise.

"Slow down," she gasped.

"Elena's still in the shower. Didn't you get enough earlier?"

He growled, low and dangerous.

"Shut your mouth. If I ever see another man look at you, I'll feed them to the dogs. Do you understand?"

She giggled, and her eyes slid directly to me, standing in the bathroom doorway.

"Anything you say, baby,"she purred, loud enough for me to hear every word."I'm all yours. Your jealousy drives me crazy."

I slammed the door shut and turned the lock. The scalding water poured over me, but it didn't burn half as bad as the memory of our honeymoon in St. Barts.

I'd smiled at a bartender who'd handed me a cocktail. Vincenzo had dragged me back to the villa and locked me inside for three days. I later found out the bartender had been found floating in the harbor with a bullet in his head.

"Elena, you're mine,"he'd whispered, holding me so tight I couldn't breathe."No one else gets to look at you. No one else gets to touch you. Promise me you'll never leave."

I'd promised. I'd been faithful to a fault. But now his obsession had shifted. It was no longer me he wanted to possess. It was her.

When I finally emerged, Lila was gone.

Vincenzo was sitting on the bed, a plate of sliced strawberries and a glass of warm milk on the nightstand. The sight made my stomach turn.

"I know your stomach's been upset,"he said, handing me the glass."This will help you sleep."

The warmth seeped into my hands, but I felt ice cold inside. How could he act so normal?

Minutes ago, he'd been bedding another woman on the piano where I'd played my favorite Chopin nocturnes for him.

I didn't sleep a wink that night. Sometime before dawn, I must have drifted off, because a scream jolted me awake.

"ELENA!"

Vincenzo was sitting bolt upright, his hands scrambling in the dark until they found me. He pulled me against his chest, his heart hammering against my back.

"Don't leave me,"he gasped, his voice raw."Please. I dreamed you walked away, and I couldn't find you. It was hell."

I stared at the wall, silent.

His nightmare was going to come true. I'd be on a plane to New Zealand, and he'd never see me again.

Whatever had spooked him, it made him cling tighter.

The next morning, he refused to let me out of his sight. He drove me to the gallery, then dragged me to his shipping port headquarters, where crates of smuggled cigarettes and weapons sat stacked to the ceiling.

His office took my breath away.

Every wall was covered in my paintings. Every sketch, every watercolor, every half-finished canvas I'd ever thrown away. He'd tracked them all down, framed them in gold, and hung them like trophies.

A chill ran down my spine.

"Women throw themselves at me every day," he murmured, pressing his lips to my neck. "But when I look at these, I remember who I belong to. You have nothing to worry about. I'm all yours."

I said nothing. A knock came at the door. Enzo's voice:"Boss, the Irish mob's here. They're ready to talk."

Vincenzo sighed, holding me a moment longer."Stay here. I'll be back in an hour."

I wandered the warehouse floors, counting the minutes until I could escape. At noon, my phone buzzed.

"Mrs. Moretti,"the consulate officer said."Your residency visa is ready. You can pick it up any time this afternoon."

I opened my mouth to answer.

Then a cold, sharp voice cut in from behind me.

"Visa?"

My blood turned to ice.

I turned slowly. Vincenzo stood in the warehouse shadows, his face drained of color, the hand holding his cigar crushed to ash.

"What visa?"

His voice was low, graveled with a fear I'd never heard before.

I forced a faint smile, tucking my phone into my pocket.

"One of my gallery apprentices. She's moving to New Zealand to study, asked about the paperwork."

He stared at me for a long, heavy second, then lunged forward and crushed me against his chest.

His whole body was shaking.

"Don't ever leave me, Elena," he whispered into my hair, his voice raw.

"I just had this feeling... like you were going to vanish. I can't breathe without you."

I patted his back gently, my heart already miles away.

That afternoon, while he was locked in a bloodthirsty negotiation with the Irish mob over the waterfront routes, I slipped out through the warehouse back door,told the security detail I was going to visit my parents' grave, then hailed a cab to the Consulate.

My hands trembled as I signed for my visa, but my mind was clearer than it had been in ten months.

That night was the Moretti family's annual black-tie gala, the one where every made man and legitimate front businessman in Boston came to pay tribute.

I wore a simple black silk gown, no jewelry, determined to blend into the background.

Lila arrived in a scarlet velvet dress that clung to every curve, her perfume thick enough to choke on.

All eyes turned to her, and I watched Vincenzo's jaw clench so hard I could hear his teeth grind.

Investors raised their glasses to "Vincenzo's legendary devotion," calling me the envy of every woman in the underworld.

When a young capo offered Lila a glass of champagne, Vincenzo snatched it out of his hand and downed it in one gulp.

"Marco's sister doesn't drink with trash," he said, his smile cold as ice.

Lila giggled, tilting her head. "Careful, Vincenzo. Elena might get jealous."

I smiled softly.

"No. I know he loves me. He can't live without me."

His eyes flicked to me, uneasy.

She noticed my stare, smirked, and slipped out of the ballroom.

Three minutes later, Vincenzo muttered something about an "emergency at the docks" and followed.

I was cornered by an old family friend for twenty minutes, but when I finally broke free, I heard sounds coming from the private study down the hall.

The door was ajar. I raised my phone, hit record, and leaned in.

"Tell me you love me more than her," Lila purred, her voice breathless. "Or I'll walk out there right now and tell everyone how you fuck me on your wife's desk."

Vincenzo growled, the same feral sound he made before ordering a hit.

"I love you more than life itself. Give me a son, and I'll burn this whole empire down for you."

I stood there, recording every filthy word, every thrust, every lie.

Then I turned and walked away, silent as a ghost.

Back at the mansion, I packed my suitcase.

I'd already had my lawyer draw up the divorce papers weeks ago.

An hour later, Vincenzo stumbled in, reeking of jasmine and whiskey. He saw the papers on the nightstand and frowned.

"What's this, amore?"

I was just about to speak.

His phone rang shrilly, cutting me off.

He glanced at the screen, and his jaw tightened. It was Lila. "I have to take this. She's having a panic attack, says she can't breathe."

Without even glancing at the fine print, he scrawled his signature at the bottom of the divorce papers.

"Whatever you want, Elena, it's yours. Just don't do anything stupid. I'll be back in an hour, and we'll talk about this."

He ran out the door before I could say another word.

On the nightstand, I left the divorce papers, our wedding rings, and the USB drive.

The next morning, I took the signed divorce papers to Boston City Hall to file them. By noon, the divorce was official.

As I stepped out of the building, a random street reporter stuck a microphone in my face.

"Good afternoon, ma'am! You just walked out of City Hall looking absolutely radiant. Any special occasion to celebrate?"

I looked directly into the camera."I'm getting divorced."

...

I walked away before she could ask another question.

The interview went viral within an hour. By the time I boarded my flight, the whole world knew Donna Moretti was leaving the Don.

I called Vincenzo as the plane was about to take off.

"I left something for you on the nightstand."

"Okay, baby," he said, and in the background, I heard Lila laugh. "If it's not important, it can wait till I get back. Got business to take care of. I'm flying to Europe for two days."

Business trip? More like a little getaway with Lila.

I hung up and turned off my phone. As the wheels lifted off the ground, I closed my eyes.

Vincenzo didn't find the divorce papers until two days later.

He stumbled home with Lila on his arm, already rehearsing his lie about a late-night shipment, and found Enzo standing guard at the front gate.

The consigliere's face was white as a sheet.

“Don, where have you been these past few days? I couldn't reach you. Did you watch the video I sent?”

“These past few days... my phone broke.”

He wouldn't tell Enzo that he was busy having a happy journey with Lila.

Enzo held up his phone, and there I was, my face on every news channel, my voice playing on a loop.