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.