I was my husband's childhood sweetheart. He never failed to pursue me for two long decades.

He loved me like I was his life and cherished me deeply.

But then, suddenly, just a month ago, he cheated on me.

Everybody knew — except me.

But I was just pretending like I hadn't caught them and still played along like a naive wife.

That was until I erased every last trace of my existence.

And then, I disappeared.

Only then did that bastard look for me like crazy.

………………………………

"Mrs. Moretti, are you absolutely certain you want to cancel your ID, passport, and every official record tied to your name? If you ever decide to restore them, it'll be incredibly difficult. It'll be as if... you never existed at all."

The clerk continued trying to change my mind, but I never hesitated. I simply slid the signed documents across the counter.

"That's exactly what I want."

"I need to disappear completely if I'm ever going to start over."

I knew better than anyone how much Domenico loved me.

Or at least, how much he used to.

If there was even the slightest trace of Serafina Cavallo left in this world, he would find me.

A man like Domenico had eyes and ears everywhere. Every port authority, every police precinct, every customs checkpoint from here to Palermo had someone loyal to him. Judges owed him favors. Federal agents conveniently looked the other way in exchange for monthly envelopes.

As long as Serafina Cavallo still existed on paper, he would track her down within days.

So Serafina Cavallo had to vanish completely.

It was the only way to escape him.

After finishing all the paperwork, I returned home and took out my phone to review my escape plan one last time.

But the moment my gaze landed on the wedding photo set as my lock screen, my fingers froze.

Back when we got married, Domenico had insisted on giving me the most extravagant wedding imaginable.

To make that dream a reality, he spent a fortune purchasing an entire villa estate along the Amalfi Coast.

He even named it Nostalgia di Serafina.

Serafina's Longing.

A declaration of love so grand that the entire world heard it.

The day he announced it, every Family on the Eastern Seaboard knew my name.

Old Dons in Sicily sent priceless wines as gifts. Even rivals who wanted Domenico dead couldn't help but acknowledge the depth of his devotion.

Then the story of how he donated his bone marrow to save my life five years earlier became public as well.

Soon, our so-called love story that had defied death became legendary.

People whispered about it at Family gatherings, business meetings, and Sunday dinners from Brooklyn to Catania.

What I had hoped would be a quiet wedding turned into something far larger.

Every influential Boss on the East Coast attended.

It felt less like a wedding and more like a coronation.

And yet now, staring at that photograph, all I felt was bitterness.

Domenico had pursued me relentlessly for twenty years.

Maybe it was because my father abandoned my mother when her blood disease worsened.

When federal pressure mounted, he turned informant and entered witness protection alone, leaving my mother behind with no Family protection, no identity, and no one willing to claim her.

She died alone in a charity ward.

At her funeral, I made a promise to myself.

I would never hand my future over to another person.

No expectations.

No dependence.

No heartbreak.

Domenico stood beside me that day.

He was only a boy himself, yet he tried to sound mature as he placed a hand on my shoulder.

"I'll never leave you, Serafina."

I didn't believe him.

Not for a second.

For the next fifteen years, I ignored every kind thing he did for me.

Deep down, I was simply waiting for him to give up.

Everyone always did.

Then I got sick.

The same hereditary blood disease that had taken my mother.

The kind of illness that forces you to start counting the days you have left.

Without hesitation, Domenico signed the papers to become my bone marrow donor.

The surgery saved my life.

When he woke up afterward, still pale and barely able to stand, he dragged himself to my room.

His body was weak, but his eyes shone brighter than I'd ever seen.

"I did it for you," he whispered.

Even then, I still didn't accept him.

For the next five years, he told me he loved me every chance he got.

Hundreds.

Thousands of times.

Never once giving up.

Then one day, I noticed strands of gray creeping into his hair.

People said the donation had nearly killed him.

That it had aged him from the inside out.

Among rival Families, he had even earned a nickname.

Il Grigio.

The Gray One.

That was the moment my heart finally surrendered.

I'll never forget the look on his face when I said yes.

It was as though he had been handed the entire world.

Before I could change my mind, he slipped a ring onto my finger.

Heavy Sicilian gold.

Old-world craftsmanship.

The kind of ring that carried weight in his world.

The kind that meant forever.

Then he transferred every asset he owned into my name.

Everything.

The companies, the real estate, the legitimate businesses.

All of it.

I refused every last cent.

Instead, I looked at him through tear-filled eyes.

"I'm saying yes."

"But remember this."

"I can take it back at any time."

"If you ever leave me—even once—"

"I'll disappear so completely that you'll never find me again."

"Domenico, you only get one chance."

I said those words as a warning.

But the truth was, I never doubted him.

Not once.

Until a month ago.

When he cheated on me.

I've never been the kind of woman who waits around to be abandoned.

Not after everything I'd already lived through.

So this time, I chose to leave first.

I booked my flight.

Prepared a dissolution agreement that claimed nothing.

No money.

No property.

No rights to anything connected to the Moretti name.

I signed it and arranged for it to be delivered three days later.

Then I returned home one final time.

When I stepped through the front door, Domenico was already in the kitchen making dinner.

It didn't matter that he was the Don of the most powerful syndicate on the Eastern Seaboard.

To me, he still insisted on cooking every meal himself.

Still acted like the devoted husband he had always promised to be.

But even the most devoted husband can be tempted to betray his wife.

The moment he heard the front door open, Domenico casually wiped his hands on the apron tied around his waist. Then he strode over and pressed a familiar kiss to my forehead.

The scent of his body wash reached me first.

Warm.

Comforting.

Familiar.

But beneath it lingered something else.

A faint floral fragrance.

Light and delicate.

And unmistakably not mine.

My heart sank a little lower.

The warmth in my eyes disappeared.

"Why are you home so late, sweetheart?" he asked softly. "Didn't the driver pick you up? It's freezing outside. You shouldn't be wandering around in this weather. You'll catch a cold and end up with another headache."

Before I could respond, he was already crouching in front of me.

His fingers worked quickly, slipping off my shoes and replacing them with a pair of soft slippers.

The moment his hands touched my feet, he frowned.

They were ice cold.

Instinctively, he wrapped both hands around them, rubbing gently to warm them up.

The Don of the Moretti Family.

A man whose name alone could silence an entire room.

A man feared across the Eastern Seaboard.

Yet here he was, kneeling on the marble floor of our foyer, carefully warming his wife's frozen feet.

Once upon a time, moments like this would have made my heart flutter.

I would have felt cherished.

Loved.

Protected.

But now?

Nothing.

"Just took a walk around the neighborhood," I replied calmly. "It wasn't far. I wasn't cold."

The guards at the perimeter had seen me leave and return.

None of them had dared stop me.

They answered to Domenico.

But they also knew better than to question the Donna of the house.

Only after he was satisfied that my feet had warmed up did he slide the slippers on properly and stand.

Then a mischievous smile spread across his face.

"Guess what I bought for you this month," he whispered, eyes gleaming like a child with a secret.

I didn't even blink.

"A high-heel brand."

His grin immediately widened.

Of course I knew.

Domenico had never been the kind of man who bought gifts.

He bought entire companies.

Over the years, his so-called surprises had accumulated until I unknowingly owned shares in over a hundred businesses connected to the Family's legitimate operations.

All it took was a passing comment.

A lingering glance at an advertisement.

A product I paused to admire for two seconds too long.

The next day, acquisition contracts would arrive on my desk, routed through the consigliere's office and already signed.

Last month, it had been a jewelry company.

This month, high heels.

He laughed, thoroughly amused, and flicked my nose affectionately.

"Wow. My wife is getting way too smart."

"I guess I'll have to work harder if I want future surprises to actually surprise you."

I brushed my nose absentmindedly, trying to erase the lingering sensation of his touch.

"You've given me plenty of surprises over the years," I said quietly.

"Maybe it's my turn now."

"Domenico, we've known each other for twenty years already."

"Funny. It feels like yesterday."

"I have something for you too."

"You'll receive it in three days."

"Don't forget to check."

The excitement that lit up his face was almost unbearable to look at.

He immediately wrapped me in his arms.

"Oh? My wife is buying me gifts now?" he teased dramatically.

"You keep this up and you're seriously gonna make me cry."

His laughter echoed softly in my ear.

"We still have decades ahead of us, sweetheart."

"I'm going to record every memory we make together."

"One day I'll tell our children all about them."

"Maybe I'll even carve every single one onto my headstone."

I remained silent.

His voice was as gentle as ever.

But somehow, it sounded distant.

As though it were coming from another lifetime.

Domenico.

There won't be another decade.

There won't even be another year.

That evening, after dinner, he placed the acquisition documents for the high-heel company in front of me and asked me to sign them.

As always, the paperwork was immaculate.

Filtered through multiple holding companies until every trace of its true origin had disappeared.

"Babe, I've already spoken with the designers," he said eagerly.

"They released several limited-edition pieces this season."

"I reserved every pair in your size."

"Tomorrow I'll take you to see them."

"They're exactly your style."

His eyes sparkled with anticipation.

Like he genuinely couldn't wait to see my reaction.

Without looking up, I signed the documents.

"Okay."

"Thank you."

At that moment, he was distracted by something on his phone.

Too distracted to notice the way my expression subtly hardened.

My fingers drifted to my wedding ring.

The heavy Sicilian gold felt colder than usual.

Slowly, I turned it a quarter turn around my finger.

"Heels look beautiful, but they're terrible to walk in," he said absentmindedly while scrolling through his screen.

"From now on, let the driver take you wherever you need to go."

"Or if I'm home, I'll drive you myself."

"Domenico, you really don't have to do all this for me—"

Before I could finish, he interrupted.

"Serafina."

His voice was firm.

Certain.

"You are my entire world."

"I'll do whatever it takes to make you happy."

Then a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"And honestly?"

"With a wife as incredible as mine, if I don't spoil you enough, what if somebody steals you away?"

As he said it, his eyes locked onto mine.

The intensity in his gaze nearly made me look away.

The silver strands woven through his dark hair caught the light overhead.

A permanent reminder of what he'd sacrificed for me.

*Il Grigio.*

The Gray One.

The soldiers whispered that nickname behind his back.

They believed the Family's burdens had turned his hair silver.

None of them knew the truth.

None of them knew those gray strands existed because of me.

But none of it mattered anymore.

Not the gifts.

Not the devotion.

Not the sacrifices.

Not the memories.

Because the one thing I needed from him...

Was the one thing he could no longer give me.

His love was already gone.

There was no need for another woman to steal me away.

I was leaving on my own.

After holding my gaze for a few seconds, he lowered his eyes back to his phone.

I forced a faint smile.

"Still working this late?"

"You used to leave work at the office, no matter how busy things got," I said lightly.

Domenico's fingers froze over the screen.

For a split second, guilt flashed across his face before he quickly masked it with a smile.

"Things have just been hectic lately, babe," he said. "It'll settle down soon, I promise."

Then he softened his voice.

"Go get some rest, okay?"

As I walked past him toward the bedroom, my eyes drifted briefly to his phone.

A crying-face emoji filled the screen.

A message from another woman.

Another lie.

But I said nothing.

I simply returned to the bedroom and sat quietly on the edge of the bed.

After a moment, I picked up my phone and logged into a burner account.

Moving through the endless web of wives, girlfriends, and Family associates, I searched until I found exactly what I was looking for.

Ginevra Santoro.

A barely-known actress.

A nightclub singer with no Family connections and no real influence.

Two hours earlier, she had uploaded a new post.

In the photo, she proudly displayed a pair of unreleased heels from Maison Seraphine.

The very same brand Domenico had handed over to me tonight.

The brand that carried my name.

The comments underneath were ruthless.

People mocked her, accusing her of wearing cheap counterfeits and pretending to live a lifestyle she couldn't afford.

In response, Ginevra insisted that she was actually the brand's soon-to-be-announced spokesperson.

According to her, her boyfriend had personally secured the endorsement deal.

The contract was already finalized.

Even the heels she was wearing had been gifted by the fashion house itself.

Nobody believed her.

After all, it wasn't unusual for someone in her position to purchase replicas.

But Ginevra stubbornly argued with every critic.

I scrolled through the comments one by one until a newly created account caught my attention.

The account claimed to work for Maison Seraphine.

> I know her boyfriend. He's one of the people making decisions. He personally approved her as the face of the brand. The photoshoot starts tomorrow.

Almost immediately, skeptical replies flooded in.

> She's barely an up-and-coming actress. What kind of boyfriend could pull that off?

> What does she think she is? The next Serafina Moretti?

> Nice try. Creating a fake account to defend yourself is pathetic.

> If there isn't a photoshoot tomorrow, prepare to embarrass yourself.

> And good luck explaining how you leaked unreleased designs.

Less than a minute later, the account posted a photograph.

A signed endorsement contract.

Then came another comment.

> You'll see for yourselves tomorrow.

I stared at the screen for a long time before finally locking my phone.

A dull ache pulsed behind my eyes.

I pressed my fingers against my temples and slowly stood.

As I walked toward the bathroom, a familiar voice drifted through the partially open study door.

The study was lined with expensive books nobody ever read and framed photographs of dead men nobody ever mentioned.

Domenico sounded furious.

"What is the photoshoot team doing?"

"If they can't handle something this simple, replace them."

"I told you to prioritize the shoot."

"Do I need to repeat myself?"

"Drop everything else."

"And if those materials aren't ready by tomorrow, none of you are coming back. Is that clear?"

I closed my eyes.

The owner of the account defending Ginevra online...

Was my husband.

In that moment, it felt as though every ounce of strength had been drained from my body.

I leaned against the wall.

Silent tears slipped down my cheeks.

One after another.

When Domenico noticed me standing there, I was still trembling.

Still desperately trying to hold myself together.

The color instantly drained from his face.

He rushed toward me, panic flooding his expression.

Without even stopping to put on shoes, he scooped me into his arms as if he were preparing to carry me straight to the emergency room.

I steadied myself against the doorframe and shook my head.

"It... it's okay."

My voice cracked.

"I just read something sad."

"A novel."

"I got emotional."

"Don't worry about me."

"You should finish your work."

His expression softened immediately.

Pressing his forehead against mine, he rubbed his nose gently against my cheek.

"Then stop reading sad stories."

"Haven't I told you before?"

"I want to make you the happiest woman in the world."

He smiled.

"Those heartbreaks in novels aren't real."

"Our happiness is."

Not real?

Then why did it hurt so much just to breathe?

Perhaps seeing me upset made him feel closer to me.

Or perhaps it simply eased his guilt.

Either way, his phone wouldn't stop vibrating.

Message after message.

Call after call.

The constant buzzing filled the silence between us.

Eventually, he offered me an awkward smile.

"Just a little more work."

"I promise."

"I'm almost done."

I didn't answer.

Barefoot, I turned around and walked back to the bedroom alone.

By midnight, I heard the front door close.

A quiet sound.

But loud enough to shatter whatever hope remained.

He had broken his promise again.

Leaving the estate under the cover of darkness.

Past the wrought-iron gates.

Past the guards stationed at the checkpoint, who undoubtedly recorded the time of his departure but would never dare ask where the Don was headed.

I didn't need to ask either.

I already knew.

Silently, I slipped on a black coat and followed him.

The night air was cold.

The compound was eerily quiet.

Long shadows stretched across the gravel roads beneath the security lights.

Somewhere beyond the walls, a dog barked once before falling silent.

After several minutes, Domenico finally stopped.

In front of an apartment building.

A residence located within Moretti territory.

Close enough to reach at a moment's notice.

Far enough to pretend it was separate.

I watched from the darkness as he rang the doorbell.

Moments later, the door opened.

Ginevra Santoro stood there.

She wore a skin-tight black bodysuit that left almost nothing to the imagination.

A dazzling smile spread across her face the instant she saw him.

Then she stepped forward.

One hand pressed against my husband's chest.

Her body nearly touching his.

"Thank you for speaking up for me, Mr. Moretti."

Her voice was sweet.

Playful.

Dangerously intimate.

"I owed you a favor."

"So I prepared a little gift for you."

She tilted her head and smiled knowingly.

"But..."

"You'll have to unwrap it yourself."