In the seventh year of our reign, my grandmother, the Madre of the Moretti family, died in my arms.

Her last words were a warning.

"Freya, you're a fool to trust that man."

"Malachi has a mistress. And she's standing right in front of you.

“Open your eyes."

After the funeral, I did.

Three women stood before me.

My best friend, Evelina.

A girl our family sponsored, Lucia.

And Malachi’s most trusted assistant, Jessalyn.

One of them was sleeping with my husband. I was about to find out which one.

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1

A collective sigh of relief filled the room as I walked in.

My best friend, Evelina, spoke first.

“Freya, you have got to get a handle on that psycho.” she said, shaking her head.

“Your husband called me at two in the morning, ranting about how you were so devastated you were on the verge of collapse.”

“If I hadn't talked him down, he would've torn Brooklyn apart looking for you.”

Warmth spread through my chest.

He always felt my pain more than I did. Whenever I was hurt, Malachi reacted as if the wounds were his own, only magnified a thousand times over.

My grandmother’s death had shattered me, and it was Malachi who’d finally forced me to rest by spiking my whiskey with a sleeping pill.

He’d flown to Chicago for an emergency this morning. He must have been worried sick, which explained why he’d asked them to keep me company.

“She’s not kidding,” Jessalyn chimed in.“The whole family knows how worried the Don is about you.”

“Even after seven years, he still can’t stand to be apart from you. It’s like you’re still teenagers in love. Enough to make anyone jealous.”

Her tone was the familiar blend of respect and playful teasing I’d come to know.

My eyes fell on her, a flicker of doubt clouding my mind.

Jessalyn was a few years older than us, her husband one of Malachi’s most loyal Capos.

Not only did she have a happy family life, but she was also sharp and incredibly capable, managing all of our family’s legitimate businesses.

She had served the Moretti family for years.

In my heart, I had always seen her as the dependable older sister I never had.

If someone suggested there was something between her and Malachi, I’d be the first to call them a liar.

A maid brought me a steaming espresso, her voice hushed with reverence.

“The Don’s love for you is absolute, Donna Freya.”

I studied Evelina’s expression. She seemed completely at ease, not a trace of jealousy in her eyes.

Seeing me pick up the coffee, Lucia timidly offered a bouquet of white roses.

The moment I looked at her, she dropped her head, avoiding my gaze.

She spoke in a low, anxious voice.

“Donna Freya, I… I was praying for you at church and I got these.”

“I hope they can bring you a moment of peace.”

My heart softened. “Lucia, thank you,” I said immediately.

“Your kindness means more than you know.”

As I spoke, my gaze lingered on her.

She kept her head down, her fingers nervously twisting the hem of her worn dress.

Her coat was washed so pale it was nearly white, the cuffs frayed.

Though only in her early twenties, she was dressed more shabbily than the lowest-ranking maid in our household.

I softened my tone, not wanting to make her uncomfortable.

“To thank you for the flowers, I’ll have the family doctor give your mother a full check-up this afternoon. We’ll arrange the best treatment for her.”

Lucia’s head shot up, her cheeks flushing.

“Donna Freya, you don’t have to. My mother, she…”

I smiled and patted her hand.

“Don’t be a stranger, silly girl. You’re under Moretti protection, which makes your family my family. We have a reputation to uphold. Can’t have people thinking the Moretti family doesn’t take care of its own.”

Lucia’s lips trembled, her eyes shimmering with tears as she managed a small nod.

Evelina let out a yawn beside me. “Alright then, Freya,” she said with a grin. “If you’re helping Lucia, you have to reward me, too. Malachi promised me that new casino in Queens to make up for my lost sleep these past few days.”

Her tone was light, but I knew she was only half-joking.

I played along with a smile.

“Of course. The casino is yours.”

I let my gaze drift over them one last time.

These were the people I was closest to, the ones I trusted most.

Evelina, my ride-or-die. Lucia, the girl under our family’s protection. Jessalyn, our capable and loyal aide.

They had witnessed the thirteen years of blood and fire Malachi and I had endured together.

But an inexplicable weight settled in my heart.

I didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t want to doubt any of them.

But Mamma’s words slithered through my mind. The viper was one of them.

To be honest, when my grandmother told me on her deathbed that Malachi had betrayed me, my first reaction was disbelief.

I met Malachi when I was eighteen.

Back then, he had nothing—just a street soldier with a ferocious glare and a refusal to lose.

He had said, “Freya, being with me is dangerous. But the day I take that throne, I’m going to make you the queen of New York.”

I took his hand without hesitation.

From street shootouts to family politics, from hitting dead ends to forcing the Five Families to bend the knee.

During our hardest time, a rival family set an ambush. He drew their fire alone while I, dragging a wounded leg, guarded the briefcase with all our cash.

What made me happiest was that Malachi had kept his promise, treating me like a priceless treasure for over a decade.

In the second year of our marriage, we survived an assassination attempt.

In that split second, Malachi shielded me with his body, taking a bullet straight through his back.

A moment before he lost consciousness, he still managed a pained smile and murmured, “Freya, don’t be afraid. I made you a promise.”

Who could believe a man like that was a traitor?

At the time, I had just smiled and blurted out, “Mamma, you have to be kidding.”

“Loyalty is everything. I trust Malachi.”

My grandmother took a sharp breath, followed by a cold snort.

“Freya, you’re still a child in so many ways.”

“There isn’t a man in this world who doesn’t stray!”

“I saved your life with my premonitions three times. You still won’t believe me now?”

My throat tightened, the words catching in my chest.

My grandmother’s premonitions were never wrong.

And Malachi had been acting strangely these past few months.

He had worn the family ring we exchanged at our wedding for seven years. Not long ago, he’d taken it off, saying the band was loose and needed resizing.

The last time I was in his car, I’d noticed the lingering scent of cheap perfume on the passenger side. Malachi was a notorious neat freak; he never allowed anyone else’s scent in his personal space.

His explanation had been simple: “Jessalyn borrowed the car to pick up her husband. He must have tracked the scent in.”

Back then, I trusted him completely. I didn’t think twice.

But now, looking back, every detail felt wrong.

I pushed the doubt down and forced a casual tone.

“By the way, Jessalyn, that shipment at the docks last night… Malachi said he and your husband handled it. Did it all go smoothly?”

Jessalyn paused for a second, then laughed.

“The Don must have misremembered. My husband went to Miami last week and isn’t back yet. A different team handled last night’s shipment.”

She said it so casually, her expression open and honest.

But a stone dropped in my stomach. My fingertips dug into the armrest of the sofa.

Miami? He left last week?

Malachi had told me, clear as day, that he and Jessalyn’s husband handled it together.

An icy chill shot up from the soles of my feet, so cold it stole my breath.

I forced a smile and nodded lightly.

“Is that so? I must have remembered it wrong.”

My voice was steady, but a storm raged inside me.

It seemed Mamma was right.

Malachi… he really had betrayed me.

Malachi returned the next day.

The moment he walked in, he strode to my side, his voice thick with concern.

“Freya, are you feeling any better? The doctor said you’re grieving too much and need to rest.”

As he spoke, he set down several exquisite boxes. Inside were my favorite antique jewelry pieces, including a diamond-encrusted brooch.

“You gave this a second look at the auction, didn’t you? I remembered, so I went to get it for you today.”

For a moment, my heart fluttered.

He was still the same Malachi—meticulous, remembering all my preferences, placing me at the center of his world.

After dinner, he mixed my favorite cocktail and gently reminded me to put my duties aside and get some rest.

But my insides were in turmoil.

That night, while he was in the shower, he left his backup tablet—used exclusively for internal family communications—on his study desk.

I stared at the tablet, my heart pounding so hard it felt like it would burst from my chest.

Finally, my hand reached out and picked it up.

The password was still our anniversary.

The screen lit up, the wallpaper a photo from our coronation. I was leaning against him, laughing with wild abandon, while he looked down at me, his gaze so tender it could melt steel.

My hand shook as I opened his encrypted contacts. I scrolled, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Nothing. No flirty messages. No secrets. Every conversation was as clean as the Patek Philippe on his wrist.

Banks, trusts, even offshore accounts—all filled with surprises he had prepared for me.

The suspicion in my heart had almost vanished.

Until I opened an app disguised as a stock market tracker.

In the message list, one chat stood out: 【No_More_Olives】.

I clicked on it. Inside were dense chat logs.

“Malachi, I miss you.”

“You’re so bad. Your kiss is still on my collarbone, like a scorching brand.”

The words on the screen stabbed at my eyes, one by one.

What shocked me more was that Malachi, a man of few words and cold as ice to outsiders, was uncharacteristically patient with her.

“Silly girl, are you still lazing in bed?”

“Be good and use the cream. I’ll be gentler next time.”

“How about I make it up to you? I’ll give you whatever you want.”

Every word, every sentence, was steeped in affection, as if he were coaxing a naive little girl.

My fingers froze on the screen, a suffocating pain churning in my chest.

I then opened the private photo album for 【No_More_Olives】.

All her posts were glimpses of daily life, but they were filled with traces of their intimacy.

A blurry photo of a man from behind, his shoulders broad and familiar, the family crest on his cufflink identical to Malachi’s.

A short, late-night video showing two place settings on a table, captioned: “Thanks to my hero for the late-night supper.”

And the latest post: a long, powerful hand, fastening a watch onto a woman's wrist.

The caption read:

【Meeting you is the greatest luck of my life.】

I held the tablet, my palms slick with cold sweat.

This was the Malachi Gallo they called the ‘perfect Don’? The man whose iron fist and cold demeanor were legendary? All of that restraint, all of that care he reserved only for me—it was all here, poured out like cheap wine for this other woman.

A sharp pain lanced through my chest, as if a fresh wound had been ripped open.

I swiped to the next photo. It was the receipt for the watch.

Patek Philippe, three hundred thousand dollars.

Below it, in small print, was a line about the complimentary gift: a pair of solid gold cufflinks.

I clapped a hand over my mouth, a choked sob escaping as tears streamed down my face.

They were the same ones Malachi had given me today.