He Said He Didn't Love Me,So I Forged the Divorce

"How many more times in this life will you drink for me?" I watched Raffaele's eyes turn red at the rims. Without a word, he tipped his head back and drained the glass. Alessia's gaze grew even more sorrowful. "Raffaele, I just need one answer from you. You're marrying her — is it because you love her, or is it because—" Before she could finish, Raffaele cut in, his voice cracking. "I don't love her." The entire room went silent. Not the polite kind. The kind that falls over a table when a made man says something that can't be taken back — when the air tightens and even the soldiers stationed at the doors stop breathing. I drew in a long breath. Something heavy inside my chest finally settled. Years of loving him in secret. Years of chasing him. I had traded away every last scrap of my dignity for what turned out to be a joke. If he didn't love me, then I would set him free. That afternoon, I was at the Valente house packing my bags and sorting through my documents — the forged church papers, the unsigned Commission record, the few personal things worth carrying out of a life built on nothing. My fingers found the edge of my black glove on the dresser and I folded the leather between thumb and forefinger, pressing the crease until it held. Then a message from Raffaele appeared on my phone. I didn't know whether Donna Moretti had said something to him. But for the first time in our lives, he was asking me to dinner at the restaurant by the harbor. Old Moretti-controlled territory ran along the waterfront. Our parish school and the secondary academy the families used had both been built within sight of it. Back then, I used to love slipping down to the harbor wall for picnics — bread, olives, a stolen bottle of limonata from Marco's kitchen. Raffaele always called me childish and refused to come along. But on my eighteenth birthday, he had awkwardly produced a folded document. He told me he'd bought the waterfront lot by the harbor and that he was going to build a beautiful restaurant with a view of the water there, just for me. "Happy with your birthday present?" In the golden light of the setting sun, the boy had grinned at me, proud and bashful all at once. After that, every time he hurt me badly enough that I wanted to let go, I would think of that afternoon, and talk myself into waiting a little longer. The day that memory stopped making me feel anything would be the day I could leave. When I didn't reply, Raffaele called me directly. "Didn't you see my message?" "I said let's go to dinner tonight." I blinked. For the first time ever, I turned him down. "No, thanks. I already have plans tonight." He clearly hadn't expected that. In the silence on the line I could almost hear him recalibrating, the way he did before any sit-down that wasn't going the way he'd mapped it. Raffaele paused, and when he spoke again his tone had gone stiff. "It's the first day of our marriage. Who exactly do you have plans with?" Only then did it hit me — "dinner" was probably a task Donna Moretti had given him. Donna and my mother Elena were the closest of friends, bound by decades of alliance trust and shared Sunday tables, and she had always been fond of me. After Raffaele humiliated me like that at the ceremony yesterday, she was probably worried I was heartbroken, so she told him to come home early and smooth things over. I let out a knowing smile. "Relax. I won't go saying anything to your mother. You're free to do whatever you want tonight. When she asks, I'll back up whatever story you give her." This was the unspoken arrangement we had settled into since last Christmas Eve. Last Christmas Eve, Raffaele had wanted to slip out and bring food to Alessia at the clinic front. So he told his family I'd been in a car accident and he needed to stay with me at the private clinic. Once he was out the door, he called me. "If my mother calls asking about the accident, just tell her I'm with you and it's nothing serious. Tell her not to worry." I had been furious and hurt. "I begged you for two weeks to spend Christmas Eve with me and you kept saying the family had dinner plans you couldn't get out of. Now Alessia just wants a breakfast wrap, and suddenly you can get away?" "Lying to your family so you can go be with her — that's fine with you?" "Using my health as your excuse — that's fine with you too?" Raffaele was quiet for two seconds. Then he clicked his tongue, impatient. "Do you ever stop? It's one little lie. Can you quit being so superstitious about it?" "If you really can't do this one thing for me, then let's just call off the engagement. Being with you is exhausting." We had grown up together. Nobody knew my weak spots better than Raffaele. For as long as I could remember, the one thing I had wanted most was to marry him.

After that incident, I learned to cover for Raffaele. This time was no different. But when he heard my automatic, well-trained response, his expression only darkened. "I actually wanted to take you to dinner tonight. There's nothing to cover for." "I already ordered the food. All your favorites. Think of it as an apology from Alessia." I glanced at the calendar on my phone. "Sorry, I really don't have time tonight." "How much was the meal? I'll pay you back." Raffaele's jaw clenched. "You're serious right now?" "Fine. You don't want to eat, I'll take Alessia instead." He didn't hang up after that, as if waiting for my reaction. I just nodded. "That works." "I have a bottle of wine stored at the restaurant. You two can have that too." Raffaele hung up with a sharp click. Probably felt like he'd lost face. He didn't come home for the entire week after that. I didn't care. Didn't ask, didn't interfere. I just quietly packed my things and shipped them straight to my new place in Bellandi harbor territory. Then I headed to the mortuary front to hand off some of my current arrangements. What I didn't expect was a familiar face at the door. Alessia Santoro was standing there clutching a parrot, making a scene. "Aren't you a funeral parlor? Aren't you professional morticians?" "My Lulu is dead! Why won't you prepare her for burial?" Nina Russo was doing her best to explain politely. "Ma'am, we're a funeral parlor for people. We're not equipped for pet services. You'd be better off finding a specialist for birds—" Before Nina could finish, Alessia slapped her across the face. "A pet? She was family! She's dead, and you won't help. What, you think I can't afford it?" "You people have zero respect for life!" She burst into loud, heaving sobs. "I don't understand. Why is the world so cruel to me? The man I love is marrying someone else, and now my Lulu is gone too. All I want is to lay her to rest properly, and I get humiliated for it! What did I ever do wrong?" Nina had come to work for me straight out of school. She wasn't just an associate to me. She was like a little sister. Seeing her get pushed around lit a fire in my chest. I was about to step forward and throw Alessia out when someone beat me to it, pulling Alessia into his arms. Raffaele's face was full of concern. "Don't cry. Hey, don't cry." "I'll figure something out. Whatever it is, I'll take care of it for you." "If this place upset you, I'll shut it down." I walked over and pulled Nina behind me. The two soldiers Raffaele kept by the town car hadn't followed him inside, but I could see their shapes through the frosted glass of the parlor door, standing like sentries on either side. Then I smiled at Raffaele. "You want to shut my parlor down? No need to go through all that trouble. Pay me fifty million and I'll transfer the license to you, along with the remaining eight years on the lease and every last piece of furniture. After that, Alessia can smash the place to pieces for all I care." "But." My tone shifted. "Before any of that, she apologizes to my people first." Raffaele looked taken aback. He looked at me, then lifted his gaze to the sign above the door, the old Valente name carved into dark wood beside a single lit candle in the window that meant the parlor was open for business. "This funeral parlor is yours?" I lowered my head and let out a quiet laugh. Yes. It was mine. Raffaele and I had known each other since we were born. Two families bound by the same territory, the same Sunday tables, the same understanding of what debts meant and how the dead were honored. We'd walked every step of our lives side by side. After graduation, I told him more than once what kind of work I wanted to do.

My dream. My goal. Every step of building that parlor, I'd shared with him. The day it opened, I'd invited him to celebrate with me. But Raffaele had been busy looking after Alessia and her cramps. He'd sent a congratulatory gift card with a generic message and never brought it up again. Now, three or four years later, the parlor had become the top-rated mortuary front in all of old Moretti-controlled territory. And Raffaele still had no idea I was the one who owned it. He'd promised Alessia he would protect her place in the clinic and make sure she thrived. Yet to this day, he didn't even know I had a business of my own. Raffaele's expression shifted, a flicker of discomfort crossing his face. "Doesn't matter who owns it. You people had no right to treat a client that way." "Alessia is just a young girl. She's naive. Why would you go out of your way to make things difficult for her?" His eyes found mine, and suspicion crept into them. Like he thought I was settling a personal grudge, jealous of how close Alessia was to him, deliberately giving her a hard time. "Deliberately making things difficult?" I let out a short laugh. "Your little girl brought a dead bird to my funeral parlor and demanded we embalm it. My assistant politely explained that we couldn't do that, and got slapped across the face for her trouble. So tell me, who's making things difficult for whom?" "Signor Moretti, you can protect your sweetheart all you want, but at least be reasonable." "Alessia owes my assistant an apology. Today. Otherwise I'm going to the authorities, and I'll press charges with the security footage and the injury report." I didn't budge. Not an inch. Raffaele's face went dark. "What did you just call me? Signor Moretti?" Alessia tugged at his sleeve, cutting him off. "Raffaele, I'm fine, really." "I upset your wife at the ceremony. Whatever she does to get back at me, I deserve it." Wounded. Pitiful. And right on cue, her breathing turned audibly shallow, as if the very air in the room was too much for her. And just like that, Raffaele's heart melted for her. Right there in front of Alessia, he raised his hand. And slapped me hard across the face to make her feel better. His voice was ice. "So I hit you. What are you going to do about it?" "Your staff couldn't handle a simple request. That's on you, not anyone else." "You want to take it further? Go ahead. Put me on the stand too. Let's see what any judge on our payroll thinks." It hurt. But it woke me up for good. I knew then that I would never think about that afternoon by the river again. After the confrontation, defamatory posts flooded the whisper networks overnight. Fabricated rumors, one after another, spreading like wildfire through every social club, every wife's circle, every soldier who owed someone a favor. The parlor was now toxic, untouchable. The video of Raffaele slapping me had been turned into a clip, circulating through every private chat in old territory high society. Now, whenever anyone saw me, their eyes held that same look: half-smile, half-pity. I shut the parlor down and paid every associate three months' severance. Then I wired Nina an extra fifty thousand dollars on top of that. Tomorrow, I was leaving old Moretti territory. But tonight, Raffaele came home. He stopped the moment he walked through the door. His gaze swept the room. "Why is the apartment so empty?" "Where are the ceremony photos?" I didn't look up. "Threw them out. Left the nails in the wall, though, in case you want to hang something else later." Raffaele's voice went stiff. "That's not what I meant." "Your face..." He stepped closer, reaching to tilt my chin up. I flinched back before I could think, putting distance between us. "It's nothing. Already healed." Raffaele looked uncomfortable. His thumb pressed beneath the strap of his watch, adjusting it once. "I lost my temper that day. But you weren't completely blameless either." "I've told you over and over, Alessia is my trainee. She's young, she comes from nothing. I'm just looking out for her. There's nothing more to it. But you keep going after her, again and again. What did you expect would happen?" I gave a small nod. "It won't happen again." That caught him off guard. He stood there for a long moment before reaching for my hand. "By the way, let me borrow your alliance ring." "Alessia's been feeling down lately. She said she likes the design of your ring, and I want to buy her one just like it." But his fingers found my ring finger bare. Raffaele froze. "Where's your ring?" I got up, went to the closet, and came back with a small box. I held it out to him. "Here." "Check the size. If Alessia's fingers are about the same as mine, she can just wear this one." "Oh, wait. I forgot. You don't like giving her secondhand things. Well, when you're done with it, just put it back in the closet." Raffaele stared at me. Something dark and unreadable passed through his eyes. He didn't respond to what I'd said about the ring. Instead, he asked, "You used to care so much about that ring." "Why did you take it off?" I smiled. Yeah. I used to care. I'd traveled to several countries to pick out the perfect pair of alliance rings. Design sketches had covered half my desk. Every day I'd sent Raffaele photos asking if he liked this one or that one. He never replied. Not once. After I finally bought them, I'd had to beg him for weeks before he'd put his on. Even now, he couldn't remember what my ring looked like. Wanted to buy Alessia the same design, and had to borrow mine just to compare. I didn't say anything else. Raffaele set the box down. The room held the silence the way the back rooms of the social club held smoke: thick, settled, going nowhere. Neither of us spoke for a long time. "We'll deal with the ring later. Come back to the family estate with me tonight for dinner." "My mother misses you." I closed my laptop. "Sorry. No time tonight." "I have a flight to catch."