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His Abandoned Donna Found a New Fate
NovelShort
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I, Celeste Albright, stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows of my bedroom, staring down at the private garden that stretched around the Dark Night estate like a silent, sleeping beast. The garden w...
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第1章
I, Celeste Albright, stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows of my bedroom, staring down at the private garden that stretched around the Dark Night estate like a silent, sleeping beast.
The garden was beautiful, almost cruelly so.
Moonlight spilled over the trimmed hedges, the marble fountain, and the winding stone paths that had once seemed romantic to me. Beyond the garden, the mansion stood at the center of the Woodville family’s territory, surrounded by iron gates, hidden surveillance cameras, and armed men in black suits who would kill without hesitation if Leo Woodville gave the order.
This place was not just a home.
It was a fortress.
A throne.
A cage.
Usually, the sight of that garden calmed me.
Whenever my husband, Don Leo Woodville, left this house to go somewhere, to someone, I would stand here and force myself to breathe. I would stare at the roses until the ache in my chest became bearable, until I could pretend that being left behind did not hurt as much as it did.
But tonight, nothing helped.
The garden blurred before my eyes, its beauty turning distant and meaningless.
There was a cold weight pressing against my heart, heavy and suffocating, as if someone had poured ice into my ribs and left it there to freeze. Every breath I took felt shallow. Every beat of my heart felt painfully slow.
Maybe it was because I still could not fully process what I had just heard.
Or maybe I had known the truth for a long time, and tonight had simply stripped away the last fragile excuse I had been using to protect myself.
The rumors had spread quietly through the mansion.
They moved like smoke through the corridors, carried by servants who lowered their voices the moment I entered a room and bodyguards who suddenly found the walls more interesting whenever my gaze swept over them.
No one dared to speak openly.
No one dared to tell me the truth.
But their silence was already an answer.
Unsavory rumors about my husband and his former fiancée, Lady Violet Finkle.
……
Violet.
Even her name felt like a thorn lodged beneath my skin.
I had heard that name too many times since marrying into the Woodville family. I had heard it whispered with admiration, pity, nostalgia, and regret. She was the woman who had once stood beside Leo before me. The woman everyone believed should have become Mrs. Woodville.
The woman who had returned.
A bitter voice inside me whispered, How could he betray us when he swore before the entire family that I was his wife, his queen, the woman who would stand beside him?
That voice had been screaming inside me for days.
Anger.
Humiliation.
Pain.
They tangled together until I could barely tell one from the other.
No one dared to say those rumors to my face. After all, I was Mrs. Woodville now, the wife of the most powerful mafia boss in the city. In public, they lowered their heads to me. They called me Madam. They treated me with the respect owed to the Don’s wife.
But respect without loyalty was just another form of mockery.
And silence did not mean I was blind.
I already knew.
Instinctively, I placed a hand over my stomach, feeling the faint, almost fragile stir of life within me.
My poor baby.
The thought made my throat tighten.
This should have been the happiest news of my life.
I was going to be a mother.
Leo, my husband, the man who once held my hand and promised me the world, was going to be a father.
There should have been joy. There should have been trembling laughter, tears of happiness, his arms around me, his palm covering mine as we imagined the child we had created together.
But happiness felt impossibly far away.
It felt like something that belonged to another woman in another life.
Before I could sink any deeper into my thoughts, the bedroom door creaked open behind me.
The sound was soft, but in the silence of the room, it felt sharp enough to cut.
I did not need to turn around to know who it was.
My husband.
The man who had hurt me more deeply than anyone else ever could.
“Celeste,” he said.
His voice was low, controlled, and cold as ever.
That voice had once made me feel safe.
Now it only made the wound in my chest split open again.
I did not answer.
For a few seconds, only silence stretched between us.
Then he spoke again.
“We need to talk.”
I almost laughed.
Now he wanted to talk?
After days of avoiding my eyes, after nights of returning home with the faint trace of another woman’s perfume clinging to his coat, after choosing Violet over me again and again, he finally decided we needed to talk.
The absurdity of it was almost unbearable.
I found it hard to even look at him.
The thought of his betrayal had already torn something inside me apart. Again and again, Leo had chosen Lady Violet over me. He had made excuses for her, protected her, visited her, and defended her with a patience he no longer seemed to have for me.
But this time was different.
This time, I was not the only one being hurt.
This time, I was carrying his child.
Slowly, I forced myself to turn around.
“Yes, Leo?” I asked.
My voice sounded calmer than I felt.
Don Leo Woodville stood near the door in his black suit, his broad shoulders stiff, his green eyes sharp enough to cut through bone. Even in our bedroom, he looked like a man prepared for war. Every inch of him carried power, danger, and control.
The city feared him.
The Woodville family obeyed him.
And I had once loved him.
When he saw the calm indifference on my face, something in his expression darkened.
“You’re not the same,” he said quietly. “Why have you been avoiding me?”
For a moment, I could only stare at him.
He said it as if he were the one confused.
As if my distance had appeared out of nowhere.
As if he had not been the one pushing me away first.
Then a cold, humorless smile tugged at my lips.
“Not the same?” I repeated. “How observant of you, Leo.”
His brows drew together.
His jaw tightened.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means I’ve noticed some things too,” I said, lifting my chin and meeting his gaze without flinching.
His eyes narrowed.
The air in the room seemed to grow colder.
I continued, each word cutting my throat on the way out.
“Like how you’ve been spending time with Lady Violet again.”
The moment I said her name, his face turned colder.
It was subtle, but I saw it.
That brief tightening around his eyes.
That instant shift in his posture.
Leo crossed his arms over his chest, a gesture I knew too well.
It was what he always did when he felt accused. When he wanted to appear untouchable. When he wanted me to believe that my pain was nothing more than an inconvenience.
“Violet and I are just old friends,” he said.
Defensive.
Exactly as I expected.
“Old friends?” I repeated, my voice barely above a whisper.
The words tasted bitter.
“Leo, you promised me she was part of your past. But she is here, in our present, more than I am. How am I supposed to feel?”
For one brief second, he looked away.
Guilt flickered across his face.
It was faint, almost invisible, but I knew him too well not to notice.
But just as quickly, he buried it beneath that familiar mask of cold authority.
“It’s not what you think, Celeste.”
“It’s not?” I shook my head, disbelief and pain rising together in my chest.
How many times had I heard those words?
How many times had he used them to silence me, to make me doubt myself, to make me feel as though my instincts were nothing but jealousy?
I had endured enough.
“Then what is it, Leo? Because from where I stand, it looks very much like an affair.”
His gaze sharpened instantly.
In the next second, he stepped forward and grabbed my wrist.
His grip was not brutal, but it was firm enough to remind me exactly who he was.
The Don.
The man everyone feared.
The man whose word could decide whether someone lived or disappeared.
The man who could make the entire city bow with a single command.
“Watch your tone, Celeste,” he said, his voice dropping dangerously. “I am the head of this family, not just your husband.”
The reminder stung.
Of course.
In his world, power came before love.
Loyalty came before tenderness.
His pride came before my pain.
Even in this bedroom, even with only the two of us standing there, he still chose to speak to me like a ruler addressing someone beneath him.
But to my own surprise, I did not shrink back.
The pressure of his authority pressed down on me, yet something inside me refused to bend.
Maybe it was the child inside me.
Maybe it was the last piece of dignity I still had.
Or maybe I had simply been hurt too many times to be afraid anymore.
This was not fear speaking through me.
This was not rage alone.
This was me.
“And I am your wife,” I said, my voice steady despite the tremor in my hands. “But that doesn’t seem to mean anything to you.”
Silence fell between us.
Heavy.
Suffocating.
My fingers trembled, so I curled them into my palms to steady myself.
That was it.
I was done.
I had begged in silence for too long. I had waited for too many nights. I had swallowed too many questions because I was afraid of the answers.
Leo stared at me for a long moment.
His eyes were unreadable, but I saw the exact second he decided to dismiss my feelings again.
As expected.
He released my wrist and took a step back.
“You’re overthinking things,” he said, his voice colder than before. “Violet has been part of my life since before you ever entered this family.”
The words landed exactly where he intended them to.
Before you ever entered this family.
As if I were the intruder.
As if I were the one who had disturbed something that belonged to them.
“Yes,” I replied, fighting to keep my voice from breaking. “She has. But I am your wife.”
I swallowed the ache in my throat.
“I thought that would mean something to you.”
Leo scoffed.
The sound was soft, but it struck harder than a slap.
“Don’t be so dramatic, Celeste. You’re acting as if I’ve betrayed you.”
For a second, I could not breathe.
Dramatic.
That was what my pain was to him.
“If you haven’t, then why can’t you reassure me?” I demanded.
My voice trembled now, but I refused to look away.
“Why can’t you simply say that you’ll choose me over her? Why can’t you say it, Leo, when your actions have already shown me that you will choose her over me again and again?”
He said nothing.
And somehow, his silence hurt more than any cruel answer he could have given.
Because the truth was right there.
Clear.
Merciless.
Crushing.
He could not say it.
Because he would not choose me.
Not truly.
Not completely.
Not when Violet was standing between us like a ghost that refused to die.
“Forget it,” I whispered.
I turned back toward the window, refusing to let him see the tears burning in my eyes.
“Go back to Violet if that’s what you want.”
“Celeste, don’t be ridiculous.” His tone was sharp with frustration. “I don’t have time for this. I have a family to run.”
A family.
The word almost made me laugh.
He meant the Woodville family.
The empire.
The business.
The bloodstained legacy built on loyalty, fear, and power.
He meant the men waiting for his orders, the enemies waiting for his weakness, the territories that needed to be controlled, and the name that had to remain untouchable.
Not me.
Not us.
Not the family we could have become.
“You’re right,” I said quietly. “You do.”
Then I placed my hand over my stomach.
“And I have a baby to think about.”
The room went completely still.
Even the air seemed to stop moving.
Leo’s expression changed.
For the first time that night, his composure cracked.
“A… baby?” he repeated.
His voice was lower now, stripped of its earlier coldness.
“Yes,” I said. “Our baby, Leo.”
My hand remained protectively over my stomach.
For a while, he only stared at me.
Shock passed over his face. Then something softer followed, something almost vulnerable.
For one fragile second, I thought I saw the man I had once loved.
The man who used to look at me as if I was the only light in his violent world.
The man who had once touched my face with such careful tenderness that I believed even a man like him could love gently.
But that hope faded almost as quickly as it appeared.
“A baby,” he repeated, his voice strangely hollow.
There was no joy in it.
No wonder.
No tenderness.
Only shock.
Only hesitation.
Then, as if realizing his reaction was wrong, he forced himself to recover.
“That’s… wonderful news, Celeste.”
The words were correct.
His expression was not.
“Is it?” I asked, a bitter smile pulling at my lips. “Because you seem far more concerned with Violet than with us.”
Leo looked away again.
There it was.
That flash of guilt.
He never admitted anything, but his silence told me everything I needed to know.
“Celeste, I…”
“I think it’s time for me to rest,” I said, cutting him off. “Goodnight, Leo.”
I could not bear to hear another excuse.
Without waiting for his response, I walked to the bed and lay down on the side that had long felt like mine alone.
Our bed.
Though he rarely came to it anymore.
The sheets were cold beneath my fingers.
I turned my back to him and stared at the shadows on the wall, forcing myself not to cry, forcing myself not to beg, forcing myself not to ask why I had never been enough.
I did not look at him.
I heard him sigh, but he did not approach me.
He did not apologize.
He did not try to explain.
He did not even try to touch me.
A moment later, the door closed softly behind him.
And I was left alone with the crushing weight of his betrayal.
For a long while, I lay there without moving.
Then I caught it.
A faint, familiar scent lingering in the air.
Violet’s perfume.
My fingers tightened around the bedsheet.
The last bit of warmth in my heart went cold.
A slow, sharp fury rose inside me, cutting through the pain with terrifying clarity.
How could he betray me again and again?
How could he walk into our bedroom carrying traces of another woman on him?
How could he stand before me, hear that I was carrying his child, and still make me feel like I was the one begging for a place in his life?
He did not deserve my loyalty.
He did not deserve my tears.
And he certainly did not deserve the child I carried while he treated me like a second choice in my own marriage.
From that moment on, I knew exactly what I had to do.
Let’s end this marriage for good, Don Leo.
I closed my eyes.
The tears finally slipped down, silent and cold.
But for the first time in a long while, my heart felt clear.
第2章
Although everything felt overwhelming, I knew that I had to carry on for the sake of the little one inside me. That single truth was the only thread holding my body upright, the only reason I pressed my palm flat against the cold marble wall of the hallway and forced my lungs to expand. The Falcone compound was quiet at this hour, the kind of quiet that only settled over a place where men carried guns and secrets in equal measure. Somewhere below, a door opened and closed. Somewhere farther, the low murmur of soldiers changing shifts at the gatehouse drifted through the courtyard. I dragged myself out of the bedroom and into the corridor, heading toward the east wing where Dr. Caruso kept his private clinic behind a locked steel door. A simple check on my baby. That was all I needed. One small thing to remind me that something in this house was still mine.
But I would never expect to meet the person I wished to avoid there.
Serafina.
The woman was standing with some of the Family's inner circle near the foot of the staircase, her laughter floating upward like perfume laced with something rotten. Two of Dante's capos flanked her loosely, drinks in hand, their postures easy in a way that told me she had been folded into the household's daily fabric as casually as a new piece of furniture. She wore a cream silk blouse unbuttoned one notch too far, gold at her ears and throat, and when she turned and saw me on the landing, her expression shifted to one of smug satisfaction. Her painted fingernail rose and smoothed the corner of her lower lip, a small, deliberate repair, before she dropped into a curtsy so shallow it bordered on mockery.
"Donna Bianca," she greeted, her voice carrying effortlessly through the marble foyer. "How lovely to see you this morning."
I knew I couldn't show how this woman had ruined my marriage. Every instinct screamed at me to descend those stairs and rip the composure off her face, but the compound had eyes everywhere. Soldiers. Staff. Whispers that traveled faster than bullets. The only thing I could do was to look at her calmly as I smiled politely, showing her that I was the Donna, not her. But would that be enough? My thumb pressed once to the inside of my left wrist, feeling the frantic kick of my own pulse. I held it there, steadying myself, and then released.
"Serafina. What brings you to our home?" I asked her calmly, descending the last three steps with the measured pace my mother had taught me. A Moretti woman never rushed. Rushing meant fear, and fear in this world was an open wound men would salt without hesitation.
"Oh, Don Dante invited me, of course." She said it the way someone might mention the weather, one hand drifting down to rest on her belly. The gesture was deliberate, a mirror of the way I held my own child when I thought no one was watching. She pressed her palm flat, letting the silk of her blouse pull taut, and her eyes never left mine. "He thought I might enjoy the compound for my baby."
The foyer seemed to contract. One of the capos shifted his weight, glancing between us. The grandfather clock near the study ticked once, twice, a third time into the silence that followed her words.
Nera arrived as a sudden inward hush. The exact instant my thoughts stopped making excuses for the woman standing in front of me. How dare she show her face here.
I felt my patience slipping, but I held myself as I said, "I see. I hope you find the accommodations pleasant."
Serafina let out a smirk. "They are. Just like old times."
I clenched my fists, feeling the anger bubbling inside me. That was it. From now on, I had to stand up for myself. The marble beneath my shoes was cold and unyielding and I drew something from it, something hard enough to match the look in this woman's eyes.
Without further ado, I approached her, closing the distance until barely two feet separated us. The capos went still. I could feel them recalculating, measuring the tension between the Don's wife and the Don's former fiancée as if it were a line of credit about to default.
"Old times should stay in the past, Serafina," I said calmly. "Dante and I have our own future to focus on now."
The moment I said it, I couldn't help but notice she was insulted, a flicker of something dark and sharp passing behind her eyes. But she still spoke, her voice dropping to a register meant only for me. "Oh, of course. Though, I wonder… is Dante truly part of that future?"
"What are you trying to say?" I asked as I forced myself to stay calm. My thumb found the inside of my wrist again, pressing down once.
Serafina just looked at me, tilting her chin upward, and continued mockingly, "Oh, nothing. It's just that Dante and I have a connection that goes beyond… formalities. It's only natural that we still share a bond."
"You're speaking of something that should no longer exist, Serafina. Dante chose me," I told her, meeting her gaze with all the firmness a Moretti daughter could summon.
She laughed softly, a sound like crystal tapping crystal, and then she did it. She turned her body slightly toward the watching capos and boldly let her hand sweep down over her still-flat belly, smoothing the fabric so there could be no mistaking the gesture. "Did he, though?"
Her words struck like a dagger, and I found myself stepping back. One step. Half a step more. The marble foyer with its vaulted ceiling and ancestral oil paintings felt suddenly airless, as though someone had sealed every window. I knew my composure was crumbling. In fact, it became clear to me, clear as the gold crucifix hanging on the far wall above the entryway.
Serafina was expecting. While she said nothing explicit, it became clear to everyone in that foyer who the father was. The truth slapped me hard, harder than any blow a soldier could have delivered, because it came dressed in silk and smiled while it landed.
Immediately, I could feel Nera surging, that fierce inherited intuition clawing upward from somewhere deep inside my chest, demanding I stop being polite, stop being careful, stop pretending that civility could protect me in a house where I had already lost. But I knew giving in would be unwise. Not here, not with witnesses who would carry every word back to Dante before the hour was out. So I held that instinct down, pressing it beneath my ribs like a loaded weapon I wasn't yet ready to draw.
Then I let out a cold smirk, the kind my father wore when a rival family tried to renegotiate terms at the table, and I told her face to face, "I see. But you must know, Serafina. You may have been his past, but I am his present and his Donna. Please respect that."
Before the woman could respond, I continued, my voice dropping to something quiet and surgical, "I feel bad for the thing inside you. It must be horrible, since it was made in such a shameful way. What a way to show off, don't you think?"
Serafina's face darkened. The woman clenched her teeth, her painted fingernail twitching toward her lower lip before her hand dropped. She turned her head down, muttered something about needing air, and excused herself. The capos parted to let her pass without a word, their silence louder than any judgment. That was it. I no longer cared what Dante would say to me.
I watched her walk away through the arched doorway and into the courtyard, but I didn't feel that I had won at all. What she had said to me stayed instead. Her words echoed in my mind, stirring a deep-seated fear that I could no longer ignore. She was carrying his child. In this world, that meant bloodline. Succession. A claim on the Falcone name that no amount of dignity or composure could erase.
That was when I realized that I needed to find a way to protect myself, my baby, and my heart.
We really need to go, Nera, I told myself, and the hush inside me answered with absolute agreement.
第3章
Later that day, I found Dante in his office. The Don had demanded to see me immediately, a summons delivered by one of his bodymen who stood at my bedroom door with his eyes averted and his hands clasped in front of him, as though even delivering the message embarrassed him. Without further ado, I knew what Dante would talk about.
The office was oak-paneled and dimly lit, heavy drapes drawn against the afternoon sun. A crystal decanter of bourbon sat untouched on the desk beside a stack of leather-bound ledgers. Dante stood behind the desk, his signet ring motionless on his finger. That stillness was the first thing I noticed. He was not idly turning it. He was not irritated. He was past that.
"I heard you made Serafina cry in front of the other members of the Family," the man said when I arrived before him. His voice was level, the way a blade is level before it drops.
"I need you to tell Serafina to respect boundaries. She's been acting… bold, Dante. It's not right," I told him calmly, choosing my words carefully. Each one felt like a coin placed on a scale. Too many and the balance would tip into a fight I couldn't afford. Too few and he would dismiss me the way he always did.
Dante's eyes narrowed as he dismissively said, "You're reading too much into things, Bianca."
I took a deep breath, trying to stay calm, feeling the leather-and-tobacco air of his office fill my lungs like smoke. "Am I? She disrespects me every chance she gets, and it's hurting us. I need to know you understand that."
The Don's gaze turned cold, flat and impenetrable as the obsidian tiles in the hallway outside. "Bianca, Serafina is an important part of this Family."
"Important enough to humiliate your Donna? Important enough to… make her pregnant?" I asked, my voice rising before I could stop it. The words left me like rounds fired, and I couldn't pull them back.
He stood up when I mentioned the pregnancy. The leather chair rolled back and struck the credenza behind him with a dull thud that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards. I could no longer stand by it, no longer pretend I hadn't seen what the whole compound now knew. But I would never expect what my husband would do to me.
"Enough, Bianca. You're making a scene!" he shouted, and the fury in his voice hit me like a wall of cold air rushing through a door thrown open in winter.
I felt a flash of anger from him, something physical, something that pressed against my chest and made my shoulders want to curl inward. Before I could respond, he took a step closer. When I saw him, his eyes held the commanding authority of a Don addressing someone who had forgotten their place in the hierarchy. Not a wife. Not a partner. Someone beneath him. The full weight of his power settled over the room like a hand closing around a throat.
When Dante spoke again, his voice held the tone that made soldiers lower their eyes and capos stop mid-sentence. A tone that sent a shiver through anyone who lived under his roof, including me. It really broke my heart, because I remembered a time when that voice had whispered promises against my hair, when it had said my name like a prayer instead of a reprimand.
How dare you use that voice on us, Nera snarled somewhere beneath my ribs, a low, furious vibration that had no sound but shook through me all the same.
"Apologize to Serafina. Now," he commanded, and the words weren't a request. They were an order issued with the full, crushing authority of the Don of the Falcone Family, the kind of order that bent men who carried weapons and had spilled blood without flinching.
I clenched my fists, feeling the pressure of his command bearing down on me. My knees wanted to buckle. My throat wanted to form the words he demanded, wanted to surrender and say whatever was necessary to make the weight lift. Just when I thought I would give in, there was something inside of me that refused to bow down. It rose from a place deeper than fear, deeper than exhaustion, a core of Moretti steel that my father had forged in me long before Dante Falcone ever placed a ring on my finger. In fact, it managed to overwhelm the pressure of his authority entirely.
With all of my strength, I braced myself to utter something my husband would never expect. "No, Dante. I will not apologize to her."
He stared at me. Shock flickered across his face, raw and unguarded, as though I had reached across the desk and struck him. The signet ring caught the lamplight and did not move. This time was different. I refused to yield to him, so I kept my gaze steady, even as my hands trembled at my sides and every instinct told me to look away.
"You may be the Don. But I am still your wife. I deserve respect," I said weakly, my voice barely a whisper, each word costing me something I couldn't name.
Dante's face darkened when I said that. The anger simmered beneath his expression like heat beneath the surface of still water, visible only in the tightening of his jaw and the way his breathing changed. Nevertheless, he said nothing. The silence that filled that office was the worst sound I had ever heard.
Eventually, the Don turned away from me. A dismissive gesture, a slow rotation of his shoulders as he faced the draped window, that stung more than any words he could have said. It told me everything. I was not worth the argument. I was not worth the truth. I was not worth turning back around for. But what had happened earlier had made up my mind.
We have to leave the Family to dissolve the blood oath, I told Nera, and the fierce instinct inside me howled its agreement, filling my chest with a resolve so absolute it frightened me.
However, I knew that there were doubts inside of me. Leaving the Falcone compound meant crossing through disputed territory, miles of dark roads where one Family's protection ended and another's gunmen began. It meant abandoning whatever fragile status I still held, walking away from the only home I had known for years. Then I heard Nera, that deep, inherited voice that had never once lied to me.
We must let go of the past to get a better future, Bianca.
That was what finally convinced me to leave this Family as soon as possible.
Tonight was the night I planned to leave the compound. As I sat by the edge of the bed in the room that had once been ours, I ran my fingers along the thin gold ring on my ring finger. Dante had given it to me when we first learned we were bound by blood and fate, when the families had blessed our union and the priest had sealed it with holy water and words older than either of our names. This ring was a token of his promise and my hope. I turned it slowly, watching the lamplight slide across its surface, remembering the weight of his hand when he placed it there. How steady his fingers had been. How certain his eyes.
But the ring felt more like a weight than ever. It had become a reminder of dreams that had faded long ago, of whispered vows in a private chapel that now echoed only with silence. It became clear to me then.
No matter what would happen, I would dissolve the blood oath. For years, I had held onto the hope that Dante might remember his promises, might put our future above the past and the woman who haunted it. But that was gone for good after our last meeting. So I knew what I would do.
While I clearly knew that I wanted to sever the bond, I needed to go back to my original Family, the Moretti Family. From my father's compound, I could summon Father Theo DeSantis safely. After all, he was the only Commission-sanctioned priest-judge who had the power to formally dissolve a blood-bound marriage alliance without inviting vendetta or catastrophic reprisal. Not to mention, the ritual was delicate. It had to be done under the protection of a full Family council, when both parties would feel the weight of witnesses and sacred law. Since I no longer felt safe within these walls, I made up my mind to go back to the Moretti compound. This might be the only chance to do it.
As I slipped out the back door of the east wing, where the service corridor opened onto the gravel path that skirted the perimeter wall, I cast one last glance at the compound. The main house rose behind me, all dark stone and iron balconies, lit from within by the amber glow of chandeliers that had witnessed generations of Falcone power. Memories flooded my mind. The day we discovered we were bound together. Our wedding day, the incense and the organ music and the weight of my veil. The promises. The dreams we had once shared, whispered in bed while his soldiers paced the hallway outside our door.
But those dreams had long since withered, and I couldn't let them hold me back any longer.
I pulled the ring from my finger. The skin beneath it was pale, indented, a ghost of the band that had bound me to him for years. I set it on the dresser beside a letter addressed to him, the gold catching the lamplight one final time before I turned away.
Dear Dante,
If you read this letter, I'm already gone for good. I hope you and Serafina find the happiness you've been looking for. I'm tired of seeing you choose her over me, over and over again. I deserve someone better, even if we were bound by blood and oath.
Goodbye, Dante. I hope to never see you again.
Bianca, your abandoned Donna
With my suitcase in hand, I walked out of the bedroom, the door clicking softly behind me. The hallway was empty. A single sconce flickered near the stairwell. Somewhere distant, a guard's radio crackled and went silent. I didn't feel regret or guilt, just the weight of a decision that should have been made a long time ago.
It was time to leave, and this time, there would be no coming back.