His First Love Came Back, So I Left

That night was my first time. I didn't even know if I should cry or laugh. He held me the whole night, his grip tight like he was afraid someone would take me away too. But every word that came out of his mouth… was her name. Over and over again. Not mine. Never mine. I stared at the ceiling until my eyes burned, wondering… was this what being a wife meant? Or was I just something he used to survive her absence? The next morning, he woke up first. There were bloodstains on the sheets. He noticed. I saw it in the way his eyes paused for a second. Just a second. Then he looked away. Didn't say anything. Not even one word. Not even… sorry. I smiled like nothing happened. I got his clothes ready, laid them out neatly like I always did. "You've got an important sit-down today," I told him softly. "Don't be late." Like I wasn't the one who bled all night. Like my heart wasn't already torn open. ... From that day on, I tried harder. Pathetic, right? I knew he didn't love me. I knew I was just filling space. But I still tried. He had a bad stomach, so I woke up early every morning and made him broth. The kind that wouldn't hurt him — slow-simmered chicken, the way his mother's cook used to make it before Domenico dismissed the old staff. He was always under pressure, dealing with things I didn't even want to imagine — territories shifting, tributes running short, the constant weight of holding five capos in line — so I learned how to massage his shoulders and his back, careful and quiet. I liked silence anyway. Or maybe I just got used to it. I stopped making noise, stopped asking for anything. Even my footsteps became softer on the marble floors of the Valente compound. If I stayed small enough… maybe I wouldn't bother him. And somehow, he started changing. A little. When he came back from trips — Palermo, Zurich, wherever the Family's business carried him — he'd sometimes bring me small things. Nothing big. Just… something. When I got sick, he'd make me medicine himself and hand it to me without looking at me. "Drink it," he'd say. "Don't be stubborn." And at night, sometimes he held me. His arm around my waist, his body warm against mine. Those moments felt so real it scared me. Like maybe… maybe he was starting to see me. Maybe I wasn't just nothing to him anymore. He never mentioned the divorce again. Not once. Like that paper we signed never existed. And I… I actually believed it. I thought maybe if I just held on a little longer, he'd fall in love with me. Stupid, right? Three months ago, Ambra came back. She broke up with her boyfriend and returned from Europe like nothing happened. And Domenico? He went back to her without hesitation. No explanation. No guilt. Nothing. He took her out to eat at the Family's restaurants, went shopping with her on Fifth Avenue, stayed by her side like she was the only thing that mattered in the world. He even canceled sit-downs, important ones, the kind he used to say could never be moved — men left waiting in backrooms, capos exchanging looks that said more than words. All because she said she was in a bad mood. I stood by the window one night and watched his black sedan pull away from the compound gates, the taillights disappearing past the soldiers on perimeter detail. Same direction. Same place. Her place. I didn't cry this time. I just watched. And finally understood. Love was love. Real love didn't change. No matter how much I gave, how much I tried, how much I broke myself into something smaller and quieter and easier to keep… it would never compare to one look from her. Not even close. Five years. It was almost over. "Why aren't you saying anything?" His voice snapped me out of it. I blinked and looked at him, my throat tightening like something was stuck there. He didn't remember? For five years, I'd been counting down every single day, scared that when the time came, he'd just walk away without even looking back. But now he stood there like none of it existed. Like that agreement meant nothing. Did it ever mean anything to him? I parted my lips, about to remind him, to say it out loud before I lost the courage again — but his phone rang. He picked it up right away. I couldn't hear clearly, but I knew that voice. Ambra. She was crying, choking on her words, panicking about something. Domenico's expression changed instantly. His whole body tensed, like nothing else in the world mattered anymore. His hand stilled on his father's silver ring, and then he was already moving. "Hey, hey… don't panic," his voice dropped, low and urgent. "I'm coming right now. Stay there. Don't move, you hear me?" He didn't even wait for a reply. The call ended and he grabbed his keys, already moving. "Domenico, I—" I didn't even finish. He rushed past me and his shoulder slammed into mine so hard I lost my balance. My back hit the door frame and a sharp pain shot through me. I let out a small sound, something between a gasp and a groan. But he didn't stop. Didn't look back. Didn't even notice. The door closed and he was gone. Just like that. I stayed there for a few seconds, leaning against the wall, trying to breathe through the pain. The compound was quiet around me. Somewhere beyond the walls, an engine turned over and tires bit gravel. Then nothing. I slowly pushed myself up and walked back to the bedroom. I took off my coat and saw the bruise already forming on my shoulder. Dark. Ugly. I opened the first aid kit and cleaned it quietly, pressing the cotton against my skin. It stung, but it was nothing compared to what was inside my chest. That felt like something dull was slicing through it… slowly, over and over again. I sat on the edge of the bed and stared out the window. The sky was getting darker, the city lights coming on one by one beyond the estate walls, past the iron gates where the soldiers stood their posts. I don't even know how long I stayed like that. Until my phone rang. Domenico. I hesitated for a second then picked up. "Come to the Favilla clinic," he said, straight to the point. My heart skipped. "What happened?" "We'll talk when you get here." The line went dead. ... When I arrived, I saw him right away. He was standing outside the operating room, two of his soldiers posted at either end of the corridor, keeping the hallway clear. And Ambra… she was pressed against him, crying like her whole world was falling apart. My steps slowed. Something tightened in my chest again, like a hand squeezing too hard. I still walked over. "What happened?" I asked softly. Domenico looked at me, his expression serious. "Ambra's mother collapsed earlier. It's a severe blood disorder. Her body's failing fast. She needs a bone marrow transplant immediately." I froze. "And…?" "We checked everywhere," he continued, calm like he was discussing a piece of business at a sit-down. "No match. So I had them run a test on you. Quietly." Something inside me dropped. My fingers drifted to my left wrist, pressing against bare skin where nothing sat anymore. "And?" My voice barely came out. "You're a match."

For a second, I just stared at him. "Y-you want me to donate?" I asked, my fingers curling slightly. "Domenico… I can't. I'm scared of needles, I don't even… this is surgery, it's risky, I—" "I didn't call you here to complain," he cut me off, his tone turning cold. "Don't start that shit with me." "I'm not complaining, I just… I'm scared, okay?" My voice shook and I hated it. "Can't you find someone else? Please, I really can't do this—" Before I could step back, two of his soldiers moved. They grabbed my arms. Hard. I flinched, panic rising in my chest. "Let go! What are you doing?" Domenico stepped closer, his shadow falling over me. His eyes were dark, unreadable, like there was no room for refusal. The fluorescent lights of the private ward hummed above us, and neither soldier so much as shifted. They held me like men accustomed to holding people still. "I'm your husband," he said, voice low and dangerous. "And you'll do exactly what I say." My heart dropped. "Your life is mine," he continued, his grip tightening on my chin, forcing me to look at him. "So you're donating. Don't make me repeat myself." For a moment, I couldn't breathe. Was I even a person to him? Or just something he owned? My eyes burned but I forced it back, swallowing everything down like I always did. My left hand drifted to my bare wrist, fingers brushing the skin where my grandmother's bracelet used to sit. The ghost of its weight was all I had left. "…Okay," I whispered. The men let go of me. "I'll sign." The nurse handed me the form. My hands were shaking, but I still took the pen. Stroke by stroke, I wrote my name. Each line felt heavy. Like I was carving something into my own heart. And I smiled a little, just enough so no one would notice the tears I was trying so hard to hide. Just before they pushed me in, I couldn't hold it in anymore. "Domenico!" My voice came out weaker than I wanted. He stopped and turned his head slightly, eyes cold, like I'd just interrupted something unimportant. The silver ring on his right hand caught the corridor light as he half-turned. For a second, I forgot everything I wanted to say. My lips trembled. Then I forced out the only thing I could. "…Nothing." His eyes flickered, just a little. I thought maybe, just maybe… But he didn't say anything. He turned and walked outside. The doors closed right in front of me. And that was it. The moment they shut, my vision blurred and the tears I'd been holding back just fell. Quiet. Helpless. So this was how deep his love went. Deep enough to throw me onto an operating table without hesitation. Deep enough that even if it was my life, he wouldn't care. When I woke up, everything felt heavy. My body, my head, even my breathing. It was like I was floating somewhere between awake and not. The lights were too bright. My throat felt dry. "…You're awake?" a nurse's voice came gently beside me. I blinked slowly, turning my head. "Mm… yeah…" "How are you feeling? Dizzy? Pain anywhere?" "A little," I whispered. "I-is the surgery done?" She smiled. "Yes. It went well. The patient is stable now and recovering." Good. That meant she was okay. I swallowed, my chest feeling strangely empty. "Domenico, where is he?" The nurse paused for a second, then said casually, "Mr. Valente? He's with his wife and her mother right now." My heart stopped. His wife? Oh. Right. I stared at the ceiling, not saying anything. The private ward was still. Somewhere down the corridor, a door opened and closed, and low voices carried through the walls of this Family-funded clinic where no one asked questions and every room had a lock from the outside. The nurse didn't notice. She just kept talking, even giggling a little. "Honestly, I was watching them earlier and I got so jealous," she said, her eyes lighting up. "They look like such a perfect couple!" I didn't move. "Mr. Valente was so attentive," she continued, almost dreamy. "He kept holding his wife's hand and talking to her softly. You wouldn't even guess he's someone so powerful." Each word felt like something pressing deeper into me. "And the way he looked at her," she added, smiling. "Gosh, it was so sweet. I mean, you can really tell he loves her a lot." I closed my eyes slowly. "Even when the doctor came out, he didn't leave her side," she said again, laughing quietly. "He kept comforting her, like she was the one who just went through surgery. If I had a husband like that, I'd never let him go." I let out a small breath. So that was how it looked from the outside. A loving husband. A devoted man. And me? What was I? I forced a small smile, even though no one was looking. "…That's good," I murmured. "As long as she's okay." I lay there staring at the ceiling, my hand hooked to the IV, the slow drip the only thing keeping time. My body still felt heavy and numb, like it didn't belong to me anymore. The nurse had just left when the door opened again. I thought it was Domenico but it wasn't. Ambra walked in. She looked soft, fragile, eyes still a little red like she'd been crying for hours. In her hands was a basket of fruit, neatly wrapped like this was some kind of polite visit. A soldier stationed outside the door glanced in, registered her, and looked away. She belonged here. I was the one who didn't. "Mrs. Caruso…" she said gently, stepping closer. "I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to trouble you like this again." I looked at her but didn't say anything. She placed the basket down and gave me a small smile. "Thank you. Really… if it wasn't for you, my mom wouldn't have made it. You saved her." Her voice softened, almost sweet but it was fake. She tucked a strand of hair behind her left ear with a slow, deliberate motion. "Thank you for being such a devoted slave to my husband. I mean… devoted wife to Domenico." My fingers twitched slightly on the blanket. Slave? "Do you want some apples?" she asked, already reaching for one. "I'll peel it for you." "I'm fine," I said quietly. She didn't stop. The knife slid against the apple skin in slow, careful strokes. The sound was soft, almost soothing. Almost. "I really didn't expect…" she continued, her voice turning distant, like she was drifting somewhere else. "After all these years, he's still like that with me." My chest tightened. "What do you mean?" I asked, even though I wasn't sure I wanted to hear it. She let out a small laugh, shaking her head. "He just never changed." The peel fell in one long strip as she spoke. "Last year, I mentioned once that I liked this limited edition watch," she said casually. "I didn't even remember saying it. But a week later, he flew overseas just to get it for me. It wasn't even available locally." My fingers slowly curled. "He showed up at my place in the middle of the night," she added, smiling faintly. "But I was still mad at him back then, so I didn't even let him in. I told him to leave and threw the box back at him." Her tone was light. Like it was nothing. Like his effort was something she could just throw away. My mind went blank for a second. Because I remembered. That same time. He told me he had an arrangement overseas. Three days. When he came back, he handed me a watch. Just like that. No explanation. No emotion. "Take it," he said. "Saw it. Thought it suited you." I'd been so happy. I didn't even wear it. I kept it safe, tucked away like something precious I didn't deserve to ruin. And now? It was just something she didn't want. I didn't realize my nails were digging into my palm until it started to hurt.

Ambra didn't notice. Or maybe she did and just didn't care. "And there was this one time," she continued, peeling another strip, her voice softening again. "I got into a fight with my ex. It was really bad. I blocked everyone, disappeared for a few days." She glanced at me, like she was about to share something intimate. "Domenico went crazy trying to find me. When he did, he dragged me out of that place himself. He was so angry, I thought he was going to kill someone." She laughed lightly. "He kept cursing, saying, 'You think you can just disappear on me like that? I'll tear this whole city apart if I have to.'" My heart twisted. I remembered that night too. Christmas Eve. He came home late. Different. Rough. Like something inside him had snapped. He didn't say much. Just claimed me, over and over again, like he couldn't stop. I thought… I thought maybe he finally wanted me. That maybe, he was starting to feel something. I was so stupid. The next morning, when I woke up, the bed beside me was already cold. I told myself he had Family business. That was normal, right? The Don always had somewhere to be. But now? Now I know. He wasn't busy. He was running to her. Always her. Ambra finished peeling the apple and finally handed it to me. "Here." I didn't take it. She didn't mind. She just set it down beside me and looked at me with that same soft, harmless expression. "You're really kind, Mrs. Valente," she said gently. "Staying by his side all these years, taking care of him like that." Her eyes lingered on me, something unreadable passing through them. "But some things…" she added quietly, "no matter how hard you try, they just don't belong to you." I lowered my gaze to my hand, the IV needle still buried in my skin. My left wrist was bare. I almost reached for it, that phantom weight where my grandmother's bracelet once sat. I stopped myself. Yeah. I think I finally understood that. … After I got discharged, I went back to the Valente estate and packed everything quietly. Clothes. Jewelry. Things I barely touched. Things I once thought mattered. I didn't take much. What was the point? I was just waiting. Waiting for the dissolution of the blood-bound union to finalize. Waiting for it all to end. During those days, Ambra kept sending me messages. Not even hiding it. Videos. Photos. One after another. At first I didn't open them. Then I did. I don't even know why. Maybe I wanted to hurt myself properly. Maybe I just needed to see it with my own eyes. Domenico stayed by her side the whole time. Not for a moment did he leave. In one video, he was sitting beside her hospital bed, carefully feeding her fruit, peeling everything clean like it was something precious. In another, he was adjusting her blanket, his movements slow, patient… gentle. Gentle. I stared at the screen for a long time. Was this the same man? The same man who never even looked at me twice? Then another message came. A video. "Look, Mrs. Valente," Ambra said, her face filling the screen as she turned the camera. Domenico was there, talking to a doctor in the private ward, his expression serious, controlled. That same cold aura. That same authority that made soldiers lower their eyes when he passed. "He sent my mom abroad for treatment," she continued casually. "Paid for everything. Even bought her a house there. There's a maid, a private doctor… everything's arranged." She laughed a little. "He's really something, right?" My fingers tightened around my phone. "Mrs. Valente, I'm sorry for taking your husband for now, okay?" she added, voice soft, almost teasing. "He just missed me too much. He loves me so much, I can't even push him away." Her smile didn't change. "You can't really compete with that, can you?" The screen went dark. I didn't realize I was crying until the tears hit my hand. Drop by drop. I wiped them away quickly, taking a shaky breath. Over the years, I did all those things too. He had a bad stomach, so I woke up early every day to cook for him. I waited for him with the lights on, no matter how late it got, no matter what business kept him in those back rooms where I wasn't allowed. I peeled his fruit, cut everything into small pieces so he wouldn't even have to think. I gave him everything. And now… he was doing all of that for someone else. I closed my eyes and let out a slow breath. "It's fine," I whispered to myself. "It'll be over soon." Right? Once I stop loving him, I'll be okay. I'll take care of myself. I have to. … A week later, he suddenly came home. I was surprised when I saw him. Shouldn't he be with her? "Get changed," he said, already loosening his tie. "We're having dinner at the estate tonight." "…Okay." I didn't ask anything. I just went upstairs and changed. At the dinner, everything felt normal. Too normal. The long dining table in the main hall was set with the good silver, candles lit, wine poured from bottles older than anyone sitting around them. People were laughing, talking, raising their glasses like this was just another Sunday gathering. Capos and their wives. Associates who owed the Family their livelihoods. Then the topic shifted. "You've been married five years now. It's about time you had a child." "Yeah, Domenico's the head of the Family now. There needs to be an heir." "Serafina, you should hurry up." I kept my head down, fingers brushing against the rim of my glass. A child? With him? Did I even have that right? "No rush," Domenico said. His voice wasn't loud, but it cut through everything. The whole room went still. Forks paused. Conversations died mid-syllable. Everyone exchanged looks but no one dared say anything else. Not to him. Not to the Don. The atmosphere turned stiff after that and the dinner ended quickly. "Serafina," Donatella said sharply as we stood. "Come with me to the study." I knew what that meant. Anyone could see it. A warning. About children. About my place. "If you've got something to say, say it in front of me," Domenico said, frowning. Before she could respond, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen and his expression changed immediately. "…Ambra?" he answered, already stepping aside. "What's wrong? Did something happen?" His voice… it wasn't the same voice he used with me. Not even close. Donatella let out a cold snort. Her hand drifted to the gold crucifix at her throat, adjusting it slowly, deliberately. "Come with me." I pressed my lips together and followed her without a word. As soon as the study door closed, her face changed. All that fake calm from dinner disappeared. "Kneel." I didn't argue. I just went down slowly, my knees hitting the cold marble floor. It stung, but I was already used to that kind of pain. "Do you know where you went wrong?" she asked, looking down at me like I was something dirty. I lowered my eyes and stayed quiet. A loud bang hit the desk. "You stupid girl!" she snapped, her voice sharp and cold. "Domenico said he's not in a hurry to have a child and you just sat there? You didn't even try to change his mind?" My fingers curled slightly. Was I supposed to beg him? Force him? Didn't he already make it clear… I meant nothing? She opened a drawer and took out a small bottle, then slammed it in front of me. "Drink this. It's a fertility tonic. Starting today, you take it every day and you sleep with him until you get pregnant. I don't care what it takes. This Family needs an heir." I stared at the bottle. In the past, I would've taken it without a word. But now… "I won't take it," I said quietly. The room went still. The kind of still that falls over a room when someone has said the unsayable. "What did you just say?" Her voice dropped, dangerous. "I won't take it," I repeated, lifting my head slightly. "He doesn't want a child right now. I'm respecting that." That was the truth. Every time we were together, he made sure there were precautions, and if something slipped, he'd make me take pills right after. I used to think that maybe he just wasn't ready yet. Now I knew. He just didn't want one with me. And if I was leaving, why would I tie myself to him forever? "You've got some nerve," she said slowly, eyes narrowing. "Say that again." "I won't take it." Her expression twisted. "You've gone too far!" she shouted. "As his wife, you can't even do your duty? You can't even give him a child? And you let him waste himself on that woman. All that effort, all that money, all for her and her damn family. You didn't stop him once." My chest tightened. Stop him? When had I ever had that power? I was the blood-bound bride, not the one who held his heart. I was the arrangement. She was the choice. Donatella turned her head slightly. "Bring it." A servant stepped forward and handed her a thick leather strap. Dark. Heavy. The kind they used for punishment in the old country, the kind Donatella's own mother-in-law had kept in a drawer just like this one. My body tensed. "I'll ask you one last time," she said, gripping it tightly. The crucifix at her throat caught the lamplight and held still. "Are you going to take the medicine or not?" I shook my head. The sound came before the pain. CRACK. A sharp crack filled the study, then it hit. My back arched as the pain exploded across my skin, burning and tearing at the same time. I bit my lip hard to stop myself from crying out.

"Answer me. Are you taking it or not?" I shook my head again. Another strike. And another. Each one landed harder than the last. My body trembled, my hands pressing against the floor as I tried to stay upright. Through the glass window, I could see outside. Domenico was there. Standing in the garden of the estate, past the stone balustrade where two soldiers stood at their posts. His back facing this room. One hand in his pocket, the other holding his phone. His posture relaxed, like nothing in the world could touch him. Then he laughed. Low, soft. "…Ambra," I heard faintly through the glass. Of course. Who else? "Since you don't understand," Donatella said coldly behind me, raising the strap again, "then I'll beat it into you." The leather cut through the air and landed again. My vision started to blur. Pain spread everywhere, hot and overwhelming. I could feel something wet soaking through my clothes but I didn't look. Somewhere in the house a clock was ticking, steady and indifferent, counting out every second Donatella's arm kept swinging. "I w-won't," my voice came out weak, barely there. "I won't take it…" Another strike. My body gave out and I collapsed forward, barely able to hold myself up. The gold crucifix at Donatella's throat caught the light each time she drew back. She hadn't adjusted it once. She'd already decided my fate before she walked in. Through my fading vision, I saw him again. Still standing there. Still talking. Still not turning around. Not even once. A small, broken thought crossed my mind. Was I ever anything to him? Or was I just… someone he could lose without noticing? Everything started going dark. And just before I lost consciousness, I felt something strange. Relief. Maybe… this was good. Maybe after this, I wouldn't feel anything for him anymore. … When I woke up, I was already in a bed at the Family's private clinic. Everything felt heavy, and my back burned the moment I tried to breathe a little deeper. "Don Valente, the injuries are quite severe," someone beside me said. "The leather strikes cut deep. Some areas reached the dermis. It'll take time to heal." "Then use the best damn medicine," Domenico's voice came, low and cold. "I don't care what it costs. Get the best doctors and make sure she doesn't get scared." "Yes, of course." Footsteps faded, and the room went quiet. The kind of quiet that only settles in rooms where the Don has spoken and no one dares fill the silence after. I slowly opened my eyes. He was there. Standing beside the bed, looking down at me. He wore his sleeves rolled to the forearm, his father's silver ring catching the dim overhead light as he shifted his weight. When he realized I was awake, he moved closer, his brows slightly furrowed. "You awake? How are you feeling?" I tried to shift, but the pain hit instantly, sharp and burning. I sucked in a breath and forced a small voice out. "I'm fine, there are people here to take care of things. If you've got something to do, you should go." I expected him to leave. He didn't. Instead, he sat down beside the bed, his gaze staying on me like he was thinking about something he couldn't say. His thumb turned the silver ring once, slow, before his hand went still on his knee. "Why didn't you call me?" he asked after a moment. "When she was doing that to you… why didn't you call me?" My fingers tightened slightly under the blanket. The skin of my left wrist was bare. I felt for the place where my grandmother's bracelet used to sit, then stopped myself. I remembered him outside. Back turned. Laughing softly into his phone. "I saw you were busy," I said quietly, a small bitter smile slipping out. Then I looked at him. "If I called you, would you really come right away?" "Of course I would," he said without hesitation. I froze. That wasn't what I expected. Not at all. "I've already handled it," he continued, his tone calmer now. "No one's going to bother you about having a child again. That shit's over." The Don had spoken. Which meant Donatella would obey. For now. Because in this house, even the Matriarca bent to the seat, not the man, and Domenico still held the seat. "…I understand." I lowered my eyes. "Then you should go. You don't have to stay." He frowned slightly. "Why do you keep pushing me away?" I blinked, a little confused. "Aren't you busy?" Busy with everything. Busy with her. "I'm not busy lately," he said. Then he reached out and adjusted the blanket around me, his movements careful, almost gentle. "I'll stay here for a few days. Take care of you." I didn't know what to say to that. It felt wrong. Like something that didn't belong to me. But he really stayed. … The next few days, he didn't leave the clinic. He adjusted my bed when I couldn't move, fed me when my hands felt too weak, even helped with my dressings like it didn't bother him at all. The Don of the Valente Family, a man whose word could end lives with a nod, changing gauze on his wife's back like it was the only task in the world. The soldier posted outside the door stood straighter every time Domenico passed, but Domenico didn't notice. He only noticed the bandages. Sometimes I caught myself just staring at him. Was this real? Or was I dreaming again? One night, the pain got so bad I couldn't sleep. It kept spreading across my back, making every breath feel heavy. He noticed. "Can't sleep?" he asked quietly. I didn't answer, just closed my eyes tighter. Then I felt it. His hand, slow and steady, lightly patting my back. Careful. Gentle. Like he was afraid to hurt me more. "It's alright," he murmured. "Just sleep." Again and again, the same rhythm. That kind of warmth, it felt so familiar. Like those rare moments before everything broke. For a second, I almost wanted to believe it again. But I didn't. I couldn't. I already decided. I was leaving. And this time, I wouldn't look back. A week passed, and the marks on my back finally started to fade. Not gone, but lighter. When he was applying the medicine that day, his fingers brushed too close and I let out a small sound before I could stop it. He froze. I turned, confused, and saw his eyes on me, dark and heavy, his throat moving slowly like he was holding something back. "Did I hurt you?" he asked, but his voice sounded rough, not like before. "No… I just—" I tried to speak but he moved closer. Too close. His hand settled on my waist, firm, like he wasn't even thinking anymore. "Domenico…" I whispered, my heart starting to race. He didn't answer. His breathing got heavier, his gaze dropping to my lips. His face leaned closer, slow, like he was about to cross a line— Smack! We both turned. Ambra stood at the door, her eyes red, the fruit basket already on the floor, everything scattered. One hand hovered near her left ear, a strand of hair half-tucked, trembling there like a reflex she couldn't complete. Her lips trembled. "Did I come at the wrong time? I didn't know you two were…" She bit her lip, like she couldn't even finish. Domenico pulled away from me instantly. "Ambra, stop thinking nonsense! It's not what it looks like. I was just helping her with the medicine, that's it." Before I could react, he shoved me away. Hard. I lost balance and fell straight off the bed, the back of my head hitting the sharp edge of the table with a dull crack. Pain exploded and something warm started running down. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to ruin your moment." Ambra's voice broke as she turned. "I'll go, you don't have to explain…" "Ambra!" Domenico didn't even hesitate. "Wait, listen to me. Don't run off like this." His voice turned urgent, almost angry. "Damn it, stop right there." He ran after her. Didn't look at me. Not once. The door slammed and everything went quiet again. The clinic room. The antiseptic light. The soldier outside who must have heard everything and would say nothing, because that was omertà, and silence protected the Family even when the Family didn't deserve protecting. I stayed on the floor, my vision slowly blurring. Blood slid down past my temple, warm and sticky. I stared at the ceiling and suddenly laughed, soft and broken. Why did I even hope? Tears slipped into my hair. Wasn't I used to this already? My left hand lay open on the cold tile, fingers curled toward the bare wrist. I wasn't reaching for anything anymore. By the time the nurse found me, everything was fading. Voices sounded far away. "Head injury! She's bleeding a lot, call the doctor now!" Then darkness.

When I woke up again, my head hurt and everything felt heavy. Because of the injury, I had to stay longer. Domenico never came back. Not once. But I knew why. He was with her. Of course he was. I didn't call him. Didn't text. What was the point? On the day I was getting discharged, the housekeeper called. "Mrs. Valente, about the Don's birthday feast this year, how would you like to arrange it?" I held the phone and stayed quiet for a while. Birthday. I used to handle it every year. His family never cared about things like that. Power, territory, tribute, the business of running the syndicate… that's all they saw. Not him. I remembered the first birthday I attended at the estate. Everything looked perfect, but there was food he couldn't eat. Something that could trigger a reaction. I saw him later, alone in his study, taking medicine quietly. "Why didn't you just tell them?" I asked back then, my chest tight. "What for?" he said, not even looking at me. "They don't give a shit about that. As long as the Family's running, that's enough for them." From then on, I took over. Every dish, every detail, everything he liked and avoided. I made sure he never had to deal with that again. "Mrs. Valente?" the housekeeper called again. I closed my eyes for a second. "I'll handle it." This was the last time. After the divorce… someone else would do it. Not me anymore. … I prepared everything the same way I always did. Careful. Quiet. Like it still mattered. But this time, I made the housekeeper follow me through every room of the estate, step by step, making her remember everything. "The cake should be a vanilla berry one. He doesn't like anything too heavy and sweet, it makes him sick after a few bites." "And listen, decorations should be white lilies, not red. He hates anything too loud, says it looks cheap." "Don't put whiskey on the main table. He drinks it, yeah, but it gives him headaches if he hasn't eaten properly." I paused, then added softly, "You need to remember all of this. Next time, you'll be the one handling it. Don't mess it up." The housekeeper looked confused. "Madam… won't you still be the one arranging it next year?" I didn't answer. Next time… I won't even be here. How could I? On the day of the feast, everything looked perfect. Crystal chandeliers burning gold through the ballroom, soft music threaded between the conversations of men and women who carried holstered secrets beneath their tailored clothes. People laughing like this house actually had warmth in it. I stood at the entrance in a light blue dress, greeting guests one by one, smiling like I always did. Capos and their wives. Associates. Men whose names I'd memorized because Domenico never bothered introducing me. Like I wasn't already gone inside. Then he walked in. Domenico. And beside him was Ambra. Her arm hooked around his, leaning into him like she belonged there. She wore something soft and pretty, pale pink, light like she was fragile. She looked up at him, smiling. And he looked back. God… he looked back. That was when I understood. He already fixed everything with her. Of course he did. His eyes never left her the whole night. When her glass got empty, he noticed right away. "Don't give her that," he said, voice low but firm, and the soldier pouring drinks froze mid-motion. "Get her something lighter. She doesn't drink much." When her dress shifted a little, he frowned and called someone over. "Fix it properly. Don't let it drag." She laughed at something, eyes curved, soft… and he actually smiled. Not that cold, distant smile he wore at sit-downs. A real one. I stood there watching for a second too long. Then I looked away. What was I even expecting? He never looked at me. Not once. I moved to the side, greeting people like I was just part of the staff. When it was time to open gifts, people brought out all kinds of expensive things. Jewelry, rare pieces, things worth more than most people's lives. Capos presented envelopes thick with tribute, crystal decanters of aged Sicilian wine, watches that could buy a house. Then mine was brought out. A custom-made fountain pen. Simple, elegant, something I chose carefully because he once said he preferred things like that. Quiet. Useful. The attendant placed it on a silver tray. "Mrs. Valente really understands the Don's taste," someone said with a smile. "This kind of piece isn't flashy but it fits him perfectly." "Yeah, it's refined. Just like him." Domenico glanced at it, then at me. For a second, I thought… "Thanks," he said casually. That was it. Then Ambra's gift was brought out. A small box. Inside was a handmade leather bracelet. The stitching was uneven, rough in some places, like it wasn't done by a professional. The room went quiet. Then someone laughed softly. "…Seriously? People still give things like this?" "Looks cheap. I don't think the Don would even touch that." "Who even let her in here dressed like that, bringing something like this?" Ambra's face went pale. She stepped back slightly, like she wanted to disappear. Domenico's expression darkened instantly. He picked up the bracelet and the room went silent. Every voice, every glass, every whispered aside stopped dead. Without hesitation, he slipped it onto his wrist. "I like this," he said, his voice low but sharp enough to cut through everyone. "At least this one means something. Someone actually put time into it." No one spoke. Then his gaze shifted to the pen. He picked it up, looked at it for a second, then let out a quiet scoff. "This kind of thing…" he said coldly, "you can buy it anywhere. There's nothing special about it." My chest tightened. Before I could even react, he tossed it straight into the trash. The sound echoed louder than it should have. The metal bin rang against the marble floor, and the silence that followed was the kind that fills a room after a gunshot. The whole hall went quiet for a second, then suddenly everyone started agreeing. "The Don is right, handmade things actually mean something." "Yeah, expensive stuff is nothing if there's no heart behind it." "This is way more special, you can tell she put effort into it." I just stood there. It felt like all the blood in my body turned cold. I spent three months on that gift. Flying around, checking stores, comparing designs, choosing something I thought… he'd actually like. And now? Thrown away like it was nothing. Just to make her look good. But wasn't this always how it went? He could drop everything for her, cancel sit-downs like they didn't matter. But my birthday? He couldn't even remember the date. She got sick and he stayed up all night taking care of her. I had a fever once, burning for hours… and he didn't even call. She said one word and he'd fly across the world. I asked him to have dinner once… and he said he was busy. Every time… he chose her. Every single time. Just like tonight. I pressed a hand lightly to my chest. It used to hurt so much here. So much I thought I couldn't breathe. But now… It was quiet. Empty. So this was what it felt like when you finally stopped loving someone? All that pain, all that waiting… it just disappeared like it never mattered. Then everyone gathered around Ambra. The same people who mocked her earlier were now smiling, praising her, trying to get close. Capos' wives who would have looked through her five minutes ago now touched her arm and laughed too brightly. I stood in the corner and smiled a little. That's how it works here. One look from him… and everyone follows. It didn't matter. After the divorce, he'd probably bring her into the Family properly anyway. This was just the beginning. The feast ended slowly. Guests left one by one, their drivers pulling dark sedans around the circular drive, soldiers holding umbrellas and opening doors. I stood at the entrance, smiling, saying goodbye like I always did. Perfect. Polite. Like I was still Mrs. Valente. Only when the last guest left did I finally breathe out a little. When I turned around, they were still there. Domenico and Ambra. It was raining hard outside. Cold wind rushed in through the open doors, damp and sharp, carrying the smell of wet stone and the estate's hedgerows. Ambra shivered suddenly and sneezed. Domenico frowned right away. "You're cold?" "I'm fine… just a little," she said softly, but her voice sounded weak. "Fine my ass," he muttered, already taking off his suit jacket and placing it over her shoulders. "You're shaking. Don't act tough." She held it close, still trembling a little. "It's still cold…" His eyes moved. Then they landed on me. On the scarf wrapped around my neck. A soft wool scarf. The last thing my grandmother made before she passed. The only thing I brought into this family that was truly mine. "Give that to her," he said. My fingers tightened instantly. I touched the bare skin of my left wrist without thinking, reaching for the ghost of a bracelet that was no longer there. "T-this was made by my grandma," I said quietly, my voice barely steady. "It's not something I can just—" "I know exactly what it is," he cut me off, his tone turning colder. "She's just borrowing it. Why are you making it such a big deal?"

My throat felt tight. I held the shawl for a second longer and slowly, I took it off. My hands felt cold the moment it left my skin. I stepped forward and handed it over. Ambra took it, her expression soft, almost guilty. "Thank you… I'll have it cleaned and return it to you." "No," I said quickly, shaking my head. "Don't wash it yourself. It can't be soaked. It needs special care. I'll have someone pick it up tomorrow." "Oh, okay," she nodded gently. The car pulled up outside, headlights cutting through the rain. One of the soldiers held an umbrella at the rear door. Domenico glanced at her again, noticing her pale face. Then he looked at me. "Ambra's not feeling well," he said, already opening the car door for her. "I'm taking her home first. It's not on the way for you, so just go back yourself." I didn't even get the chance to answer. He helped her into the car, careful, like she might break. The car door shut, the engine started, and the black sedan disappeared into the rain like I was never there. I stood at the entrance of the estate, my dress getting soaked, the cold wind cutting straight through me. The streets beyond the compound gates were empty, rain pouring so hard it blurred everything. I waited… and waited. Forty minutes before I could even get a car. By the time I got home, I was shaking, completely drenched, my head spinning. My forehead burned but I still forced myself to take some medicine, then I just dropped onto the bed and passed out. Sometime in the night, my phone kept vibrating. Again and again. I heard it but I couldn't move. My head hurt too much, my body too heavy. I just let it ring until it finally stopped. The next morning, the fever went down a little, but my throat felt like sandpaper. I sat up slowly, took a sip of water, then reached for my phone. There were more than a dozen messages. All from Ambra. My fingers paused… then I opened them. The first photo hit me like a slap. My shawl. The hand-embroidered Sicilian shawl my grandmother made was completely soaked, twisted, ruined. The delicate stitching looked wrong, clumped and stretched like it was destroyed. More messages popped up. "Oh my god I'm so sorry, I forgot the embroidery can't be soaked so I just left it in water when I got home." "I feel really bad… how much was it? I'll pay you back. The fabric's nice though, maybe I can reuse it and turn it into something else." "If you're not replying I'll just assume it's fine, okay? I'll send you 2 dollars. Since you said your grandma made it, it shouldn't be that expensive right?" The last photo loaded. My hands started shaking. The shawl was cut. Not just ruined but cut into pieces. Strips. Like someone took their time destroying it. My chest tightened and something snapped inside me. I threw the covers off and got up, not caring that my body still felt weak. I grabbed my coat and walked out. When I got to her place, I didn't even hesitate. I rang the doorbell hard, my fingers cold but steady. The door opened. Ambra stood there, wearing something simple, her face soft and surprised. "Serafina? You came all the way here? Is something wrong?" "Where's my shawl?" I asked, my voice flat. She blinked, then turned casually and picked something up from the couch. The pieces. "You mean this? I already paid you for it, didn't I?" She glanced at her phone. "Oh, you didn't accept the transfer? Was it too little? I can add more. I mean it was handmade by an old woman, it shouldn't be that expensive, right? I'll send you another 2 dollars, okay? It's not really worth much anyway." Something burned in my chest. Before I even thought. My hand moved. Smack! The sound was loud in the quiet room. She stumbled back, holding her face, eyes wide. "You… you hit me?" "You did it on purpose, didn't you?" I said, my voice shaking but sharp. "You soaked it, you cut it, you sent those messages like you didn't know. You think I'm stupid?" Her eyes filled with tears instantly. She tucked a strand of hair behind her left ear, slow and deliberate. "What are you talking about? I really didn't mean to, I was just careless…" "Careless?" I laughed, but it sounded wrong. "You came back on purpose. You called him at the exact time your mother needed surgery and forced him to make me donate. You stood outside that room and said all those things. You walked in at that exact moment. And now this?" I stepped closer. "How many things did you plan? How many times did you think I wouldn't fight back?" "I didn't…" she shook her head, tears falling faster. "I really don't understand why you're saying all this…" "I see through you," I said quietly. "I just didn't bother saying it before. But that doesn't mean you get to keep stepping on me like this." Her expression flickered for a second, just a second. Then a voice cut through the room. Cold. Low. Dangerous. "Serafina… what the hell are you doing?" My body went stiff. I turned around. Domenico stood in the doorway, his eyes dark and terrifying. The air in the room changed the moment he spoke, like the temperature dropped ten degrees. But when he looked at her… His voice changed. "Ambra," he said, stepping forward quickly, his tone softening. "What happened? Why are you crying?" Ambra sniffed, tears falling as she spoke, her voice shaking like she was about to break. She twisted the story just enough, soft and pitiful, and I watched his face grow colder with every word. Then he turned to me. "It's just a shawl," he said, his voice flat, sharp. "Why the hell did you have to hit her over something like that?" My chest tightened. "Just a shawl?" My voice shook before I could stop it. "Domenico! That's the only thing my grandmother left me. The only one." He paused. Just for a second. Like he didn't expect that. In five years… I never raised my voice at him. Not once. Not at the Don, not at the man, not at anyone in this world. But now my hands were shaking, my eyes burning, and I didn't even recognize myself. "Ambra didn't do it on purpose," he said, his tone softening when he looked back at her. "She already paid you, didn't she? What more do you want? If the money's not enough, I'll handle it." Handle it. Like everything could be fixed with money. He pulled out his checkbook, wrote something fast, then held it out to me. "Take it. That should cover it." I stared at the check. My chest felt tight, like something was squeezing it slowly, making it hard to breathe. I didn't move. He frowned, annoyed, then tore another check and wrote a bigger number, his jaw tightening. "Not enough? Fine. Then take this. Stop making a scene over something so small." One after another. More numbers. More money. Like he was buying silence. Buying me. The way the Family bought everything. The way every ugly truth in this world got sealed under a stack of bills and a warning not to speak of it again. My fingers finally moved. I took the last check, my hand trembling. I touched the bare skin of my left wrist where my grandmother's shawl had once warmed me, and felt nothing there. "That's enough," I said quietly. More than enough. Domenico… this is enough to end everything between us. I turned to leave. But I barely took two steps. "Stop." His voice cut through me like a blade.

I froze. "You took the money," he said slowly, dangerously calm. "That slap isn't settled yet. Apologize to her." My body stiffened. I turned back, my eyes burning. "What did you say?" "I said, apologize," he repeated, his gaze cold. "Don't make me say it twice." "What if I don't?" My voice shook, but I still asked. His expression didn't change. "Then maybe the arrangement between your family and mine… needs to be reconsidered. You understand what I mean, right?" My heart dropped. So this was it. He was using the Carusos now. Everything my father had built, every territory, every protection agreement. Domenico could crush it with one word to the Commission. The room went silent. For a few seconds, I couldn't hear anything. Not the ticking of the study clock, not the low hum of the estate's heating, not the bodyguard shifting his weight outside the door. Nothing. Then slowly, I lowered my head. "…I'm sorry," I said, my voice hoarse. Ambra covered her cheek, looking at me through tears. "Serafina… are you really apologizing? Or is this just how people like you say sorry? It doesn't feel real…" My fists clenched. My nails dug into my palms. Then I bent down. Deep. "I'm sorry," I said again, my voice breaking but clear. "I shouldn't have hit you. It was my fault. Please forgive me." Domenico didn't say anything. Ambra sniffed softly. "I still… don't feel sincerity…" "Serafina," Domenico said, his voice colder now. "Don't even think about leaving until you apologize properly." My lips trembled. "I'm sorry," I said again, biting down hard so I wouldn't cry. "It won't happen again. I swear." I straightened slowly and looked at him. "Is this enough?" For a second… he just stared at me. Something flickered in his eyes. Like he remembered something. Maybe the past. But it disappeared just as fast. "That's enough," he said coldly. I nodded once. Then I turned and walked out. Didn't look back. Behind me, I heard his voice again… but it wasn't for me. "Does it still hurt?" he said softly. "Come here, I'll put some medicine on it. Don't move." Ambra's voice came, quiet and weak. "It does… be gentle, okay…" I kept walking. Tears fell, but I wiped them away fast. Like they never existed. … The next few days, he didn't come back to the estate. And I didn't call. Not once. On the day everything became official, I went alone. The consigliere's office downtown, the one that handled the legitimate paperwork for Family unions. Signed the papers, took the document, listened to the attorney say it was finalized. When they handed it to me, I just stared at it for a second, my fingers brushing over the words. Dissolution of the blood-bound union. That was it. No tears. No pain. Nothing. It was still early when I left. I got a cab back to the Valente compound, just to grab the last of my things. But the moment I opened the door, I froze. He was there. Standing in the living room like he owned the air. "Where the hell did you go?" Domenico asked, his voice low, eyes locking on me the second I stepped in. I opened my mouth. Did I tell him? Did I just say it now? Before I could speak, he let out a short breath, like he figured it out already. "You went out to get something, didn't you? For today." I blinked. "Today…?" He frowned slightly. "Don't tell me you forgot. It's our anniversary." My chest tightened. Anniversary. Our anniversary had already passed last month. Five years ago… same day. We stood in front of the families, exchanged rings before the priest, smiled like it meant something. The Carusos and the Valentes, bound by blood and ceremony while the Commission bore witness. That night… he handed me dissolution papers. Told me not to take anything seriously. Five years. Then it ends. And now… the day I received my dissolution papers… was the same day. Funny. "Yeah," I said quietly, gripping my bag tighter. "I went out to prepare something." I did. A dissolution certificate. That counted, right? He nodded like it was nothing. "Good. At least you didn't forget this year." This year. Did he know… this was also the day everything ended? My thoughts felt messy, tangled, but I didn't say anything. My left hand drifted to my bare wrist, fingers tracing the skin where my grandmother's bracelet had once sat. The ghost of it. Then I let my hand fall. "I'm flying to Paris tomorrow," he continued, adjusting his cuff like he was talking about a routine piece of business. "Taking Ambra with me. She's been wanting to go for a while." Of course she had. "So I cleared today," he added, glancing at his watch. "I booked a place. Rooftop, private, no interruptions. We'll celebrate properly this time." Properly. Now? After everything? "I'll give you your gift later," he said, already grabbing his jacket. "Get ready. We're leaving." He walked toward the door like it was already decided. Like I would follow. The way everyone in the Valente world followed when the Don moved. I didn't move. Not even a step. He stopped when he realized, then turned back, his brows pulling together. "What are you doing? Don't just stand there." I looked at him. This man. The one I waited for, loved, endured for five years. Should I tell him now? Should I just say… it's over? My lips parted. But nothing came out. After a few seconds, I lowered my gaze. "I… have something to finish. You go ahead. I'll follow later." He stared at me for a moment, like he was trying to read something. His right thumb moved against the heavy silver ring on his hand, one slow rotation. Then he gave a short nod. "Fine. Don't take too long." And just like that, he left. The door closed. His car started outside, the low growl of the engine carrying through the compound walls. I walked to the window and watched as it drove away, past the iron gate with the Valente crest, slowly disappearing down the private road. First time in five years… he remembered our anniversary. One month late. And the first time, I didn't care anymore. I took the document out of my bag. Brand new. Clean. Final. I placed it on the table. Then I picked up my suitcase. Everything I had left. I walked to the door, paused for a second, then opened it and stepped out. This time, I didn't look back.