After I Left My Mafia Husband, He Shed Tears of Regret

Although Bianca was taken aback, she wasn't surprised.

Vittorio had always had feelings for Viviana. It wasn't exactly unexpected that he would go this far for her.

Once upon a time, Bianca might have taken it personally. But now, she simply replied with quiet composure, "Alright."

After all, she was leaving soon. Whether their wedding portraits were burned tonight or next week made no difference.

For a second, Vittorio froze, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. He'd only said those words out of frustration, annoyed she hadn't given him a way to save face.

Wasn't she the one who used to treasure those things the most? Why's she suddenly agreeing so easily?

Without another word, Bianca called one of the household staff to take down the framed pictures from the wall. They carried them to the back courtyard and burned them until nothing remained.

Viviana, newly returned from a long stay with associates in Naples, had no place of her own yet.

So, Vittorio offered her a room in the main residence of the Barresi estate for a while.

Bianca didn't object. Her tone was even, almost indifferent. "Sure," she said.

She even instructed the house manager to prepare the guest suite next to his bedroom for Viviana, then quietly moved her own belongings into a smaller room on the ground floor of the west wing, closer to the service quarters.

As she was packing, Vittorio's voice came from behind her.

"Come on, Bianca, don't be petty. I know you're jealous, but Viviana's only staying here for a while."

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "You hate sleeping alone. Moving down here, will you even rest properly?"

He hesitated, then softened his tone. "About those portraits. I went too far. If they meant something to you, we can take new ones. When there's time."

He stepped closer, reaching to hug her from behind, only for her to slip out of reach.

Turning to face him, she met his gaze. Calm. Clear.

To be fair, Vittorio had never been cruel. In the three years they'd been bound by oath and sacrament, he'd done enough to make her believe that perhaps the match had been meant to hold.

But every time Viviana reappeared, he never hesitated. He always chose her.

Bianca loved him. She really did. But what she wanted wasn't love handed out with conditions or affection that came second to someone else.

"I'm not jealous," she said quietly. "You've been dealing with Family business late into the night. Sleeping alone helps me rest better."

Her words, spoken so evenly, unsettled him more than anger would have.

Vittorio's expression hardened. He smoothed the knot of his tie until it sat too tight against his collar. He wasn't used to defiance, especially not from her. He had already lowered his pride. This was supposed to be the moment she softened, as she always had.

"Whatever," he said curtly. "By the way, what was that document you had me sign earlier today?"

Bianca's lips curved faintly. "A little gift for our third anniversary. You'll know soon enough."

That eased his temper a fraction.

He knew Bianca didn't like Viviana's presence, but Viviana had only just returned to Frostmere and he was simply helping her settle in.

Once her new apartment in the city was ready, she'd leave. He told himself that. Soon, everything would return to normal. He'd still live properly with Bianca, as duty demanded.

"Alright. It's late. You should get some rest."

When Bianca brushed past him, he instinctively lifted his arms for the usual goodnight embrace, but she walked straight by, silent as snowfall.

He stood there, the faint scent of her perfume fading down the corridor, something restless turning behind his ribs.

Something about her was different tonight. He just couldn't name it.

The night deepened. Rain started against the windows of the Barresi estate, faint and cold.

Bianca, already asleep, was yanked from her bed and dragged upstairs by two of Vittorio's soldiers.

Her shoulder slammed into the wall of Vittorio's bedroom. Pain bloomed through her ribs, the breath knocked from her lungs.

Dazed, she blinked through the haze, and then heard his voice, cold and sharp as a blade laid flat.

"I understand your jealousy, Bianca," Vittorio said, his dark eyes burning, "but drugging Viviana? That's a line even you shouldn't cross."

Her pulse spiked. "What?"

She looked up, vision swimming.

On the bed, Viviana lay trembling in Vittorio's arms. Her skin flushed crimson, her breath ragged, sweat slicking her brow. Her whole body shook as though something toxic was working through her blood.

"I didn't do it!" Bianca's voice cracked.

Viviana whimpered, clutching at Vittorio's chest. "I only drank the tea you gave me… I didn't have anything else…"

Bianca's eyes narrowed. "You asked for that drink! I had some too. Why am I fine, then?"

"And what would I gain from drugging you?" Her tone turned scathing. "Viviana, if you're going to frame me, at least try harder."

She was telling the truth. But truth had no power in the face of well-crafted tears.

Viviana began to sob harder, her voice weak and trembling. "Forget it. If she says I faked it, then maybe I did. I… I have nothing else to say."

Bianca's hands curled into fists. Fury boiled beneath her skin, trapped and caged. It felt like punching water. No resistance, no justice.

That was the last straw for Vittorio. His voice dropped to a deadly growl.

"That's enough, Bianca! This isn't the first time you've done something like this. You know what happened three years ago."

His words dropped like a hammer.

"You really think someone with your record deserves trust?"

Just like that, one sentence condemned her.

Bianca stared at him, teeth gritted. "I'll say it again," she said in clenched teeth, each word crystal clear. "I did not drug you three years ago."

That night haunted her still. She'd gone after him when she heard he was drinking alone at a private club near the docks. Worried, she'd followed him, only to find him already drugged, barely conscious in a back room.

Yes, she loved him. Yes, one reckless night had changed everything. But she never planned it.

He had never believed her. And from that moment on, it became the wound neither of them could heal.

"Vittorio, I can't… I can't help it…" Viviana moaned, her fingers tightening around him. Her body trembled violently, sweat darkening the silk of the pillowcase beneath her.

Vittorio frowned, pushing her back slightly, but Viviana snatched a letter opener from the bedside drawer and dragged it across her arm.

Blood welled instantly, crimson bright under the lamplight.

"I know I'm a burden," she sobbed. "I should just disappear… so you don't have to worry about me anymore…"

The scent of blood hit the air like a gunshot, sharp and impossible to ignore.

Vittorio clenched his jaw, seized the blade from her hand and growled lowly, "I'll help you."