After My Divorce, I Became the Mafia Don’s Wife

When the maid brought the napkin and pen, the dining room was quiet except for Livia’s broken sobs.

I did not move toward her right away.

Dante was still holding her. Her shoulders shook as she cried, but her fingers stayed locked around the white rabbit toy in her arms. Its ribbon had been twisted out of shape, and a tiny pearl clip was pinned to one ear.

I crouched down until my eyes were level with hers.

“What’s its name?”

Livia looked at me through tears.

I nodded toward the rabbit. “I mean her.”

She pulled the toy closer to her chest and whispered, “Pearl.”

“Miss Pearl.” I nodded. “That’s a beautiful name.”

A faint snort came from the staircase landing.

I did not turn around.

Livia stared at me with the wary look of a cornered animal. “Do you want Daddy to like you too?”

One of the maids lowered her head. Enzo’s expression shifted slightly.

Dante’s arm tightened around her, but he did not interrupt.

I set the spoon beside the bowl and pulled the napkin toward me.

“Tonight, I only want you to eat dinner,” I said. “Whether your father likes me is not my job.”

Livia’s crying paused.

The two boys on the stairs went quiet too.

I drew three small boxes on the napkin, then placed the pen beside it.

“Three bites,” I said. “After each bite, you mark one box. When all three boxes are full, I leave the table and you decide whether I may come back tomorrow.”

Livia looked at the napkin. “I decide?”

“For dinner, yes.”

She sniffed and glanced at Dante, then back at me. “What if I say no?”

“Then I won’t bother you at breakfast.”

The answer seemed to surprise her. She looked down at Pearl as if asking the rabbit for advice.

At last, she whispered, “One bite.”

Dante set her back in the high chair.

I scooped up a small spoonful of soup, blew on it until it cooled, and held it near her lips without touching her. Livia hesitated for a few seconds before opening her mouth.

From the stairs, Nico whispered, “She actually ate.”

Matteo said nothing, but his grip on the banister loosened.

Livia swallowed, took the pen, and marked the first box with a crooked line.

“That counts,” she said.

“It does.”

The second bite took less time. After she marked the second box, she held Pearl closer and studied me again.

“You won’t touch my hair?”

“Not unless you ask me to.”

The third bite went in on her own terms. She leaned forward slightly, swallowed, and drew a hard line through the last box.

No one in the dining room spoke.

“All done,” I said. “Three bites.”

Livia held the rabbit and looked at me. “Will you leave tonight?”

I did not give her a beautiful promise I could not keep. Before that evening, I had not even known which way the Bellandi gates opened. I had no idea whether I would still be here tomorrow.

So I only said, “Not tonight.”

Livia watched me for a long time. Then she pushed the napkin toward me and said softly, “You can come back tomorrow.”

Dante watched me, and something finally shifted in his gray eyes.

He did not praise me. He only turned to the maid. “Heat another bowl of soup.”

The maid answered at once.

Enzo stepped forward. “Don, I’ll have a guest room prepared.”

“Second floor,” Dante said.

Enzo glanced up.

Dante’s tone did not change. “The room beside the nursery.”

Enzo lowered his head again. “Understood.”

When I stood, my knees were slightly numb from crouching too long. Before I could reach for my bag, the two boys had already come down from the stairs.

Matteo reached me first. He handed me a broken music box with a ballerina on the lid, one of her arms missing.

“Livia listens to this before bed,” he said. “It’s broken.”

I took it from him. “I can try.”

Nico moved more slowly. As he passed me with his blanket in his arms, he muttered, “She doesn’t like milk too hot. And she doesn’t like strangers touching her hair.”

Then he seemed to regret saying so much and ran back upstairs.

Livia was still sitting in the high chair, her face streaked with tears, but her eyes stayed on the music box in my hand.

Dante came to stand beside me, his gaze falling on the old music box.

“You handle children’s fear well.”

“I just didn’t rush to touch her,” I said.

He looked at me again, more carefully this time.

“Tomorrow morning. Eight o’clock. My study.”

I thought he meant a formal employment contract.

The next morning, when I opened the study door, I found two documents waiting on the long table.

One was an employment agreement.

The other was a marriage contract.