After She Walked Away, The Mafia Boss Regretted It

The shop assistant's voice rang out loud and clear in the quiet apartment. The bathroom door swung open almost immediately.

Cesare came out with a towel wrapped around his waist, water still dripping from his hair. He had a family tattoo on his left arm—a falcon with its beak stained in old red.

He had clearly heard every word the assistant said. His easy expression vanished, replaced by something tight and angry. He walked over to me with a deep frown.

"Adriana," he said, his voice low but harsh. "Why can't you think of anyone but yourself? You're rushing me toward marriage without a single thought for what I'm going through."

My heart sank at his cold tone. I hung up the phone and looked up at him.

"It was our promise," I tried to explain, my voice unsteady. "An island wedding. Together. You…"

"Marriage isn't something you just decide on your own," he cut me off, his voice rising. "Have you even thought about how I feel? Do you have any idea what's going on with the family's operations right now? The Romanovs are breathing down our necks at the docks. A wedding right now would be impossible."

"Bianca and Enzo are getting married. And we are supposed to do it together. I just don't want to break the promise," I said quietly.

Cesare stared at me as if he couldn't believe I was being so stubborn about this. He shook his head, and his next words came out hard and cold.

"You are being unreasonable," he scoffed, shaking his head. "This is what happens when I spoil you. I don't have time for an island. If you don't want to embarrass yourself, go cancel the dress tomorrow."

Without another word, he turned and walked to his study. The door closed with a soft but final click.

I sat alone in the living room for a long time. The tears came slowly at first, then wouldn't stop. I didn't bother wiping them away.

Hours passed. He didn't come out. When I finally went to bed around midnight, I lay on my side, listening for the sound of his footsteps. They never came.

I stared at the dark ceiling until the sky outside turned gray. I didn't sleep a single minute.

The next day, Cesare told me that he was going to Chicago for a month-long mafia family meeting. He said that he would also need to negotiate a territory dispute with the Irish mob and settle a debt collection issue that had gone violent with one of their gambling dens.

He packed his own suitcase that morning, which he almost never did.

I watched him from the doorway of our bedroom as he folded his dark suits with precise movements. He didn't look at me. He didn't ask for my help.

I knew what he was doing. He was avoiding me.

In a month, Bianca and Enzo's wedding on the island would take place as planned. By the time Cesare came back, everything would be over.

I had already known his answer. He wouldn't marry me now—not this year, not anytime soon.

But I never expected him to miss his best friends' wedding just to avoid me. That cut deeper than anything he had said.

I drove Cesare to the airport. Not a word was spoken the whole way. He just stared out the window, watching the scenery rush by, refusing to meet my eyes.

At security, Clara was already waiting with two enormous suitcases with a bright smile—as if she were heading off on a honeymoon trip with him.

When she saw me, she smirked. "Don't worry, Miss Vitale," she said, her voice dripping with meaning. "I'll take good care of the Don this month. I promise to keep him happy every single day."

She tilted her head and added, almost sweetly, "Maybe by the time we come back, he won't even remember why he was so stressed." Then she let out a soft, knowing laugh.

I forced a faint smile. "That's very kind of you," I said quietly.

Cesare turned to walk through the security gate. I watched his back for a moment, then suddenly called out, "Cesare!"

He stopped and looked back at me across the crowded terminal.

The sun was pouring through the massive glass ceiling, and his face was dappled with light and shadow. It was still the same face—the face of my beloved one.

He once said he couldn't wait to marry me—to stake his claim, to put his ring on my finger for all to see. That was the man I loved.

When did he change?

The question went nowhere, leaving only a dull, bitter ache in my chest.

Tears burned in my eyes, but I smiled anyway. I spoke softly, so that only I could hear myself.

"Goodbye," I whispered. "We won't see each other again."

The terminal was chaos—announcements blaring, suitcases rumbling, children screaming.

Cesare couldn't hear me. He frowned in confusion and asked, "What did you say?"

I didn't answer. I just waved at him.

Something flickered across his face—uncertainty. He hesitated, and for a brief second, I thought he might actually turn back.

But Clara tugged at his arm. "Don Moretti, we should get going! Otherwise, we'll miss the flight!"

He let her pull him forward, but he kept looking back at me over his shoulder. I smiled and waved until the crowd swallowed them both and they were gone.