After the Don’s Wife Left, She Returned to Her Empire

Bianca's Pov

After Dante left, I didn't move immediately.

I stood there for a while, the signed document still in my hand, letting the silence settle around me before I finally walked to the desk and picked up my phone.

I dialed Matteo Vitale. The call connected quickly.

"I've signed it," I said calmly. "And so has he. I'll send the documents over now."

"I'll prepare everything on my end," he replied.

"There's something else," I added, my voice lowering slightly. "I found out the truth about my mentor's death."

There was a brief pause on the other end.

"What do you mean?"

"It wasn't an unsolved hit," I said. "The driver confessed. The case was settled quietly. And the person responsible is Celia."

The silence this time was heavier. Through the phone I could hear the faint creak of his chair, and I knew he had leaned forward, the way he always did when the stakes changed.

"I have proof," I continued. "And I want to file suit. Against Dante for burying it. And against Celia for the hit itself."

Matteo Vitale inhaled slowly. "Understood. We'll proceed carefully."

"I'm leaving soon," I said. "On the day I leave, I want everything to come out. I want the truth exposed."

"It will be done."

I ended the call and immediately sent him the scanned alliance severance papers along with the evidence I had copied earlier.

My phone buzzed again. It was a message from Celia.

For a moment, I stared at the screen without opening it. I already knew it wouldn't be anything good. She had never sent me anything unless it was meant to hurt.

I almost ignored it but then I picked up my phone and saw it was a video so I opened it.

My fingers hovered over the screen for a second before I pressed play.

The room in the video was familiar. It was the master bedroom of the Falcone estate, my old room, the one she had taken.

The camera angle was careless, as if it had been placed there on purpose just to capture everything.

The sheets were a mess, the lights dim, and both of them were under the covers, bare shoulders exposed, their bodies close enough that there was no need to guess what had just happened.

Celia leaned against Dante's chest, her fingers tracing slow, lazy patterns against his skin.

"Do you think Bianca suspects anything?" she asked softly.

Dante let out a quiet scoff.

"Even if she does, what difference does it make?" he said flatly. "She's not exactly the type to do anything about it."

Celia's lips curved slightly, her tone turning gentle in a way that didn't match her expression.

"Don't say that… she's your wife after all."

Dante didn't hesitate.

"Everything with her feels forced," he said. "Even in bed, she's stiff. Boring."

My grip tightened around the phone.

Celia let out a soft gasp, like she was surprised, but her fingers didn't stop moving against his chest.

"Don't be too hard on her," she murmured. "After all… she's already lost everything."

Her voice was soft, almost kind. But the satisfaction beneath it was unmistakable.

Dante let out a low chuckle. "Let's stop talking about her. Come and ride me, baby girl."

Celia giggled and I watched as she straddled him and the video went dark but their moans still sounded loudly until it ended.

For a moment, I just stared at my reflection on the screen.

Slowly, I let out a breath. Then I smiled faintly. She really thought this would hurt me.

Maybe it would have before my child died. Before they burned everything I had left of Gabriel D'Angelo. Before I learned the truth.

Now… it felt distant. Like watching two strangers.

If anything, she had just handed me more evidence.

I saved the video immediately and forwarded it to Matteo Vitale without hesitation.

Let her provoke me. Soon, she would understand what it cost.

I had just set my phone down when the door burst open.

"Why are you still here?!"

My mother's voice cut sharply through the room as she walked in, my father following closely behind.

"You should be in the kitchen!" she snapped. "Celia just gave birth. She needs proper nutrition. Where is the soup?"

I looked at them quietly. Not a single question about my condition. Not a single glance at my injuries.

Just Celia. Always Celia.

"You've always been useless," my father added coldly. "If you can't even take care of your sister properly, what use are you?"

I held their gaze for a moment before lowering my eyes slightly.

"I'll go make it now," I said calmly.

My mother huffed. "It should have been done already."

I didn't respond. There was no need to argue and make them suspect my plans of leaving so I simply turned and walked out.

By evening they were all back. Celia, Dante, and my Marchetti. I set the dining table for them with the soup I'd made. The kitchen still smelled of simmered bones and rosemary, and through the archway I could see the bodyguard stationed at the front hall shift his weight, bored, his holster catching the light for half a second.

Celia sat beside Dante, leaning slightly against him, her expression soft and delicate.

My mother kept placing food into her bowl.

"Eat more," she said gently. "You need to recover."

My father nodded. "You've done well giving birth. This family finally has an heir."

An heir.

The word lingered in the air. I lowered my gaze to my plate. My fingers drifted beneath the table to the pale mark where my wedding ring used to sit, pressing it once before I forced my hand flat against my knee.

Across from me, Dante reached out and adjusted Celia's position slightly, his voice soft.

"Be careful. Don't strain yourself."

Celia smiled at him sweetly. "I'm fine. As long as you're here."

My grip on the spoon tightened slightly. Then Celia suddenly looked at me.

"Sister," she said softly, "thank you for making the soup. It really helped."

Her eyes met mine. There was no gratitude in them, only mockery.

"I'm glad it helped," I replied calmly.

She smiled wider. "You've always been so considerate. Even after everything, you still take care of me."

My mother sighed. "That's how she should be. You're her sister."

I didn't say anything, I simply continued eating.

After dinner, I went upstairs. I had just reached the corridor when I heard footsteps behind me.

"Bianca."

It was Celia's voice.

I turned slightly. She stood at the top of the stairs, watching me with that same smile. Her thumbnail pressed into the base of her palm, a small crescent of pressure she didn't seem to notice.

"Are you really okay?" she asked softly. "After everything?"

"I'm fine," I replied.

She stepped closer.

"That's surprising," she said lightly. "I thought you'd be more… broken."

I said nothing.

Her expression darkened slightly.

"You always act like this," she continued. "Like nothing affects you. It's annoying."

Still, I didn't react.

Something in her eyes flickered. "Fine, you'll regret this."

Then suddenly she screamed. Her body tilted backward as if she had lost her balance and in the next second, she fell down the stairs.

"Ah—!"

Her cry echoed through the house.

I stood there, unmoving as footsteps rushed toward us.

"Celia!" Dante's voice was filled with panic as he ran forward, dropping to her side.

She clutched his arm, tears streaming down her face.

"Dante… she pushed me…" she sobbed. "I didn't do anything… I just wanted to talk… to apologize…"

His head snapped up, his gaze locking onto me. Rage filled his eyes.

"What did you do?!" he shouted.

Before I could respond, he stood abruptly and walked past me into the room.

My heart skipped when I saw what he picked up.

The urn. Gabriel D'Angelo's ashes.

My breath stopped.

Dante held it in his hand, his expression cold. The gold saint medal he always turned across his knuckles was nowhere in sight, pocketed or forgotten. His hand was perfectly still around the porcelain.

"Apologize," he said. "Right now."

My chest tightened.

"Put it down," I said, my voice trembling slightly.

"Apologize to Celia," he repeated. "Or I'll smash it."

Something inside me cracked.

"Dante, don't—"

"Apologize!"

"I'm sorry!" I said quickly, my voice breaking. "I didn't push her. I'm sorry!"

But it didn't matter. The urn slipped from his hand and shattered on the ground.

The sound echoed louder than anything else. For a moment, I couldn't breathe. I stared at the ashes scattered across the floor, my mind going blank.

Then the pain hit. It was so overwhelming that my knees weakened slightly as I took a step forward, my hands trembling.

"No…"

My voice came out barely above a whisper.

That was all I had left, all that remained of him. Now it was gone… again.

I dropped to my knees, my fingers shaking as I tried to gather the ashes, but they slipped through my hands just like everything else had.

Dante stared at me, a stunned look on his face.

"Bianca, I didn't—" he started to say but Celia cried louder behind me.

"Dante, it hurts…"

He turned immediately, all his attention shifting back to her as he ignored me.

"It's okay," he said softly. "I'm here."

I remained on the floor, surrounded by what was left of my mentor.

For the first time since waking up, the numbness cracked. Tears fell silently as my shoulders trembled.

But no one saw and no one cared because to them, I had already lost everything.

If only they knew how wrong they were.