Begging to be Loved again by the Mafia Heiress

Seeing Sofia's message pop up on Alfonso's phone, I felt… nothing. Betrayal had lost its sting somewhere along the way. It was almost predictable now.

I closed my eyes, taking a slow, steadying breath before I stood. You have to keep moving, I reminded myself. I couldn’t let them hold me down, couldn’t let them keep turning my life into something small and miserable.

The thought gave me strength. I straightened, looking around our shared space one last time, and then headed for my things to start packing.

At dinner, Alfonso casually mentioned his upcoming trip to Paris, his tone expecting the usual eagerness from me. But I just nodded, not bothering to look up. I could feel his eyes narrow, his irritation surfacing more quickly than I’d expected.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” He demanded, disbelief written across his face.

I glanced up, holding his gaze for a second longer than usual. “Like what?”

His mouth twitched, and he let out a scoff. “Maybe something like, ‘Have a great trip,’ or are you planning on sulking the entire time?”

I bit down on my lip to keep my response measured, but the sting of his words burned. “I guess I just assumed you’d be too busy to care about my well-wishes,” I replied coolly.

“Don’t be childish,” he snapped, his voice rising. “It’s just a trip, Liliana. Do you have to make everything about you?”

The bitterness I’d been holding back finally bubbled up, but I forced it down, the way I always had. He continued ranting, rattling off how my behavior was “immature” and “exhausting.” But I was only half-listening now, my mind drifting to the countless moments just like this one, moments I’d put aside for the sake of peace. I was always the one to smooth things over, always the one to say sorry—even when I wasn’t wrong. It was like a reflex, something I’d trained myself to do without a second thought. The realization made me feel sick.

“You know what? I’m done with this,” Alfonso said suddenly, throwing his hands up as if I were the one making him miserable. “I’m leaving.”

I didn’t flinch. “Fine,” I said, my voice steady. “Do what you want.”

He paused, clearly taken aback. Usually, this would be the part where I softened, where I’d apologize and try to fix things. But this time, I stayed rooted at the table, meeting his glare with silence. I watched him falter, then straighten up, his pride pushing him to storm off, waiting one last moment for me to follow.

But I didn’t move, and as the door finally clicked shut behind him, a strange, quiet resolve settled over me.

I wouldn’t be the one apologizing this time. Not anymore.

Later that night, as I was drifting off to sleep, my phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number. Half asleep, I reached for it, barely paying attention—until I saw the words on the screen. My drowsiness vanished, replaced by sharp awareness. I sat up, my heart skipping a beat.

"They’ve been waiting for your comeback, Donna Liliana."

Only a few people ever called me that, people from a world I thought I’d left behind. And I knew exactly who this was, or who they were.