Erasing the Future Donna

I had just settled into the car for the ride home. Before the driver could start the engine, my phone buzzed.

The image on the screen seared itself into my mind.

It was a video, sent through an encrypted channel. The scene was dark and intimate, filled with nauseating gasps and moans.

Roxy was draped over Lorenzo's lap like a wildcat in heat, wearing my own wine-red silk nightgown—stolen from my closet and torn.

Her eyes were glazed over, staring defiantly into the camera, as if taunting me.

[If your man can get here in twenty minutes, I'll let him try the new product I just got my hands on.]

Immediately, Lorenzo's profile picture—a snarling black hound—lit up. His reply was two short, urgent words:

[Wait for me.]

I clicked off the video and closed my eyes, fighting the bile that rose in my throat.

I thought I'd gone numb to it all.

But the thrill I could feel radiating from him, all for another woman, was like a dull knife sawing back and forth across my soul.

That night, I curled up at the foot of my bed, my eyes raw and burning.

The encrypted phone on my nightstand vibrated all night long.

Roxy was a demon who wouldn't let me breathe.

From dusk till dawn, she sent a new photo every hour.

My private study was a disaster.

Shredded documents littered the floor, the expensive mahogany desk was smeared with a sticky residue, and the air was thick with the cloying, sweet scent of drugs and sex.

[He couldn't get enough of me. The future Don's stamina is incredible… Is he like this with you? Or does that prim, dead-fish act of yours make it impossible for him to even get hard?]

I stared at the images.

My pride screamed, a wounded animal in the depths of my soul, but it was too weak to even hold my head high, drowned out by his endless betrayal.

Lorenzo didn't stumble home until the first hint of dawn.

He pushed open the door to find me lying in bed, tear tracks staining my face, my knuckles white from gripping the phone.

The delicate thread between us instantly alerted him to my despair.

He rushed over and pulled me into a tight embrace, his voice trembling. "Isolde, why are you crying? Who hurt you?"

I slowly lifted my head and touched my cheek. It was cold and damp.

After a long moment, I forced a broken smile that was uglier than a sob.

"It's nothing. I had a nightmare. I dreamed my fiancé was taken out by a rival family."

Lorenzo's body tensed. Then he gently kissed away my tears, his voice laced with an intoxicating affection. "Silly girl, who could possibly touch me? Don't cry, my love. It breaks my heart."

I was about to speak when the butler knocked respectfully on the door. "Sir, the gowns have been delivered. The Metropolitan Charity Gala is tonight."

Lorenzo acknowledged him, then turned back to kiss the corner of my mouth, his eyes full of guilt.

"Isolde, I was wrong to leave you at the bridal shop yesterday. To make it up to you, I'm taking you to the Met Gala tonight. You're going to be my Donna, and I want the whole city to know it."

I didn't refuse.

Thinking I had forgiven him, he excitedly swept me into the dressing room and began personally selecting jewelry for me, handling me as if I were his most precious treasure.

The Metropolitan Charity Gala was the pinnacle of opulence.

Beneath colossal crystal chandeliers, socialites clinked glasses, the air thick with the scent of money and power.

To appease me, Lorenzo went out of his way to put me on a pedestal.

He publicly announced a major alliance between the Vittorio family and a Chicago outfit, attributing the successful negotiation to my advice.

The Capos of several other families gathered around to tease him.

"Lorenzo, you spoil the Principessa rotten."

"I heard you gave her the family's ancestral estate in Sicily just to see your future Donna smile."

"A future Don this devoted puts the rest of us to shame."

Lorenzo snaked an arm around my waist, his possessive, amber eyes sweeping over the crowd as he spoke in a low, affectionate growl. "Of course. My Isolde deserves the best in the world."

A wave of envious sighs rippled through the room.

Lorenzo bent down, thoughtfully retrieving a glass of champagne for me. He looked at me, his gaze hazy. "Have a little. This fruity one is your favorite."

I took the glass but didn't drink.

Because as he leaned in, I caught a sharp, aggressive whiff of cheap perfume beneath his expensive cologne.

It was Roxy's scent.

The silent slap of it stung my face.

"I've lost my appetite," I said, turning my head away.

Just then, the grand ballroom doors were flung open.

The same scent I’d just detected now flooded the entire room.

Beside me, Lorenzo's body went rigid. The hand on my waist began to tremble.

It was a primal reaction, a war between lust and restraint.

I followed his gaze.

At the entrance, Roxy strode in on stiletto heels, wearing a plunging, deep-V red dress that left nothing to the imagination.

As if she were the star of the evening.

She ignored the shocked stares, her bewitching eyes fixed solely on my fiancé.