Five Years as the Don’s Wife, One Night as His Stranger

"Housekeeper? Or just a maid cleaning up after everyone else?"

Those words, sharp and cruel, echoed in my mind, a refrain I had grown all too familiar with within these walls of the Falcone estate.

At first, they stung, cutting through me like a sharp blade. I found myself questioning, doubting if I really was as worthless as they painted me to be.

But five years ago, I was just as young and radiant as Bianca.

Five years ago, my world had shattered. In an instant, my parents were ripped from me in a tragic accident, leaving only me and my ten-year-old brother, Matteo, battling leukemia.

Desperation had taken root in me, and there was no choice but to leave everything behind. I took whatever work I could find, anything to afford his treatment.

The quickest way to earn the money the doctors demanded? A back-room club run by men who owned half the docks, where I ended up serving drinks and worse to the kind of men no honest girl was meant to know.

When one of them humiliated me, a bottle crashing into my forehead, I thought I'd reached the bottom.

But then, a hand reached down from the darkness, pulling me out.

That was the first time I met Lorenzo.

He had appeared like an angel in my life, lifting me from the flames of my misery.

And in that moment, he offered me a lifeline, an unexpected pact between us.

Five million in clean cash in exchange for five years of my life.

I agreed.

He said he needed a wife to quiet the elder capos and their expectations, someone with no name the Feds could touch, and that he didn't want me seen in public often, only allowing me past the gates twice a week.

I agreed.

So, I spent those five years almost entirely inside this grand estate, behind its walls and its watchful men.

As for Lorenzo, I thought I loved him. I accepted this "imprisonment," and, oddly, I even found a strange comfort in it.

I truly believed I could be his wife forever.

But he never touched me, never allowed me into his inner world.

Then, one day, when he was away on Family business, I couldn't fight the temptation any longer. I slipped into his private rooms, and that's when the truth hit me like a slap in the face.

Lorenzo had always kept a woman.

Bianca.

A daughter of the lesser Costa household, five years younger than me.

I had long grown numb to Lorenzo's endless parade of women. To me, they were nothing more than fleeting distractions, mere tools to satisfy his desires. And I, in my quiet submission, held onto the title of the heir's wife as if it were a badge of honor.

But yesterday changed everything. The moment I saw Bianca stroll into those rooms, the ones I had never been allowed to set foot in for five years, it hit me like a jolt of electricity. I finally understood. It was time to leave.

"Adriana?" Lorenzo's voice sliced through my thoughts, thick with impatience. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

"You called me useless, right?" I replied coolly, turning to face him. My right hand found the plain silver band, and I pressed it once, hard, before my face went smooth again. "Maybe it's time I find work. A housekeeper, a maid," I paused, locking eyes with him. "Five years. I haven't broken any law, haven't broken Omertà, haven't given anyone reason to touch me. Should I just waste away here forever?"

Lorenzo opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Bianca stepped out, sliding into a pristine, brand-new couture gown. It was the same gown Lorenzo had kept locked away, never worn, waiting for the right moment. And now it was on Bianca.

"I didn't expect you to know my size so well," she purred, twirling in front of him. The fabric swirled gracefully around her, her smile arriving a half-second late but gleaming. "Do you think it looks good?"

Lorenzo took Bianca's hand, his usual indifference replaced by something soft, almost affectionate.

"They look amazing," he said, nodding. "As long as you love them, I'll buy you anything."

And then, right there in front of me, they kissed.

Bianca, her cheeks tinged with a hint of shyness, reluctantly pulled away from Lorenzo. "There are others here..." she murmured, her eyes briefly flickering to me. "Do you think the gown Lorenzo chose for me looks good?"

The gown clung to Bianca's form, a shimmering fabric that wrapped around her like it had been made for her, luxurious, radiant, and perfectly suited to her youthful charm.

I nodded; my voice was soft yet genuine as I met her gaze.

"They're stunning."