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

I lowered my gaze, and the world before me slipped into a haze. Large, hot tears splashed onto my swollen knees.

The pain from the wound was sharp, but it barely scratched the surface compared to the ache in my heart.

I flagged down a cab outside the private clinic the Family kept on retainer, and the loneliness in the backseat was a cruel reminder of what I was leaving behind.

As the doctor dressed my injury, she muttered about the patient in the next room, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

"These girls today are just so spoiled," she sighed. "A tiny burn, barely the size of a fingernail, and the young Falcone had half the city calling. Threatened to burn this place to the ground if she scarred..."

She paused, a wistful tone taking over. "You don't get it. That's what it means to be loved. I envy her. She has it all. Handsome, powerful, devoted. She's got a man who'd do anything for her..."

I stared down at the grotesque burn on my thigh, and an involuntary sneer twisted my lips.

Lorenzo was, from the outside, the perfect man. Handsome, feared, and all-consuming, heir to the whole Falcone name. But what did any of it mean without love?

After the doctor finished, I sat on a bench outside the ward, trying to steady myself, lost in thought.

Then Lorenzo and Bianca appeared, walking toward me.

When Lorenzo saw the bandages on my leg, his frown deepened.

"You got hurt too? Why didn't you say anything?"

Before I could answer, he went on, his tone judgmental. "Well, that's your fault. You can't even carry a cup of water properly. Lucky Bianca wasn't hurt. Otherwise..."

Lorenzo, ever the picture of cold indifference, stood there with his arms wrapped tightly around Bianca. His thumb worked the wedding band down to his knuckle and back, though I doubt he knew he was doing it.

Bianca leaned sweetly into him, her voice soft with feigned innocence. "Don't blame her, Lorenzo. It's my fault. I shouldn't have been so selfish, asking her to look after me..." Her free hand drifted to her collarbone, touching the pendant there as if to be sure it was still hers.

Lorenzo's arms tightened around her, protective, as though shielding her from any harm.

"Don't be foolish. I've kept her five years. Even if you treat her like a servant, that's what she's for."

"As long as you're happy, you can make her do anything," Bianca added, her voice dripping with sweetness. The smile came a half-second too late, and dropped the instant his eyes moved off her.

With that, they left, walking off as if nothing had happened.

Not once did Lorenzo care to ask about my injury. Never once sparing a thought for the pain I was in.

I lowered my head, my limbs too weak to move. I tried a few times, but I couldn't find the strength to walk.

"Signora, would you like me to send word to your husband?" the nurse asked gently, her voice full of concern.

I watched them disappear down the corridor, and a bitter smile curled on my lips.

"No. The alliance will be dissolved soon," I murmured, my voice barely audible.

A week passed, and still no sign of Lorenzo.

He had taken Bianca across the country to New York, leaving me behind in the empty estate.

Each day, Bianca sent me photos. Pictures of them wrapped around each other beneath the Statue of Liberty, kissing in the crush of Times Square, kneeling before a sky ablaze with fireworks.

There were too many to count.

On the last night before the five-year mark, I hid beneath the covers, alone in the vast emptiness of the estate. Outside, one of Lorenzo's men still stood his post at the gate, guarding a house with nothing left in it worth guarding.

I flipped through the photos, my hands trembling, each image a sharp reminder of the love I would never have.

By the time I reached the last one, my tears fell uncontrollably, slipping through my fingers like sand.

That night, I finally pulled away the light that had once warmed me, casting me into a cold, unfamiliar darkness.

When the dissolution of the pact took effect, Lorenzo still hadn't come home.

I never got the chance to say a proper goodbye.

With a heavy heart, I packed up everything that was mine and laid the dissolution papers neatly on the low table.

I turned the plain silver band on my right hand once, pressing it hard, and took one last, lingering glance at the estate that had held me captive for five years, its walls now nothing more than cold memories, before walking away without a single look back.

From that moment on, I would be free.

A free soul, no longer bound by the chains of anyone or anything.

It was half a month later when Lorenzo called, just as I was holding an invitation from the master jeweler Salvatore Marchetti.