Forced to Divorce, I Wed the Man He Fears Most

On the third day, while packing, I found Erico's pocket watch—a family heirloom.

After giving it some thought, I decided to return it to him.

…

The door to the top-floor office at the Vitale Group skyscraper was left slightly ajar, and laughter spilled out.

"Did Nina really agree to the divorce?"

The voice belonged to Marcus Bellandi, Erico's right-hand man.

"Of course," Erico said confidently. "The Livigni family is long gone. Right now, she's just someone clinging to the Vitales for survival. If I want a divorce, she'll sign the papers. If I ask her to marry me again, she'll have no choice but to agree, too. That's the reality."

I froze outside the door, the pocket watch burning in my hands.

"She needs me," he continued. "When I found her among the rubble four years ago, she couldn't even speak in full sentences. I was the one who taught her to talk again, to live again. She can't live without me."

"So after the docks are yours, you'll really ditch Joanna?"

"Of course," Erico said airily. "Joanna's just a spoiled little lady who thinks love conquers all. Once the Rosetti family's value is squeezed dry, she'll learn that there are no fairy tales in the mafia."

The pocket watch slipped from my trembling hands, clattering onto the marble floor.

Erico stepped out when he heard the sound. When he saw that it was me, he didn't bother with any excuses and just asked why I was there.

I didn't answer. I merely turned and left.

That afternoon, I moved back into the old Livigni family apartment in Velorton District. Four years of neglect had left dust everywhere.

But I needed this place. It was the only space I had left that had nothing to do with the Vitales.

At 9:00 pm, the doorbell rang. Erico stood outside the door, a bottle of red wine in hand.

"Not going to invite me in?" he asked, as casually as if nothing had happened.

I stepped aside. He walked into the living room, his brows knitting as he glanced around. "This apartment is too old. I'll send someone to clean it tomorrow—"

"No need," I cut him off. "I like it this way."

He set the wine down and turned to pull me into his arms.

"I'm sorry about this afternoon. But don't worry. You'll always be my wife."

The doorbell rang again.

Erico released me and went to open the door. It was Joanna Rosetti.

"Erico! Nina!"

She walked in, sizing up the apartment as if she owned the place. "Wow, this place has a vintage vibe! I hear the Livignis used to live here?"

"What do you want, Joanna?" I asked.

"Oh, Erico said your lemon tarts are the best in all of Layshire," she said, batting her eyelashes. "I wanted to try them, so he brought me along. You don't mind, right?"

I looked at Erico. Did he think I was his maid?

He shrugged. "Just make them this once. Let her see what she's missing."

In the kitchen, I tried to stay calm while I made the lemon tarts. Erico leaned against the doorframe, watching me, while Joanna sat in the living room flipping through my photo albums.

"She's going through my things," I said to Erico.

"She's just curious," he replied, stepping behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist. "Once the tarts are done, we'll leave, okay?"

Just as I was about to slide the tarts into the oven, Joanna wandered into the kitchen. "It smells amazing."

As she approached the oven, she "accidentally" bumped my elbow, and the tray tilted. The tarts fell onto the floor in a sticky, ruined mess.

"Oops!" she exclaimed, covering her mouth. "Mi dispiace, Nina. I didn't mean to!"

I stared at the mess on the floor, at Erico's furrowed brows, and at the flash of smug satisfaction in Joanna's eyes—and I clenched my fists in anger.

Joanna acted like she didn't see any of this. "Oh, well, we can't eat them now. Come on, Erico. We'll go to a restaurant instead."

She tugged Erico toward the door. At the threshold, he glanced back and said, "Get some rest, Nina."

The door clicked shut.

I knelt on the floor and used a cloth to wipe up the sticky lemon curd and shattered crust, but my hands trembled so badly that I could barely hold the cloth properly.