His First Love Came Back, So I Left

When I woke up again, my head hurt and everything felt heavy. Because of the injury, I had to stay longer. Domenico never came back. Not once. But I knew why. He was with her. Of course he was. I didn't call him. Didn't text. What was the point?

On the day I was getting discharged, the housekeeper called. "Mrs. Valente, about the Don's birthday feast this year, how would you like to arrange it?"

I held the phone and stayed quiet for a while.

Birthday.

I used to handle it every year. His family never cared about things like that. Power, territory, tribute, the business of running the syndicate… that's all they saw. Not him.

I remembered the first birthday I attended at the estate. Everything looked perfect, but there was food he couldn't eat. Something that could trigger a reaction. I saw him later, alone in his study, taking medicine quietly.

"Why didn't you just tell them?" I asked back then, my chest tight.

"What for?" he said, not even looking at me. "They don't give a shit about that. As long as the Family's running, that's enough for them."

From then on, I took over. Every dish, every detail, everything he liked and avoided. I made sure he never had to deal with that again.

"Mrs. Valente?" the housekeeper called again.

I closed my eyes for a second. "I'll handle it."

This was the last time.

After the divorce… someone else would do it.

Not me anymore.

…

I prepared everything the same way I always did. Careful. Quiet. Like it still mattered. But this time, I made the housekeeper follow me through every room of the estate, step by step, making her remember everything.

"The cake should be a vanilla berry one. He doesn't like anything too heavy and sweet, it makes him sick after a few bites."

"And listen, decorations should be white lilies, not red. He hates anything too loud, says it looks cheap."

"Don't put whiskey on the main table. He drinks it, yeah, but it gives him headaches if he hasn't eaten properly."

I paused, then added softly, "You need to remember all of this. Next time, you'll be the one handling it. Don't mess it up."

The housekeeper looked confused. "Madam… won't you still be the one arranging it next year?"

I didn't answer.

Next time… I won't even be here.

How could I?

On the day of the feast, everything looked perfect. Crystal chandeliers burning gold through the ballroom, soft music threaded between the conversations of men and women who carried holstered secrets beneath their tailored clothes. People laughing like this house actually had warmth in it. I stood at the entrance in a light blue dress, greeting guests one by one, smiling like I always did. Capos and their wives. Associates. Men whose names I'd memorized because Domenico never bothered introducing me. Like I wasn't already gone inside.

Then he walked in.

Domenico.

And beside him was Ambra.

Her arm hooked around his, leaning into him like she belonged there. She wore something soft and pretty, pale pink, light like she was fragile. She looked up at him, smiling. And he looked back.

God… he looked back.

That was when I understood.

He already fixed everything with her.

Of course he did.

His eyes never left her the whole night. When her glass got empty, he noticed right away.

"Don't give her that," he said, voice low but firm, and the soldier pouring drinks froze mid-motion. "Get her something lighter. She doesn't drink much."

When her dress shifted a little, he frowned and called someone over.

"Fix it properly. Don't let it drag."

She laughed at something, eyes curved, soft… and he actually smiled. Not that cold, distant smile he wore at sit-downs. A real one.

I stood there watching for a second too long.

Then I looked away.

What was I even expecting?

He never looked at me.

Not once.

I moved to the side, greeting people like I was just part of the staff.

When it was time to open gifts, people brought out all kinds of expensive things. Jewelry, rare pieces, things worth more than most people's lives. Capos presented envelopes thick with tribute, crystal decanters of aged Sicilian wine, watches that could buy a house. Then mine was brought out. A custom-made fountain pen. Simple, elegant, something I chose carefully because he once said he preferred things like that. Quiet. Useful.

The attendant placed it on a silver tray.

"Mrs. Valente really understands the Don's taste," someone said with a smile. "This kind of piece isn't flashy but it fits him perfectly."

"Yeah, it's refined. Just like him."

Domenico glanced at it, then at me.

For a second, I thought…

"Thanks," he said casually.

That was it.

Then Ambra's gift was brought out.

A small box.

Inside was a handmade leather bracelet. The stitching was uneven, rough in some places, like it wasn't done by a professional.

The room went quiet.

Then someone laughed softly.

"…Seriously? People still give things like this?"

"Looks cheap. I don't think the Don would even touch that."

"Who even let her in here dressed like that, bringing something like this?"

Ambra's face went pale. She stepped back slightly, like she wanted to disappear.

Domenico's expression darkened instantly. He picked up the bracelet and the room went silent. Every voice, every glass, every whispered aside stopped dead. Without hesitation, he slipped it onto his wrist.

"I like this," he said, his voice low but sharp enough to cut through everyone. "At least this one means something. Someone actually put time into it."

No one spoke.

Then his gaze shifted to the pen. He picked it up, looked at it for a second, then let out a quiet scoff.

"This kind of thing…" he said coldly, "you can buy it anywhere. There's nothing special about it."

My chest tightened.

Before I could even react, he tossed it straight into the trash. The sound echoed louder than it should have. The metal bin rang against the marble floor, and the silence that followed was the kind that fills a room after a gunshot.

The whole hall went quiet for a second, then suddenly everyone started agreeing.

"The Don is right, handmade things actually mean something."

"Yeah, expensive stuff is nothing if there's no heart behind it."

"This is way more special, you can tell she put effort into it."

I just stood there.

It felt like all the blood in my body turned cold. I spent three months on that gift. Flying around, checking stores, comparing designs, choosing something I thought… he'd actually like.

And now?

Thrown away like it was nothing.

Just to make her look good.

But wasn't this always how it went?

He could drop everything for her, cancel sit-downs like they didn't matter. But my birthday? He couldn't even remember the date. She got sick and he stayed up all night taking care of her. I had a fever once, burning for hours… and he didn't even call. She said one word and he'd fly across the world. I asked him to have dinner once… and he said he was busy.

Every time… he chose her.

Every single time.

Just like tonight.

I pressed a hand lightly to my chest. It used to hurt so much here. So much I thought I couldn't breathe.

But now…

It was quiet.

Empty.

So this was what it felt like when you finally stopped loving someone?

All that pain, all that waiting… it just disappeared like it never mattered.

Then everyone gathered around Ambra. The same people who mocked her earlier were now smiling, praising her, trying to get close. Capos' wives who would have looked through her five minutes ago now touched her arm and laughed too brightly.

I stood in the corner and smiled a little.

That's how it works here.

One look from him… and everyone follows.

It didn't matter.

After the divorce, he'd probably bring her into the Family properly anyway. This was just the beginning.

The feast ended slowly. Guests left one by one, their drivers pulling dark sedans around the circular drive, soldiers holding umbrellas and opening doors. I stood at the entrance, smiling, saying goodbye like I always did.

Perfect.

Polite.

Like I was still Mrs. Valente. Only when the last guest left did I finally breathe out a little.

When I turned around, they were still there.

Domenico and Ambra.

It was raining hard outside. Cold wind rushed in through the open doors, damp and sharp, carrying the smell of wet stone and the estate's hedgerows. Ambra shivered suddenly and sneezed.

Domenico frowned right away. "You're cold?"

"I'm fine… just a little," she said softly, but her voice sounded weak.

"Fine my ass," he muttered, already taking off his suit jacket and placing it over her shoulders. "You're shaking. Don't act tough."

She held it close, still trembling a little.

"It's still cold…"

His eyes moved.

Then they landed on me. On the scarf wrapped around my neck. A soft wool scarf. The last thing my grandmother made before she passed. The only thing I brought into this family that was truly mine.

"Give that to her," he said.

My fingers tightened instantly. I touched the bare skin of my left wrist without thinking, reaching for the ghost of a bracelet that was no longer there.

"T-this was made by my grandma," I said quietly, my voice barely steady. "It's not something I can just—"

"I know exactly what it is," he cut me off, his tone turning colder. "She's just borrowing it. Why are you making it such a big deal?"