Mafia Husband, Please Sign for My Divorce！

Three days later, early in the morning, Jimmy returned to the compound. One arm was wrapped around Kim while the other carried a baby cradle.

"Dorothea," he said, "Kim's been discharged from the hospital. She just gave birth, and she's still in a bad condition. I'm going to have her stay here so it'll be easier to take care of her."

Holding her eldest daughter Chrisette by the hand, Kim gave Dorothea a soft, apologetic smile.

"Sorry to trouble you, Dorothea."

Two soldiers flanked the doorway behind them, eyes forward, saying nothing. They had carried the luggage in. They would carry whatever Jimmy told them to carry.

The moment Chrisette stepped inside, her eyes lit up. She let go of her mother's hand and immediately began exploring the compound's main house, reaching for a crystal vase on the entry table with the uncomplicated certainty of a child who had already been taught that everything here was hers.

Jimmy glanced at Dorothea. "Once Kim finishes her postpartum recovery, and when the second child is officially registered under the Valente name, she'll formally acknowledge you in public with a toast at the christening."

At that point, Kim would be publicly acknowledged as part of the Family. Brought into the fold before God and the inner circle, seated at the table where only blood and marriage earned a place.

"From now on, the two of you should get along. Stay by my side together."

Stay by his side together with his mistress.

A cold, mocking smile flickered in Dorothea's heart, but she simply nodded. "Alright. No problem."

After all, she would be gone in a month.

A trace of surprise crossed Jimmy's eyes. He studied her the way he studied men across the table during a sit-down, looking for the angle. "You're agreeing just like that? You're not going to make a scene?"

Dorothea frowned slightly, as if confused. "Make a scene? Why would I? Didn't you say I should behave?"

Jimmy released Kim and stepped forward, wrapping an arm around Dorothea's waist as he led her aside. His thumb rolled the signet ring in one slow, absent circle before his hand settled on her hip. The gesture was possessive, not tender. A Don's claim made in front of the woman he'd brought to replace her.

"I know having Kim move in will make you uncomfortable."

As he spoke, he placed a key in her palm.

"This is for a newly built estate in Bel Air. I've already bought it and registered it under your name. Think of it as compensation."

The key was warm from his pocket. Dorothea closed her fingers around it and felt nothing.

Just then, Chrisette came running down the stairs, her small shoes loud against the marble.

"Daddy! While you were talking, I already picked a room for Mommy! The biggest one at the end of the hallway. The one with a view of the garden downstairs. Mommy will surely love it!"

Jimmy nodded. "Kim just gave birth. She needs proper rest. The master bedroom gets the most sunlight. It's the most suitable."

He turned to Dorothea, saying, "Dorothea, go move your stuff out of the master bedroom for Kim."

That was the master bedroom. The bedroom he and Dorothea once shared.

The day they first moved into the compound, Jimmy had eagerly taken her upstairs the moment they walked in. The soldiers had still been unloading the cars outside, and he'd pulled her by the hand up the staircase like a boy showing off something precious.

"Dorothea, I designed this room myself. It's all based on what you like."

A starlit ceiling. A European-style double bed. Soft pink walls. The scent of fresh paint and gardenias because he'd known they were her favorite, and he'd had them placed on every surface.

And now, he was asking her to give it up. To strip it clean for the woman he'd put in her place.

Now, it didn't matter anymore. She was leaving soon anyway.

"Okay," Dorothea said quietly before turning and heading upstairs.

She packed everything: her clothes, her jewelry, all of her personal belongings. She folded each item with the same deliberate precision she brought to sheet music, each crease exact, each movement controlled. She even took down their wedding photos from the wall. The frames left pale rectangles on the wallpaper where the sunlight hadn't reached.

Every trace of her existence in the master bedroom was erased, as if she had never lived there at all.

She moved into a guest room on the first floor. It was small, facing the interior courtyard rather than the gardens. The window looked out onto the stone wall that bordered the compound's eastern perimeter. Through the glass, she could see the security camera mounted on the corner post, its red light blinking in slow, patient intervals.

Sitting by the window, she placed her hands flat on the table, imagining piano keys beneath her fingers. Her left hand drifted to cover her right knuckles for a moment, pressing gently against the bones that had healed but never forgotten. Then she spread her fingers wide, positioned them over invisible keys, closed her eyes, and began practicing the piece in her mind.

A quiet resolve began to take shape in her.

Once Olga finished arranging everything, she would return to the world of piano performance and pursue her dream of becoming a pianist. She would walk out of this compound, out of the Valente name, out of the life that had cost her a kidney and her fertility and nearly her hands, and she would sit before a concert grand and play until the audience heard nothing but the music and knew nothing of the blood behind it.

She was completely immersed in the music in her head when the door suddenly burst open.

Jimmy stormed in, his face red with rage. The door hit the wall hard enough to crack the plaster.

"Dorothea! I knew it! You're not as simple as you pretend to be!"

"If you're unhappy, take it out on me! Hit me, yell at me, whatever you want! But why would you go after my child?!"