The Don’s Other Woman Was His Real Wife

The men scattered, tripping over themselves to run.

The stairwell was packed with onlookers.

Luca turned to Sofia.

“Are you hurt?”

Sofia threw herself into his arms.

“My ankle. It hurts so bad, Luca.”

Without a word, he lifted her into his arms, and pushed through the crowd toward the exit.

To keep Sofia shielded, he threw his elbow out, and it slammed hard into my chest.

I lost my balance, and tumbled backward down the marble stairs.

My forehead cracked against the edge of a step.

White-hot pain exploded through my skull, and warm blood poured down my face, blurring my vision.

The crowd gasped.

Someone yelled for a doctor.

I lay there, cold sweat breaking out across my skin, my fingers brushing the blood on my forehead. I looked up.

All I saw was Luca’s back, carrying Sofia away, without a single glance back.

He vanished around the corner, and the bitter taste in my mouth was worse than the pain in my head.

Once, when I’d taken a bullet for him, a graze along my arm, he’d panicked so bad he’d carried me through every clinic in Palermo, screaming for the best doctor in Sicily.

He’d refused to leave my side for a week, even when the doctors said I was fine.

Now I lay there, blood pouring down my face, and he didn’t even glance back.

The ring he’d promised me was glinting on Sofia’s finger.

An ambulance took me to a private clinic.

I sat there alone, getting stitches in my forehead, until well past midnight.

When I got back to the estate, it was empty.

Luca never came home that night.

The next morning, I picked up my phone, and the first thing I saw was Sofia’s latest post.

A video.

Luca was on one knee, his head bowed, carefully dabbing ointment on her ankle.

I watched the video on loop, over and over, until my eyes burned.

Eventually, I passed out, slumped against the pillows.

When I woke up, it was dark outside.

My phone was buzzing nonstop on the pillow beside me.

I picked it up, and heard Luca’s familiar gravelly voice on the line.

He gave me an address, and nothing else. “Marina Club. Get here now.”

I got up, washed my face, changed my clothes, and headed over.

The second I pushed open the private booth door, my eyes locked on Sofia.

She sat on the couch, her eyes red and puffy.

Luca was sitting across from her, his gaze fixed on the white bandage wrapped around my forehead.

He said nothing.

The silence stretched on, thick and suffocating.

Finally, I spoke first.

“You called me here. What do you want?”

Luca’s voice was cold, sharp.

“The men who cornered Sofia in the stairwell. You hired them, didn’t you?”

I froze.

My gaze flicked to Sofia, and I caught the flash of triumph in her eyes, gone as quickly as it came.

In that second, I understood everything.

The whole thing had been a setup, from start to finish.

I huffed a bitter laugh, and looked back at Luca.

“No. I didn’t. I don’t know those men.”

But Luca’s face didn’t soften.

“You’ve been with me for seven years. You know who’s in my heart. The Lombardi family is broken, and everyone’s lining up to kick Sofia while she’s down. But it shouldn’t be you. You don’t need to stoop to this, not for me.”

It felt like a hand had closed around my heart, squeezing until I couldn’t breathe.

I thought of those seven years in the countryside.

Of holding him while he screamed into his pillow, unable to make a sound.

Of the nights I’d stayed up, poring over the family’s ledgers, finding the evidence that took down the traitors who’d tried to kill him.

Of the bullets I’d taken, the blood I’d spilled, the life I’d given him.

All of it, every single second, wiped away with one careless sentence.

Finally, I thought of that marriage contract, stamped and signed, and the tears spilled over.

“Seven years, Luca. And I’m only just now finding out who’s really in your heart.”

Luca’s eyes went wide.

His voice cracked, rough and broken.

“What… what did you just say?”

I shook my head, a bitter smile on my face.

“I’m just a servant’s daughter, Luca. What power, what connections, would I have to hire rival family soldiers to go after the Lombardi princess?”

It didn’t matter. He didn’t believe me.

I was tired. I took a deep breath, and let go of every last bit of hope I’d been clinging to.

“If you’re so sure I did it, then tell me. What do you want me to do? What will make this right?”

“Apologize.”

The voice came from Sofia, who’d been sitting quiet, playing the victim, this whole time.

She looked at me, a smug, victorious smile on her face.

“Well, an apology isn’t enough. If you’re really sorry, you’ll drink every bottle of whiskey on that table. All of them.”