The Don's Secret Wife No More

Before I could finish, Cecilia’s voice cut in from his end of the line, a sultry purr.

“Matteo, how much longer are you going to be? The plane’s about to take off.”

Matteo’s voice dropped, sounding rushed.

“Natalia, what did you just say? I didn’t catch that.”

“There’s an urgent matter I need to handle in Las Vegas. Everything else can wait until I get back.”

I stared at the black screen and let out a cold laugh.

I was going to give him a clean break, but he couldn’t even give me that.

In the days that followed, I finished all power transfers and asset withdrawals.

I moved my things back to the Rossi family estate.

My father’s study was exactly as he’d left it.

“Welcome home, Miss,” our butler, Antonio, said respectfully. “Your room has been prepared.”

In the days that followed, Matteo sent me messages every day.

A castle hotel on the shores of Lake Como.

A Victorian chapel.

A three-million-dollar custom wedding gown.

Every picture came with the same text: For you.

It looked like he was finally trying.

But at the same time, Cecilia was posting daily videos to her private social media.

Her and Matteo, popping champagne in the presidential suite at Caesars Palace.

Her, walking through casinos in a million-dollar Hermès couture gown.

Her, filming from Matteo’s private jet, showing off a new Cartier bracelet on her wrist.

Every video was a declaration to the world: she was the woman Matteo adored.

The day before Matteo’s promised wedding, Tony came to me in a hurry.

“Miss, you need to see this.”

He handed me a tablet.

The video showed the VIP lounge of the Bellagio. And there was Matteo, down on one knee in front of Cecilia.

He was holding a box. Inside was a massive pink diamond ring.

“Cecilia, marry me.”

The Matteo in the video had eyes full of love, his voice so tender I almost didn’t recognize it.

The crowd around them erupted in cheers.

Cecilia cried as she nodded. Matteo slid the ring onto her finger and kissed her deeply.

I recognized the ring instantly. The five-million-dollar pink diamond he had promised me.

“Should I take care of this video?” Tony asked.

“Wipe the source. Blacklist anyone associated with it,” I said calmly. “Don’t let anyone see it again.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

After Tony left, my phone rang.

It was Matteo, his voice buzzing with excitement. “Natalia! Great news! I’m coming back to Chicago tomorrow. We can finally have our wedding!”

“A Victorian chapel, the best florist in Chicago. I swear, there will be no more surprises this time.”

The next day, I didn’t go to the chapel. I went back to the estate where he and I had lived for five years.

It was completely silent.

Noon came and went. No call from Matteo, asking where his bride was.

He didn’t stumble in until 9 p.m., reeking of booze.

He saw me sitting on the sofa, his eyes flashing with guilt.

“Natalia…” he swayed into the living room. “I’m sorry. The wedding… it had to be…”

“Had to be what?” I asked from the couch, my voice flat.

“Cecilia… she had a bad night at the tables. Lost everything. She was a mess. I couldn’t leave her like that.” He collapsed into the chair opposite me. “But next time. I swear, next time…”

Hearing it, I felt nothing.

Sure enough, for the ninety-nine time, he stood me up.

I just watched him, then slid the notarized divorce agreement across the table.

“There won’t be a next time,” I said, “Our alliance and our marriage — both end here..”