The Don’s Wife Was Never His to Keep

As evening fell, it started to snow in Chicago.

The flakes grew bigger, quickly turning into a blizzard.

Santino finished the family business meeting and returned to the villa, cold and weary.

Santino walked into the hall, swept his gaze across the crowd, and immediately frowned.

"Where is she?"

"Boss, the Miss... she moved into the most secluded storage room.”

the butler,Leo, answered, his voice trembling.

"The most secluded storage room?"

Santino's face darkened instantly.

He strode over and kicked open the door of the storage room.BAM!

The door was kicked open, slamming against the wall.

Santino strode up to me, his gaze sweeping over the shabby room, finally resting on the withered canvas bag I had placed by the bedside.

"What game are you playing now?"

"Fiora merely said she wanted the master bedroom. Who told you to move to a place like this? Are you deliberately giving me the cold shoulder?"

I stood up and looked him straight in the eye.

"All the other guest rooms are filled with Fiora's belongings，only this place is empty. It makes no difference where I stay."

Santino was infuriated by my utterly calm demeanor.

He suddenly grabbed my wrist, his grip painfully tight.

My sleeve was pulled up by him, revealing the ugly scar on my forearm.

The mark left by the bullet I took for him at Trinity Church three years ago.

I nearly died in the operating room from excessive blood loss.

Santino stared at the scar, his eyes flashing with a complex emotion.

But just as quickly, his expression turned even uglier.

"You keep showing this scar off all the time—are you trying to remind me of the debt I owe you?"

"Fiora will be scared if she sees this. It'll trigger her anxiety." Santino let me go and took a step back. "From now on, you will wear long sleeves. Cover this shameful thing up."

He called it shameful. The scar I earned saving his life, he called it a shameful thing.

"If you can't do that, you can go live in the cellar." Santino said, his eyes merciless. "No one will have to look at you there."

He’s trying to sting me, trying to see me pleading desperately for myself, heartbroken like I used to be.He’s waiting for me to break down, waiting for me to bow my head and apologize to him.

I looked at his face, twisted with anger, and felt utterly calm inside.I didn’t argue, nor did I shed a single tear.I wrenched my hand free from his, turned around, and picked up the withered canvas bag.

"Fine.I'll move now."

Santino stared, clearly not expecting me to agree so easily.

"What did you say?"

"The cellar, right?" I said, carrying my bag toward the stairs. "I'll go now."

My compliance finally broke him. It sent him into a rage.

"Enough! What do you want?" He strode after me, snatched the canvas bag from my hand, and flung open the manor gate.

The snowstorm howled in from outside.

Santino threw my bag out into the storm.

The canvas bag tumbled through the snow and landed in the yard, its contents spilling everywhere.

"Since you're so desperate to leave, then get out!"

"Get out of the Falcone house!"

His eyes were wild. "I'd like to see just how many days an orphan like you, with no parents, can survive in this city without me!"

I was wearing nothing but a thin cashmere sweater, but I didn't hesitate.

I stepped over the threshold and into the storm.

I found my canvas bag in the snow and began picking up my scattered things, one by one.

The snow hit my face, biting and cold, but my heart was colder than the storm.

Santino watched my back, then slammed the massive door shut.

The heavy thud echoed through the snowy night.

I brushed the snow off my bag.

My phone lit up.

A voice call from my brother, Matteo.

"Arabella. The Moretti motorcade has just crossed into Chicago. I'll be there in thirty minutes. I'm taking you home."

The snow was coming down harder, a full-blown blizzard.

The wind whipped the ice and snow against my face. My thin sweater was useless against the bone-deep chill.

My legs quickly went numb. Every step was a stiff, dull pain.

But I didn't stop. I didn't look back at the closed black gates of the Falcone estate.

When I reached the crossroads outside the estate, a convoy of twelve black Cadillac Escalades cut through the storm and stopped in front of me.

The door of the lead Escalade was thrown open from within.

My brother, Matteo, strode towards me, his black custom coat flapping in the wind.

When he saw my thin clothes and my face, purple from the cold, a fire ignited in his eyes.

He ripped off his coat, still warm from his body, and wrapped it tightly around me, pulling me into his arms.

"He let you stand in this blizzard, dressed in rags?" Matteo's jaw was clenched so tight it looked like it would break. His voice was thick with pain and suppressed rage. "Arabella, I'm sorry I'm late."

I leaned against my brother's strong, safe shoulder, feeling a warmth and love I hadn't felt in years.

I shook my head, my voice perfectly calm.

"You're not late. You're right on time. Brother, let's go home."

Matteo lifted me into his arms and gently placed me in the back seat of the car.

"I will make that bastard pay," he said in a low voice. "He's about to find out what happens when you cross a princess of the Moretti family."

The heat in the car was on full blast. Feeling slowly returned to my frozen limbs.

The motorcade turned around in the blizzard and sped toward Chicago's private airport.