The Villainess Wants a Divorce

I left the club and checked into a suite at the Four Seasons nearby. Then I called Luca.

He arrived thirty minutes later, gray-faced.

He stepped inside, clocked the bed, and stammered, "Donna, I swear on everything—I'd never—"

I laughed despite myself and smacked the back of his head. "Idiot. Don't be dramatic."

In the story, Luca was a minor villainess. He ran the club's warehouse, but he also managed the dock shipments, and he'd been skimming from both for years. When Noemi got transferred to the warehouse, she uncovered his operation, handed the evidence to Renato, and earned herself a second act in the love story.

Not if I got there first.

I laid out everything I knew about his operation, line by line. His color drained with each detail. By the end, he'd slid halfway off his chair.

"Did Don Milano send you? Am I getting the last rites?"

Last rites. The family's way of saying a bullet.

"No. Don Milano doesn't know I'm here, and I have no intention of telling him. As long as you follow my instructions, your secret stays with me."

"What do you need?"

"I'll tell you when the time comes. And keep today between us." I leaned in slightly. "We just spent an hour alone in a hotel suite. That's hard to explain, especially with Renato's temper."

I gave him a pat on the shoulder. "Nod if you understand. Then go back to work."

Luca nodded and stumbled out.

I stretched out on the bed and started thinking through what came next. I liked to think with music on, something with weight to it. I settled on Beethoven's Fifth. Good for the baby, supposedly.

I was asleep before the second movement.

A sharp ring cut through my nap. Renato. I checked the time: eight in the evening, his usual hour for coming home.

I ended the call.

He didn't try again. Renato was a Don. People didn't hang up on him.

No rush. He could get used to it slowly. I had plenty of time.

I washed my face and called the family lawyer.

"Draft divorce papers. I need them by tomorrow."

A long pause. "...Whose divorce papers?"

"Mine and Renato's. Obviously."

He collected himself. "Understood. No children yet, no custody dispute. Have you two agreed on the division of assets?"

"Pre-marital property follows the prenup. As for everything we accumulated together, we can let it go."

Sorting through our shared assets was far too tedious. A legal dispute in court dragged on for ages, and I had no patience for that.

"You're... waiving the marital assets? That's very generous of you."

I pulled the phone away from my face and stared at it. Whose lawyer was he?

"I mean he can forget it. Everything we built together goes to me. I'm just not asking for alimony."

A Don had to have some standards.

"Of course. I'll start drafting now and send it over when it's ready."

I hung up, listened to a bit more music, then decided to get some air.

I'd barely stepped out of the hotel entrance when Renato materialized from the side, jaw tight, face unreadable.

I'd always assumed that was just how he was. A Don couldn't afford to show his hand. But then I'd seen him with Noemi: laughing, at ease, completely open.

He was capable of it. He just didn't do it for me.

"You're going to give me a heart attack," I said, one hand going to my chest, the other dropping instinctively to my stomach.

"Why did you hang up on me? I thought you'd been taken."

He said flatly, "Do you have any idea I nearly sent all the family’s soldiers out to look for you?"

"A kidnapping would've been convenient for you. No one standing between you and Noemi."

He paused, then seemed to take this in stride. He straightened up, hands in his pockets, looking down at me.

"Noemi and I are colleagues. That's it. Stop making things up. Let's go. I'm taking you home."

He reached for my wrist.

I stepped back.

His hand hung in the air, fingers still extended. His brow pulled tight.

"Renato." I kept my voice level. "I need to say something."

I looked past him, at the sky beyond his shoulder. The moon hung there, half-eaten, pale and isolated.

"I want a divorce."