The Wright Queen

A black Armani suit, perfectly tailored.

The outfit Victoria had waiting for me was worth thirty grand—more than any of the gowns I ever wore as the Moretti family matriarch.

I stood in front of the mirror and looked at the woman staring back. Thirty years old, still beautiful, but her eyes were hollow.

"Ready?" Victoria asked from the doorway.

"Yeah," I said, turning to face her. "One last time."

The Moretti family estate sat on fifty acres of Long Island's Gold Coast. I had lived here for six years, hosted countless dinners, and welcomed capos from all Five Families.

Now, I was walking back in as a traitor.

The core members of the family were all in the living room. Dante stood by the fireplace, holding our son, Leo.

The moment Leo saw me, fear flashed in his eyes, quickly replaced by anger.

"Why is she back?" The seven-year-old clung to his father's neck. "Dad, you said the crazy traitor wasn't coming back!"

Every word was a punch to the gut.

My son, the child I carried for ten months, was looking at me like that.

"Leo, I'm just here to take care of a few things," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

"I don't want to hear it!" Leo shouted, tears welling up. "You betrayed the family! You went on TV and said bad things about Dad! Aunt Angelina said you're a psycho and you'll hurt us!"

"But Leo, I would never hurt you..." I knelt down, trying to meet his eyes.

"Liar!" Leo spun around and buried his face in Dante's chest. "Dad, make her leave! I hate her!"

The memory hit me, sharp and ugly.

A rainy night. I pushed open the study door and saw him with Angelina, tangled together on the couch. Her dress was on the floor, his shirt was wide open.

"Dante!" My voice cut through the silence.

They scrambled apart, fumbling with their clothes. Dante tried to explain—it was a "moment of weakness," he was "under too much pressure," Angelina was just "comforting" him.

I wasn't listening. I just felt the rage and humiliation burn in my chest. I grabbed a glass vase from his desk and smashed it on the floor.

Shards of glass sprayed across the floor. My heart felt like it went with them.

My ankle was cut, blood streaming down, but I couldn't feel a thing.

Then I heard a cry.

Leo was standing in the doorway in his little blue pajamas, his eyes wide with terror. He saw the whole ugly scene: me, unhinged, standing in the wreckage.

I lost him in that moment.

"Isabella." Dante's voice pulled me back to the present. "You've cost this family a fortune. After the media ran with that video, our stock dropped fifteen percent. Our partners are starting to think we're weak."

"I'm aware," I said, getting to my feet.

"So, I'll sign the divorce papers," I continued. "I'm giving up custody of Leo, all claims to family assets, and the Moretti name."

The room was quiet.

But I saw Leo's shoulders relax.

My son was relieved that I was leaving.

Dante walked to the desk and pulled out a thick stack of documents. "I had them drawn up. Once you sign this, Isabella, there's no going back. You'll lose all privileges and protection of the Moretti family. Including," he paused, "the right to see Leo."

I looked at the papers, covered in dense legal jargon. Each line erasing the last ten years of my life.

I pressed my lips together. "I'll sign."