When the Don Buried His Wife

I stopped responding to Sofia.

She never got tired of it.

Any time Kayson was with her, my phone would light up. A photo. A message. Some smug little reminder that while I still wore his name, she was the one getting his time, his attention, his hands on her body.

I ignored every one of them.

At that point, there was only one thing I cared about.

Two more days.

In two days, I would be gone.

That afternoon, I took down the lacquered keepsake box from the back of my dressing room shelf.

For years, I had kept everything in it.

The handwritten cards Kayson used to leave for me. The black-and-white photo from the night we first met. The invitation from the gala where he publicly pursued me for the first time. A pressed white rose from the glass garden he built when he proposed. Even the silk ribbon from the box that had held my wedding veil.

I had saved them all carefully, foolishly, like they were pieces of a future we would one day look back on together.

Now they were only proof that I had once believed in a man who knew exactly how to love me and still chose to betray me.

One by one, I fed them into the fire.

That was when Kayson came in.

“Baby?” His voice reached me a second before his footsteps did. “What are you burning?”

I said. “I was clearing out the room and found a few things I don’t need anymore.”

At once, he came up behind me and drew me gently back from the fireplace, his hand firm around my wrist, then my waist, like protecting me was still the most natural instinct he had.

“Then let the staff handle it,” he said, already frowning. “Why are you standing this close to the fire? What if you got hurt?”

All of his attention was on me.

He never once looked into the flames.

If he had, he would have seen his own handwriting still visible on the half-burned edges. He would have seen his name before the fire swallowed it whole.

“Baby, I’ve finally cleared most of the family business off my plate,” he said, his voice warm, almost careful now, as if trying to make up for something without naming it. “I’m free today. I can spend the whole day with you. Anywhere you want to go, I’ll take you.”

His arm was still around my waist when he said it. His dark eyes were full of that same tenderness, that same indulgent affection the whole city knew him for.

Anyone watching would have thought this was love.

I said, “Let’s go to the shooting range. I haven’t been in a while.”

That was where we first met.

It felt fitting to say goodbye there.

Kayson smiled and nodded without hesitation.

“Whatever you want, tesoro.”

When we arrived, several of his men were already there.

His underboss. Two caporegimes. A few other core men from the family.

And standing beside them, dressed in black training gear that hugged her too well to be innocent, was Sofia Romano.

She did not look surprised to see me.

If anything, her smile deepened, bright and polished and far too comfortable, like she had known all along I would be brought here.

She stepped toward me first, all graceful confidence, and offered a smile so polite it was almost insulting.

“So you must be Miss Bellini,” she said. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

The air changed instantly.

Kayson’s arm tightened around my waist for half a beat before he let it go. His face cooled at once, and when he looked at Sofia again, his voice had gone flat.

“That’s my wife,” he said, each word precise enough to cut. “You will address her as Donna Moretti.”

Sofia’s expression froze.