When the Wrong Wife Walked Away

BIANCA

I pulled through the wrought-iron gates of the estate, and the first thing I noticed was my husband's car. It was parked at an odd angle in the drive, the windows fogged from the inside.

My heart dropped as I approached it. The sounds of grunting started growing louder.

Trembling, I reached for the door handle and pulled it open. There was my so-called husband, Vincenzo Ravello, Don of the Ravello Family, tangled up with his old mistress Gemma right in front of the house his own father had died in.

After five years of being disrespected and humiliated by his women, this was a new low, even for him.

Gemma's head was thrown back. She was panting, a satisfied smirk on her painted mouth. Vincenzo, on the other hand, looked as bored as a man reading the morning ledgers, as if I didn't even exist.

As they finally untangled themselves and stepped out of the car, Gemma's gaze landed on me. Her fingers drifted up and stroked something at her throat.

"Sorry, Bianca," she said, the sarcasm clear in her voice. "I've always wanted to try it in the car, and Vincenzo was sweet enough to cross it off my list. He's magnificent, as always. But you wouldn't know that, would you? He's never so much as touched you."

She tossed a crumpled tissue at my feet. "You should clean that up. We made quite a mess in there."

My cheeks burned with humiliation as I stared at the tissue on the paving stones.

Vincenzo's cold voice cut through the thick silence. "And while you're at it, come inside and put dinner on the table. I'm starving."

Dinner? After what I'd just seen? The audacity of it made my blood boil.

How dare he treat me like hired help after disrespecting me in the worst way a man could disrespect his wife?

Gemma giggled, and I wondered what the hell was funny.

"Yes, the useless wife can see to the chores while we enjoy ourselves," she said.

Five years of a marriage the Commission had arranged, and this was what it had been reduced to.

……

I wanted to scream, to throw the tissue back in their faces. Instead, I simply watched them walk into the house.

Vincenzo had been unfaithful for years, with a different woman every time the mood took him. By now, I was used to it.

But Gemma was different. He was actually in love with her. And that was something I could never have.

Being alone without a man who wanted me was better than being chained to one who didn't.

My heart broke every time he had said it aloud: You will never be my true wife, never the Donna of this Family.

In five years of marriage, he had said those words to me five whole times.

I should have accepted the first renouncement. But I held on, foolishly hoping he'd change his mind.

The elegant gown I still had on now felt like a ridiculous, overpriced costume.

Vincenzo and I were supposed to appear together that evening at the Family's charity gala, the kind of glittering front where hotel money and dirty money shook hands under the chandeliers. Of course, he had stood me up.

I felt so stupid, standing alone all night while every other wife arrived on her husband's arm.

I had been looking forward to it, hoping it might be a chance for us to find our footing again.

Of course, he had let me down once more, choosing Gemma instead.

I kicked the tissue across the stones and slammed the door shut behind me.

That was the final straw. I couldn't keep letting them walk all over me, couldn't keep being the joke whispered about at every sit-down. Enough was enough.

I walked straight into the kitchen. I wanted to make something absolutely delicious. I was a fine cook, even if Vincenzo had always taken that for granted.

I decided on my famous lasagna, which happened to be his favorite. The scent rising from the oven was heavenly, and I felt satisfied.

Carrying the plate through to the sitting room, I found Vincenzo and Gemma curled up together on the sofa, watching some mindless program.

"Dinner's ready," I announced in an even tone.

Gemma's head lifted at my words, and she flashed me a sickly smile. "Oh, Bianca. Finally. We're absolutely starving." She made no move to rise, only burrowed deeper into Vincenzo's arms.

Vincenzo glanced over, a hint of irritation in his eyes. "Well, don't just stand there. Serve it up, would you?"

"Actually, I'm afraid there isn't enough for the two of you. I only made it for myself."

I watched their expressions shift from confusion to outrage.

"What do you mean, there isn't enough?" Vincenzo said, his gray eyes narrowing. He cracked one knuckle of his right hand, slow, deliberate. "You'll get back in that kitchen and make us something now."

Gemma chimed in, her hand sliding up to that necklace at her throat again. "Isn't that all you're good for? Cooking and cleaning? Fix us something to eat. Right now."

I shook my head. "I'm sorry, but I'm not your personal chef. If the two of you are hungry, you're more than welcome to go into the kitchen and cook something yourselves."

Vincenzo's face twisted. In one swift motion, he knocked the plate from my hands.

The ceramic shattered against the floor, food scattering everywhere. He cracked another knuckle, then another.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he said, rising to his full height over me, his voice low the way a Don's voice gets when he has stopped pretending to be reasonable. "Since when did you get a spine?"

Gemma cackled from the couch. "Ooh, you should have dumped it on her head, tesoro. Maybe that would've knocked some sense into her."

I flinched at her words, feeling the sting of tears in my eyes. But I refused to let them see my pain. Instead, I rose to my feet and met Vincenzo's furious gaze head-on.

"Listen to me, for once. I'm done being your doormat. This sham of a marriage is over."

I paused, taking a deep breath to steady my nerves. My thumb found the bare band of skin on my ring finger where the Family heirloom should have sat, and pressed against it.

"I, Bianca Falcone, of the Falcone bloodline, hereby renounce this marriage pact, and I renounce you."