A Donna's Final Decree

After I handed over the Cianci family’s crucial Desert City casino project to Bianca Gallo—my husband’s mistress—he mistook my compliance for surrender. He thought I’d finally broken after his three-month-long silent treatment. He proposed a trip to the French Riviera to "compensate" me.

He beamed. "Let's go to the French Riviera, Lia. We can start over."

When Bianca heard, she threw a tearful tantrum and threatened to leave the family. Her usual trick.

Brodie, completely bewitched, panicked. After three full days of placating her, he canceled our trip, citing "urgent family business"—then gave my first-class ticket to her.

He just shrugged, dismissing me with a wave. "Emotions are a luxury, Lia. Family interests come first. You're my wife. You should understand the bigger picture."

Of course.

I just stared at Bianca’s latest post: an intimate photo of them on a private jet. She was wearing the couture gown I was supposed to wear, and the hand Brodie had resting on her bare thigh wore our wedding ring. I said nothing. Just a slow, deliberate nod.

Brodie thought I was finally playing the part he’d cast for me: the quiet, sensible, elegant Donna. He promised an even grander "compensation" upon his return.

Too bad for him, I had long since decided to exit this game of marriage and power.

Too bad he had already signed the divorce papers with his own hand.

We were over.

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1

The day after Brodie and Bianca left for their romantic getaway, I finalized the transfer of my duties and cleared out my personal office on the top floor of the family headquarters.

Less than ten minutes later, my access was revoked.

The one who approved it, of course, was Brodie.

"Looks like the Don's wanted her gone for a while. Smart girl, knows when to walk away."

"Yeah, clinging on would only make it more humiliating. Wonder what she'll do now."

"Who cares? We bust our asses for peanuts. She's the Donna. Even on the outs, she's got more money than we'll see in ten lifetimes."

As I packed my things, the women who had slept and schemed their way up the ladder watched me, their satisfaction unconcealed.

Nothing new.

Everyone knew Bianca and I were poison to each other. And my husband, Brodie? He always chose her. Sometimes, just to coax a smile from his mistress, he wouldn't hesitate to humiliate me in front of the family elders.

So, the office had a tacit understanding: ostracize me to curry favor with his beloved.

A dry laugh escaped me. "Sorry to disappoint you all," I said, my voice carrying across the quiet office. "I'm not being abandoned. I'm graduating to a kingdom far grander than this, with power you can only dream of."

Without a glance at their stunned faces, I grabbed my box of belongings and strode out.

Then—just as I expected—the moment I hit the street, a call came through from Brodie on his encrypted line.

I was still contemplating how to lay my cards on the table when he opened with a blunt command.

"I sent you a data model. Fix it and send it back within the hour."

So, he had no idea I’d already checked out. Permanently.

I almost laughed. I opened the file. It was the casino project I’d handed over to Bianca. Buried inside was a fatal flaw in the cash flow model, one big enough to trigger a full-blown federal investigation.

The same old routine.

Bianca gets the glory; I do the dirty work.

And if the project went south? I'd be the one to take the fall.

At first, I refused. But Brodie piled on the pressure. When he saw I wouldn't compromise, he resorted to his favorite weapon—the silent treatment, which dragged on for months.

Even before our arranged marriage, my mother had warned me: a family alliance is built on compromise.

Not wanting to create a rift between our families, I gave in time and time again. I naively believed that one day he would see my value, see everything I did for the family.

But this time, just to gift this project to Bianca, he’d started a vicious fight with me, then shut me out for three whole months.

It hit its peak when I was lying in a private clinic, a bullet in my shoulder that was meant for him. He held my hand, not in comfort, but to ask for the password to the casino's money-laundering channels. He needed it so he could hand the credit for my work—my sacrifice—to Bianca.

That was the moment something inside me shattered for good.