Dead Women Don't Come Back

The day I was discharged, the sky suddenly opened up in a heavy downpour. By the time I returned to our home, the Villa Bertelli, I was completely soaked.

The moment Nico saw me, he dramatically pinched his nose and exclaimed, "You stink! You're getting the carpet all dirty!"

The smell of rain and mud was not even that strong. He only did that to amuse Martina, who was sitting in the main seat of the living room, wearing my finest silk nightgown.

Sure enough, his little performance made Martina cover her mouth and giggle. She sat there with her arms crossed, completely at ease, like she was the lady of the house.

I ignored her and turned to the stairs.

The next second, Roberto stepped out of his study with two men in black suits trailing behind him.

He frowned, his voice edged with irritation as he said, "Martina came all the way here today to teach Nico proper mafia family etiquette, yet instead of being grateful, you're giving her attitude?"

I stopped on the steps and answered coldly, "Fine. He's all yours. Let's get a divorce."

Roberto grabbed my arm and hissed, "Amelia Fiore, do you even hear yourself? You're the Donna of this family. Do you think marriage is some kind of joke? Stop throwing around the word 'divorce' every time you're upset!"

Martina stood up, her voice dripping with fake concern. "Amelia, Roberto loves you so much. How could you say something like that? It breaks his heart. If I'm the reason there's tension in this house, I'll leave right now and never come back."

She turned to leave, and Roberto shot me one look before going after her.

I did not look back as I walked upstairs.

In the bedroom, I packed everything I owned into one luggage. After that, I set the signed divorce papers and the document terminating my parental rights on the vanity. Then, I slipped the ring off my finger, the one that marked me as the Donna, and left it there with them.

Roberto never came upstairs. He assumed I was throwing a fit and that I would come crawling back within a day or two to apologize.

Meanwhile, Martina posted a photo on her social media. It was a shot of my living room, with her sitting next to Nico as they played video games and a caption below it.

[Kids always know who really cares about them.]

Less than a minute after it went up, Roberto's mother, Rosa Conti, and his sister, Gianna Bertelli, liked the post.

I casually tapped the 'like' button as well. However, when I refreshed the page, the post was gone. Roberto had probably had someone take it down, since he never liked it when photos of Nico circulated online.

I did not give it another thought and dragged my luggage downstairs.

Roberto saw the luggage, and his expression darkened completely. "Put that back upstairs. Even if you're just throwing a fit, there should be a limit."

Tears shimmered in Martina's eyes as she put on a concerned act and said, "Amelia, pretending to run away from home is one thing, but what if Nico picks up the habit? What kind of example are you setting?"

Suddenly, she moved in close under the pretense of grabbing my hand and whispered, "Roberto doesn't love you, and neither does Nico. Do you really have the nerve to stay here and live in my shadow?"

Before I could even react, she stumbled and hit the corner of the side table. Blood ran down her forehead almost immediately.

"Amelia," she gasped, pressing her hand to her head.

"I was only trying to help you, and you..."

Roberto's eyes burned dark with fury. "Did you actually lay your hands on her? I've let you get away with too much for too long. Get out! Don't bother coming back."

I looked at him calmly and replied in a flat voice, "Believe me or not, I never touched her. I won't be coming back."

I walked out the front door, got in the car, and told the driver, "Take me to the airport."

The car pulled away slowly, and the iron gates of the Villa Bertelli closed behind me. It was as if they had never really opened for me at all.