Done Collecting Your Guilt Gifts

Every time my husband, Lorenzo, cheated on me, he would give me ownership of a casino.

After four years of our arranged marriage, I owned ninety-nine casinos—one for each time I had silently endured his infidelity.

Recently, he concluded a three-day "business negotiation."

He brought back the deed to a new casino in Las Vegas—the 100th gift.

In that moment, I knew. It was time to ask for a divorce.

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1

I had just torn up the medical report confirming my miscarriage and flushed it down the toilet when Lorenzo "Enzo" Costello strode through the door.

Three days ago, his so-called "negotiation" was actually a flight to Miami to celebrate another woman's birthday.

He gave that woman a ten-million-dollar yacht.

Meanwhile, I had lost our child during an attack because he had pulled my security detail away.

Standing in the silence of our home, I stared at the safe, filled to the brim with deeds—ninety-nine of them.

Then I had the butler pour me a whiskey on the rocks, pointedly ignoring my doctor’s orders to avoid alcohol.

Lorenzo strode over and plucked the glass from my hand, setting it aside. "You haven't recovered. You can't be drinking this."

He took a folder from his briefcase and handed it to me. "I brought you a gift. This one was tough to get."

Inside was the deed to a new casino in Las Vegas. Rare, expensive, and valued in the hundreds of millions.

He wasn't lying. This kind of territory was hard to conquer. He had deployed the family's top resources.

If he had given this to me before our marriage, I might have jumped into his arms.

But now, I couldn't even muster a hint of interest. I didn't want to look at it.

He crouched in front of me, trying to catch my eye. "Still angry? Is it because I missed your mother's memorial dinner? If you want, I can go with you to the cemetery right now."

I avoided his gaze, my voice was flat. "No, thank you. Her memorial was three days ago."

Before we were married, we had made a pact.

We could miss any anniversary—but he had to be at my mother's memorial dinner.

For the first three years, he kept his promise.

This year, when I called him, he told me in that magnetic voice of his that he had flown to Las Vegas early that morning.

So I went alone.

It was only when I was standing at my mother's grave that I learned from one of my father's informants that Lorenzo had never gone to the negotiation. He was partying on a yacht in Miami with a woman, and he had even given the yacht to her.

It was then that I lost our child.

"That was your mother's memorial? Shit. Baby, I'm so sorry. I completely forgot."

He looked surprised, and it didn't seem like an act.

He got down on one knee, took my hand, and tried to charm his way out of it as he always did. "Let me make it up to you. I'll get you another island—a better one. This casino cost a hundred million; I'll buy you one for three hundred million."

Every time Lorenzo screwed up, he used the same playbook—apologize, play the devoted husband, and then drown everything in money.

In the six years I’d known him, I had never once seen him raise his voice at me.

To the outside world, he was the perfect Don, the dream of every woman.

But I was the only one who knew the core of our marriage had long since rotted away.

I was about to say the word divorce—when a sudden pang of hunger interrupted my thoughts.

He smiled, patting my head as if comforting a child. "I'll have the kitchen make you some soup. You think about what you want—another casino, or maybe an estate."

He walked into the kitchen.

His phone buzzed on the bar.

I picked it up.

A message from Scarlett popped up.

[Enzo, thank you for the huge yacht! I had so much fun these last three days.]

My heart sank. I tapped on her social media profile.

Her background photo was a picture of her and Lorenzo on the yacht.

She was facing the camera, wet hair clinging to her face, a wild and triumphant smile on her lips. He had his back to the camera, only a powerful silhouette outlined by the sunset.

My hands began to tremble. I scrolled down her feed.

Every post for the past three days was about their sailing trip.

[He's here—my champagne finally has someone to pop it!]

[Oh my god, the way my king smiles is so captivating!]

[POV: A boss lady and her mafia Don!]

Lorenzo had liked almost every single one.

The latest post was a photo of the casino deed he had just given me.

[Ugh. So tasteless. I wouldn't take that for free; it would just clutter up the place.]

That was the only one he hadn't liked.

The phone vibrated again.

[Enzo, I started drinking again after you left. Can you come keep me company at my penthouse tonight?]

I frowned.

His voice drifted from the kitchen. "Baby, the soup's almost ready!"

My fingers flew across the screen as I installed the surveillance software I had prepared, erasing all traces before setting the phone back on the bar just as I'd found it.

Lorenzo walked out with a bowl of clear matsutake soup, glanced at his phone, and his smile faltered.

Then his face turned serious. "There's some urgent family business. I have to go back to headquarters."

I slowly stirred the soup with my spoon. "If you're going to be late, just stay the night."

"Okay."

He looked relieved. Before he left, he even arranged for the family doctor to be on call for me.