He Traded A Diamond For Cheap Glass
I was the "Ice Queen," the perfect Mafia wife who managed the De Luca empire's millions while my husband, Alessandro, played the part of the feared Underboss.
I thought my silence and competence earned me respect.
That was until I woke up in the estate's medical bay with a shattered leg.
My saddle had snapped mid-jump. It wasn't wear and tear; it was sabotage.
Lying in the dark, feigning sleep, I heard Alessandro whispering outside my door with his enforcer.
"The buckle was filed down," the enforcer said urgently. "Aria tampered with it. She could have broken her neck."
I waited for Alessandro’s rage. I waited for him to execute the mistress who tried to kill his wife.
Instead, his voice was cold and dismissive.
"Bury it," Alessandro ordered. "It’s just a broken leg. Aria was upset about the credit cards. She just wanted to teach Katarina a lesson."
A lesson.
My husband wasn't just cheating on me; he was protecting the woman who tried to cripple me.
Three days later, at the Family Charity Gala, he humiliated me publicly. He outbid me for my grandmother's heirloom necklace and clasped it around Aria's neck while I watched from my wheelchair.
He thought I was broken. He thought I was just a piece of furniture to be rearranged.
He didn't know I had bugged the entire villa while I was recovering.
He didn't know I had the recordings of what Aria was really doing when he wasn't looking.
I gripped the USB drive in my pocket and signaled the tech team to lock the doors.
The statue was broken, but he was about to learn that shattered ice is sharp enough to slit a throat.
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Chapter 4
"You shouldn't be walking," Mark murmured, his hand hovering near my elbow as he offered me his arm.
"I'm not walking," I corrected, shifting the weight of the crutch concealed beneath the heavy silk folds of my gown. "I'm marching."
We stood at the precipice of the Grand Ballroom, the hum of the annual Charity Auction vibrating through the floorboards.
Alessandro had texted me earlier: *Don't bother coming. You'll just be uncomfortable.*
He wanted me hidden. He wanted the broken wife locked away in the attic while he paraded his prize pony for the world to see.
So, I wore blood-red.
It was a bespoke silk gown that clung to every curve like a second skin, featuring a slit high enough to reveal the top of the black fiberglass cast on my leg. It wasn't a dress of mourning. It was a declaration of war.
"You look dangerous tonight," Mark whispered, tugging at his collar. He looked nervous. He knew exactly what he had helped unbury.
"Good," I said.
We entered.
Heads turned. The polite murmur of conversation died a sudden, violent death.
I spotted Alessandro at the head table. Aria was seated beside him.
She was wearing white. A lace confection that looked suspiciously like a wedding dress. It was a mockery of purity.
Alessandro looked up. His eyes widened the moment they landed on me. Then, the shock curdled into a scowl. He was furious.
I didn't go to him.
Instead, I took a seat at a table near the front, with Mark beside me.
The auction began.
Vintage Bordeaux. Renaissance art. Thoroughbreds.
Then, the main event.
"Lot number forty-five," the Auctioneer announced, his voice booming. "The Star of Sicily."
A reverent hush fell over the room.
It was a diamond necklace, a heavy, intricate piece that had belonged to Alessandro’s grandmother. It was the symbol of the Matriarch.
It was supposed to be mine.
Aria pawed at Alessandro’s arm, whispering something into his ear. He smiled—that indulgent, savior smile that made my stomach turn.
"One million," Alessandro called out.
He was buying my birthright for his whore.
I raised my paddle.
"Two million," I said. My voice rang clear, slicing through the tension.
Alessandro whipped his head around. His face drained of color.
The room buzzed with electric whispers. Husband against wife.
"Two point five," Alessandro said, his eyes locked on mine.
"Three million," I countered without a heartbeat of hesitation.
"Four," he snarled.
"Six million," I said.
The Auctioneer paused. He looked uncomfortable, tapping his earpiece as a frown creased his forehead.
"I... I apologize, Signora De Luca," the Auctioneer stammered into the microphone, the feedback whining. "Your bid cannot be accepted."
"Why not?" I asked, my voice cool.
"Your assets," he said, his face flushing a deep crimson. "They have been frozen. The Trust flagged unauthorized activity."
The room went deadly silent.
Alessandro smirked.
He had cut me off. He had anticipated this.
I turned to Mark. "Use your account."
Mark stared down at his polished shoes, unable to meet my gaze. "I can't, Katarina. The Don... the protocols."
He was still playing both sides.
"Denied," the Auctioneer said, eager to end the awkwardness. "Going once... twice... Sold to Mr. Alessandro De Luca for four million."
Applause rippled through the room. It sounded hollow, like rain falling on a coffin.
Alessandro stood up. He walked to the stage and took the necklace.
He didn't box it.
He walked back to the table, stood behind Aria, and clasped the heavy diamonds around her neck.
He kissed her hand.
Aria beamed, touching the cold stones and looking at me with triumph shining in her eyes.
I sat spine-straight.
I didn't cry. I didn't storm out.
I watched him.
He thought he had won. He thought stripping me of my money and my dignity was the end.
He didn't know he had just handed me a loaded weapon.
By humiliating me publicly, he had broken the final, sacred rule of the Family: *Keep your house in order.*
He had shown the world he was messy.
I looked at the heavy diamonds around Aria's neck. They didn't look like jewelry anymore.
They looked like a noose.
I smiled. A small, cold thing.
*Enjoy it,* I thought. *It's the last gift you'll ever get.*