Leaving the Don: A Mafia Wife's Revenge

When Vincenzo had finally recovered, I took him out to eat at one of the famiglia's restaurants.

We had barely stepped outside the hospital when a young woman in a server's uniform suddenly rushed over. She threw herself in front of Vincenzo with tears streaming down her face.

"Thank you, sir! I don't even know what would've happened to me if you hadn't saved me that day!" she sobbed.

I was stunned for a moment. Then, I turned to look at Vincenzo.

He frowned, looking irritated. "You should find another job. Waiting tables doesn't suit you."

The woman's expression crumpled. "Something came up at home, so I needed the money. Otherwise, I wouldn't have taken the job—"

"That's not my problem," Vincenzo cut her off sharply, already pulling me to leave.

But the woman refused to give up. She trailed behind us for a bit, her voice pleading. "My name is Lina. Could you leave me a way to contact you? I want to repay you someday!"

Vincenzo's face darkened. Just as he was about to lose his temper, I pressed my hand over his.

I said to Lina, "He doesn't need you to repay him. Just take care of yourself."

Marco was with us that day. After we got into the car, he blurted out, "Don't you think that young woman—Lina—looks a bit like you? Especially her eyes."

Back then, I laughed it off with a shake of my head, finding it ridiculous.

But now, as I stared at Lina's photo on my phone, the memory slid neatly into place.

It was really her.

It turned out that everything was pre-planned after all.

…

Vincenzo only returned during noon the next day.

He brought me a tiramisu that I used to love. It was the signature dessert from a century-old bakery in Brodlyn.

"I waited in line for half an hour." Vincenzo set the cake in front of me. He sounded a little apologetic when he said, "Try it. See if it still tastes the same."

I didn't touch it. Instead, I looked at him. "How did things go last night? You didn't get hurt, did you?"

"I'm fine." Vincenzo let out a breath, clearly relieved that I was still concerned about him. "We've already handled those idiots who didn't know their place. Brodlyn still belongs to us."

As he spoke, he shrugged off his coat, revealing a shirt speckled with dried blood. He tossed it into the laundry without a second glance. "I'm taking a bath."

"Okay," I replied.

The moment Vincenzo stepped into the bathroom, I picked up the box of tiramisu and tossed it into the trash.

A flavor I once craved now made my stomach turn.

I grabbed the spare key and headed for the underground garage.

Vincenzo's black Bentley had been cleaned spotless. The passenger seat was reclined low. A faint trace of perfume lingered in the air, cloying and clearly not mine.

I opened the door, slid into the driver's seat, and connected to the dashcam. Footage from last night through this morning played back, clear and uninterrupted.

Vincenzo hadn't gone to Brodlyn at all.

After leaving the villa, his car headed straight for an art academy.

Vincenzo called Lina, speaking in a gentle tone unfamiliar to me. "Come down. I'm waiting at the gate."

She came skipping out a few minutes later. She was dressed in a white dress, looking like a college student.

Lina slipped into the passenger seat and immediately threw herself into Vincenzo's arms. The sounds of them kissing and panting were caught clearly in the dashcam,

"Did you touch that old hag?" she asked, voice thick with possessiveness.

Vincenzo did not answer her.

"Did you or did you not?" Lina pressed.

Vincenzo's voice was hoarse and dripping with lust when he answered, "What do you think?"

Lina smiled, pleased. "I knew it! You only want me. That old hag is old and boring. How could she ever be worthy of you?"

"Shut up." Vincenzo's tone cooled down, but there was no real reprimand in it.

"Am I wrong?" Lina said sweetly. "She's in her 30s already. Her skin must be sagging by now. Unlike me—young and full of vigor. By the way, when are you divorcing her? I want to be the real Madre Corleone."