Leaving the Don: A Mafia Wife's Revenge

Vincenzo had just turned 18 when I first met him.

He was the youngest son of the Corleone famiglia, often overlooked and even ostracized by his uncles.

The former Don Corleone wanted Vincenzo to marry the daughter of another Illyian mafia famiglia to strengthen their alliances.

But he rebelled and ran away from the famiglia to come to Nowork. There, he found me, someone who had already made a name for herself in the underworld then.

Marco was worried about Vincenzo and sent word through intermediaries. "Please look after him for a while, Ms. Freya. He's stubborn, so you may discipline him however you see fit if he upsets you. You don't have to worry about me."

I had no intention of getting involved in family politics.

But my heart softened when I saw Vincenzo at the station.

He was squatting beneath a tree, a backpack slung over his shoulders, jeans faded from too many washes. His gaze was stubborn, yet he looked a little lost, like an abandoned boy.

"I know you're Freya." Vincenzo stood up when he saw me. His voice still carried a youthful twinge when he said, "I want to stay with you. I'll do anything for you—cook, drive, fight, even kill."

I found him ridiculously naive, but I still brought him back to my apartment.

I assumed our time together would be temporary. I didn't expect Vincenzo to mean every word.

Even though his cooking was barely passable, he prepared my meals every day. Rain or shine, he rode his bike to pick me up from work daily.

He'd even secretly trailed me on a mission, rushing in without hesitation to take a knife meant for me when things went wrong. The blade cut across his back, leaving a long scar.

Vincenzo was still smiling as he lay on the hospital bed. "Let me protect you from now on, Freya."

That was the exact moment I fell for him.

As I watched Vincenzo, a man a decade younger than me, running toward me with nothing but raw sincerity, I was unable to resist him eventually.

Later, he told me he had first seen me when he was 16.

That day, I was at Illyia on a mission. I had stepped in in my black dress and pulled Vincenzo out of the hands of his bullying uncles.

I hadn't expected that single moment would stay with him for two full years.

"From the moment I saw you, I began to envision a future with you," he once said.

When Vincenzo was 23, he got down on one knee and proposed to me. In his hand was a ring fashioned from the famiglia's crest.

He said, "I know there's an age gap and the famiglia's opposition between us, Freya. But I don't care. I just want to be with you, even if it costs me everything."

To be with me, Vincenzo turned his back on the former Don Corleone. He took a broken arm and fought his older brothers for the right to inherit the famiglia.

I thought we would last after everything we'd survived. But now, he was the one about to tear it all apart.

I sat on the edge of the bed and watched Vincenzo sleep. His breathing was steady, yet his brows were slightly furrowed, as if he was trapped in a nightmare.

I thought about the years we spent drenched in blood and gunfire. I also recalled the sweet nothings he used to whisper to me.

The tears came at last, but only for a moment.

After all, I was never one to cry.

I could accept Vincenzo taking back his love, but he would have to repay what he owed me in full.

"I'm getting a divorce," I said.

"What?" Marco exclaimed from the other end of the line, startled. "What are you talking about, Freya? Aren't the both of you in love? And besides—"

"And he's having an affair," I cut in, my voice calm as if I was describing someone else's problem. "He has a mistress named Lina. She's an art student, and she looks a little like me."

"That's impossible!" Marco's pitch flew. "Don Corleone isn't that kind of person. His feelings for you—"

"Feelings?" I chuckled lightly. Then, I sent him the screenshots from Lina's feed.

I continued, "See for yourself. Her contact name for him is 'Don Mio'. He gives her 50 thousand dollars as a monthly allowance, and he never misses a holiday transfer. He even stays overnight at her apartment instead of handling the so-called Brodlyn territory issue."

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. Marco eventually exhaled heavily. "I understand, Freya. What do you want to do? Do you need my help?"

I said, "I want a divorce. Draft it according to the highest famiglia standard. I want him to walk away with nothing. Everything in his name—money, property, and every inch of territory he expanded after taking over—comes to me.

"Also, I want every single cent he's transferred to Lina all recovered.

"Walk away with nothing? That won't be easy," Marco replied, hesitant. "Don Corleone is still the famiglia's head after all. The elders—"

"I'll deal with the elders," I replied evenly. "You only need to draft the agreement as I say. I want it in three days. And for now, don't tell anyone, especially Vincenzo."

"Alright," Marco agreed. He paused for a moment before adding, "Take care of yourself, Freya. No matter what happens, I'm on your side."

After ending the call, I leaned back on the couch and closed my eyes.

Marco was Vincenzo's older brother and also a long-time close friend of mine.

He knew better than anyone how hard we fought to get hard, as well as all the efforts I had put in for the famiglia.

Things would go far more smoothly with Marco's help.

This was how an adult functioned. You deal with what was in front of you first, no matter how much it hurt you inside.

Emotions like grief, heartbreak, and despair could wait until everything was settled.

I poured myself a glass of whiskey and drained it in one swallow. The burn scorched my throat, but it cleared my head.

I opened my laptop and began compiling everything I had done for the famiglia over the years.

Over the years, I had defused multiple FBI investigations, opened up the Enroppe drug routes, absorbed three rival famiglia's turfs, and built up the famiglia's legitimate business empire.

All these were my bargaining chips.

I had never lived by clinging to Vincenzo. Without him, I could still thrive, or even do better.