Now We Are Even, Underboss

"Don't trouble yourself. I don't need a pity marriage for the sake of our families."

For six years, I gave him his freedom.

When he wanted to drink, I’d sit with him in silence, never rushing him.

If my presence was inconvenient, I would leave, waiting for his call to pick me up without complaint.

When he was drunk, I cared for him with endless patience.

When he wanted to go on "business trips" with his friends—chasing thrills and partying all night—I planned their itineraries, bought their tickets, and mapped their routes.

I even refused when he offered to let me check his phone.

I loved him, but I was terrified my status would suffocate him, so I never tried to control him.

I was determined not to repeat my mother's mistakes, who had pushed my father away with her suffocating expectations.

I thought I had managed our relationship perfectly, that we had found a stable, harmonious balance.

Before his betrayal, we were still like a couple in the first flush of love.

He craved me, his hunger for me seemingly endless.

But now I saw the truth—he loved me, yes. But he also loved the thrill of any woman who wasn't me, incapable of resisting temptation.

Was that why he faked his illness? For a new kind of thrill? He'd even had the tattoo of my name on his chest covered with Carina's.

Our eyes met, but there wasn't a trace of love in his.

The questions burning on my tongue died in my throat, leaving only silence.

Dante frowned under my intense gaze.

He snatched the bouquets from his men and shoved them into my arms.

"Here," he grunted, thrusting them at me. "Take them. Just take the goddamn flowers and leave."

In his eyes, I was still that simple girl, easily satisfied with the smallest gesture.

He never considered that I was the Principessa of the Falcone family, a woman who had seen the world.

My contentment had never been about the gifts—it was because I loved him.

He couldn't comprehend that when I said I wouldn't marry him, I meant it.

I handed the flowers back to his men.

"These are for Carina. It's not appropriate for me to accept them. I donated that blood of my own free will. You don't need to force yourself to marry me."

For a moment, Dante's expression faltered.

A flicker of panic crossed his face.

"Isabella… Carina and I… it's nothing. I still love you."

I smiled faintly.

"Alright. You go take care of my dear cousin. I'll handle my discharge papers. Go on with your business."

My words dug into him.

He stiffened, then turned his head away, hiding his discomfort.

His men wasted no time, slinging their arms around his shoulders and steering him away.

"Come on, Dante, Carina's waiting. She almost died for you—unlike some people who give a little blood and think it buys them a wedding. She'll get jealous if you're not back soon. Besides, we've got some new talent lined up for you tonight!"

"Isabella's just putting on an act. She'll come crawling back. Women are all the same. You're too soft on her, boss."

Their words were meant to hurt, but I felt nothing.

Only a cold numbness, as if I were standing on the frozen Hudson River in the dead of winter, cut off from all warmth forever.

With Dante gone, I called the only housekeeper I trusted at the penthouse to help me pack.

One by one, the custom gowns, the photo albums, the decorations—all of it disappeared.

And with them, the fragile dream of a shared future peeled away, revealing the brutal truth.

The housekeeper stared at the bare, sterile apartment and hesitated.

"Principessa Isabella, all of this was for the wedding. Are you really giving up on it?"

"Yes," I replied, my voice calm and detached.

"The groom is dead," I said, my voice flat. "This is all for a funeral."

At my words, her hands trembled, and she dared not say more, carefully disposing of the wedding photos and the Moretti family engagement ring.

Once the apartment was stripped bare, I stood at the threshold with my suitcase.

I looked at the once-familiar door and, from my phone, deleted my fingerprint and iris data from the lock.

From this moment on, this was no longer my home.