She Made Way for His Lover, but He Wants a Do-Over

Five years into marriage, Silvia Serra becomes both Dante Valenti's most lethal weapon and his most invisible presence.

She shields him from bullets. She crosses a freezing river for him. Her scars accumulate, and his response is an assumption that it is how things are meant to be.

In time, Dante grows repulsed by the violence clinging to her. He derides her lack of charm and gives his warmth to another woman instead.

He allows others to grind down her dignity, and with a new lover in his arms, he openly stains her name.

Silvia tolerates it so she can continue guarding him.

Everyone mocks her as if she's numb to it all, driven away again and again, but never truly gone.

Then comes the night of pounding rain. Cast aside without ceremony, Silvia erases every sign she was ever there and leaves with finality.

Dante treats it as nothing more than sulking, convinced she will return within three days.

Later, the once-untouchable Don was seen on his knees at Silvia's feet, stripped of all pride, begging her to turn back and look at him just once.

On the night marking five years of marriage, Dante Valenti, the Don of the Valenti family, once again became a target of his enemies.

Silvia Serra, acting as the Donna, stayed behind to secure his retreat. She eliminated the group of soldati alone and withdrew only after taking a wound.

The heavy smell of gunpowder and blood still hung in the air.

She opened the door to see Dante on the couch with his lover, Lucia Pellini. They were locked in a deep kiss, lips and tongues entwined in a way that left no room for doubt.

The cold violence surrounding Silvia disturbed the stillness of the room. Lucia immediately drew back into Dante's embrace. Her lips were wet, and she looked toward Silvia with a timid, shaken expression.

"Silvia, mi dispiace. My hypoglycemia hit. I couldn't swallow by myself. Dante was only helping me…"

Dante remained seated. As the Don of the family, he was accustomed to being in command. He rested a hand on the back of the couch and studied Silvia calmly.

"What happened to you?" he asked.

The wound on her right shoulder, split open by a folding knife, was so deep that bone was visible. Still, the husband she had spent years protecting seemed not to see it at all.

Silvia stepped into the living room, blood marking every step. "It couldn't be helped. They meant it this time. It wouldn't have ended without close-range fighting."

Dante finally noticed the injury. He stood and moved toward her, catching her before she lost her balance.

"You are seriously hurt?"

His voice always rose at the end when concern slipped through.

"Enrico will arrive in two minutes. Sit down and stay still."

As Silvia was about to sit, Lucia let out a sharp cry. "There's blood. There's so much blood! I'm frightened…"

Within a family defined by violence and death, Lucia was the only one permitted to keep her innocence.

Dante's hand stiffened where it held Silvia's arm. Then, he let go without hesitation.

She lost her balance and crashed to the floor. The wound tore open, and blood soaked into the costly carpet beneath her.

He was already holding Lucia close, one arm wrapped around her, the other shielding her eyes. His voice dropped into a quiet reassurance. "It's alright. Don't be scared. You're safe."

By the time the family doctor, Enrico Ottolini, stepped inside, Silvia had been ordered into the guest room.

Enrico readied the anesthetic. "Donna Valenti, the injury is severe. The wound reaches the nerves. It needs to be cleaned and stitched immediately, or the arm will be ruined. Please endure it.

"I'm going to give you an anesthetic."

"No anesthesia," Dante said flatly.

He stood at the edge of the light, leaning against the doorframe, slowly rolling a cigar between his fingers.

"Don Valenti, that means stitching her while she's fully awake! We're talking a dozen or more. Even if she stays conscious, the pain could send her into shock!"

"She can endure it."

The certainty in Dante's voice carried the distant, unquestionable authority of someone used to being obeyed.

"Silvia is not like other women. She has taken a gunshot wound and removed the bullet herself. With tensions rising between the families, she serves as my personal protection and is responsible for my security.

"Anesthesia would interfere with her reflexes."

He stepped closer as he spoke and leaned down to meet Silvia's eyes, his smile warm. "This amount of pain is nothing to you, right?"

After 28 years side by side, she knew exactly what he was doing, including now. He was waiting for her to nod.

Silvia frowned, looking away. "Dr. Ottolini, please proceed without it."

"But—"

"Now!"

Dante walked away. As he always did, he kissed Silvia's earlobe before leaving. It was the gesture he used when she had done exactly as he expected.

The needle pierced her skin again and again, working through muscle and flesh. Each stitch brought a sharper pain than the last.

Silvia gripped the corner of the table. The muscles along her neck tightened, veins visible beneath the skin, her nails cracking from the force of her hold.

She had been trained by Dante from a young age and pushed harder than anyone else. She had never thought that all that discipline and restraint would be used for this.

When the last stitch was done, Enrico cut the suture and looked at her weakened state with quiet reluctance. "Donna Valenti, it's done."

"Thank you."

Silvia let go of her numbed hand and made her way back to the living room, her steps uneven.

Dante was already on the stairs with Lucia in his arms. He paused when he heard her approach. From the landing above, he looked down at her. His gaze was distant, his face stripped of warmth.

Silvia waited, half expecting him to say something soft.

After a long moment, his voice came down to her, flat and controlled.

"Silvia, clean this up before you rest. Don't track blood everywhere. Lucia will have nightmares if she sees it."