Signing Away The Mafia Don

Serena POV

The independent attorney I had retained in secret pushed the annulment papers across the mahogany desk.

I picked up the pen and signed my name without a tremor in the nib. I did not ask for a single cent of Vincenzo's blood money. I did not demand the houses, the cars, or the offshore accounts.

I just wanted to sever my name from the syndicate once and for all.

The sharp edge of the manila folder pressed a thin, white line into my palm. It had become a persistent, angry red by the time I reached the car park. I got into my car and drove away.

While waiting at a red light, I took out my phone; the low hum of the engine seemed to vibrate directly in my teeth.

There was a new post in the high-society mafia wives group. It was a picture of Donna and Rosalie, smiling in front of a mirror at an exclusive boutique.

The comment underneath was from Vincenzo's personal account: "Be jealous."

My hands gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white.

I remembered when Donna was three years old, hiding behind my legs and calling me her safe place.

I wondered exactly when the disgust for her civilian mother had begun to poison her mind.

I drove back to the estate to pack my few belongings and leave the papers where Vincenzo would find them.

As soon as I walked in, Donna ran into the living room, twirling in a new dress.

"Dad said I look perfectly elegant," she bragged loudly. "He took us to Half-Liang for lunch."

Half-Liang was a highly exclusive, syndicate-controlled restaurant. Vincenzo used to despise the extravagance of that place. He had always told me he preferred my homemade soup over any Michelin-starred meal.

Yet, he had gone there for Rosalie. And he had forgotten to tell me not to cook dinner.

Vincenzo walked in behind Donna, holding a small pastry box. He wordlessly handed it to me.

"Vincenzo bought that specifically for me," Rosalie said, walking in with a smug smile. "But I am watching my figure. You can have it, Serena."

I opened the box.

It was a mango mousse.

I was deathly allergic to mangoes.

Vincenzo knew this. Five years ago, during our first month in hiding, I had told him about my allergy when he tried to share a mango dessert with me. He had remembered then. He had always remembered.

Now he simply watched me quietly close the box and set it on the coffee table, his expression blank. He said nothing. He did not correct her. He did not apologize.

"You should take some high-society fitness and etiquette classes," Vincenzo said. He loosened his tie, his expression soured by the sight of my plain sweater and jeans. "Spend more of my money. Buy better clothes. And stop bringing those thermoses of homemade soup to my headquarters. It makes me look weak."

The room went dead silent.

I looked at the man I had pulled from the edge of death. I looked at the legs that only worked because I had massaged their wasted muscles for hours every single night.

"Okay," I replied softly.

I went up the stairs in the dark. Slipping into Vincenzo's study, I placed the manila folder on the dead center of his mahogany desk.

A surge of bile rose, and I bit down hard on my molars. I stared at the wood grain of the desk until the dark lines wavered and blurred into a meaningless pattern. I realized I was no longer fit to stand beside the Don.

The double bed was a vast, empty expanse. From the air vent, a dry, chilled draft whispered across my bare shoulder, raising a rash of fine bumps on the skin.

I dreamed of Vincenzo's lowest point five years ago. I dreamed of cleaning his body when he could not even move to use the bathroom. I remembered watching him bite his lip until it bled from sheer humiliation.

I awoke to the damp chill of my own nightgown clinging to my skin, with a chilling realization.

The all-powerful Don wanted to erase me. He wanted me gone because I was a living, breathing reminder of his most shameful, vulnerable past.

And the worst part was that I still loved him. Even as I signed the papers, even as I packed my bags, some pathetic part of me still hoped he would stop me.

He never did.