The Don’s Obedient Doll Was Never Real

Rocco didn't even spare me another glance. He strode from the room, fastening the cuffs of his shirt as he went.

At the door, he paused. "I have a strategy meeting with the Capos. I won't be back tonight."

"And for the victory gala in three days, wear a new, expensive dress."

"Throw out those cheap, well-behaved rags. Don't embarrass me."

The door slammed shut.

I sat rigidly on the disheveled, custom-made Italian bed, my fingertips trembling.

Slowly, I raised a hand to the bare skin on the nape of my neck.

The proud rose-and-thorn of the Thorne family had once bloomed there.

To get rid of it, I had endured three laser removal sessions. I could still smell the stench of my own burning flesh.

That year, Rocco was just a low-level enforcer in Little Italy who couldn't even afford a bulletproof vest.

We were crammed into a shitty apartment that stank of mold and sewage.

Outside the window, we could hear the shouts of our enemies hunting for him. Inside, we had a single, paint-chipped pistol.

He sat on the floor, covered in blood, in the dark and cramped room.

He never knew that the innocent girl in the white dress before him had all but disowned her family and abandoned her name for him.

"Rosalie, are you sure about this?"

His eyes then were like those of a cornered, lone wolf, his voice trembling.

"I'm a rat in the Southmi gutter. If you stay with me, you'll be living on a knife's edge for the rest of your life."

"I can't give you the life you want."

I was so stupid back then.

I thought this was romance. I thought betraying the world for one man was the greatest love of all.

I thought he loved me as much as I loved him. I thought one day, I would be his Donna.

So I knelt on the filthy floor and wrapped my arms around him, his body reeking of blood.

"Rocco, I don't care about that life."

"I only care about you."

He shuddered, and the scorching heat of his chest nearly set me on fire.

I fought alongside Rocco for territory on the streets of the South. I took a bullet for him, stitched his wounds.

In this city of gunpowder, our lives were tied together.

Rocco once swore an oath on that leaky roof.

He said that the moment he became Don, the very first thing he would do was give me the grandest wedding in all of America.

Now, he was indeed the emperor of the underworld.

But his first words to me were that I wasn't fit to stand beside him.

I wiped a tear from my eye and dug out the encrypted, long-forgotten phone from the back of the nightstand drawer.

I dragged a name from my blocked list.

In the next second, the other side called back.

When the call connected, there was no sound immediately from the other end, only a sharp intake of breath.

A joyous roar came through the phone, his voice cracking with emotion.

"Rosalie?! You finally turned on your phone?"

"Five years! My Principessa! You hid from me for five years for that piece of trash from the gutters!"

"Do you know how many times I wanted to bring my men, kick down the door, and kidnap you back? I..."

Julian Gravano. The heir to the Gravano family, my childhood friend.

He hadn't changed a bit. Or rather, he'd only gotten crazier.

"Julian," I cut him off, my voice calm. "I want to come home."

You were right, Rocco.

Obedient women don't survive in this world.

So I'm done pretending.

The real me will never be a trophy wife by your side.