The Don’s Other Woman Was His Real Wife

On the table in front of us, twenty full bottles of amber whiskey sat lined up.

My eyes snapped back to Luca.

I searched his face, desperate for a single flicker of protest, a single spark of the care he’d once had for me.

But I couldn’t read his expression.

In the silence, I couldn’t breathe.

I thought of that old estate in the countryside.

Back then, he’d drunk himself into a stupor every night, trying to numb the pain of losing his voice, his power, his family.

I’d begged him to stop, again and again, but he’d never listened.

Until one night, he’d been so drunk he could barely see.

He’d shoved three bottles of whiskey in front of me, and typed on his phone.

Now even a servant’s daughter thinks she can tell me what to do? Fine. Drink all of this, and I’ll listen.

I’d only wanted to save him.

So even though I knew I was allergic to alcohol, even though I knew what would happen, I’d picked up the bottle, and drank every drop.

Ten minutes later, I was in the emergency room.

When I woke up, he was sitting beside the bed, staring at me like he’d never seen anyone else in the world.

I’d only said one thing to him.

“I’m scared for you, sir. Your voice will come back. Even if it doesn’t, I’ll stay with you forever. So please. Stop hurting yourself.”

After that day, Luca never touched a drop of alcohol again.

But now, he sat there, and watched as another woman told me to drink twenty bottles of the same whiskey.

A bitter, broken sob escaped me, tears streaming down my face.

I leaned forward, grabbed a full bottle of ghost pepper extract off the bar cart, and poured the entire thing into a whiskey glass.

My voice was cold, sharp, final.

“Twenty bottles? That’s not nearly enough to prove how sorry I am. I’ll add this. Is that good enough for you?”

I lifted the glass to my lips.

Before I could take a sip, Luca shot to his feet.

He slapped the glass out of my hand, and it shattered against the floor, glass and liquor spraying everywhere.

“ENOUGH!” He roared the word, his voice shredded, almost unrecognizable.

I looked up at him, laughing through my tears.

“I didn’t even drink it yet. Is my apology over? Did I make your little girlfriend happy?”

Luca’s face turned black with rage. He grabbed my wrist, his grip so tight I thought he’d shatter the bone.

“There is nothing between me and Sofia! You know how brutal the family’s rules are! If you’d done this, the capos would have used it against you forever! The family would never accept you! I was trying to protect you!”

He spoke like every word was for my own good. Like he cared.

But I just laughed.

The Vitali family would never accept me, a servant’s daughter? But they’d accept Sofia, the woman who’d abandoned their future don and run off with his enemies? He’d broken every rule in the book to sign that marriage contract for her, hadn’t he?

It was all just an excuse. He just didn’t love me enough.

I didn’t say another word. I wrenched my wrist out of his grip, turned, and walked straight out of the booth.

I barely made it to the door. The last few days of grief, the splitting pain in my forehead, the blood rushing from the reopened wound, all hit me at once. My vision went black, and I collapsed.

“ISA!”

I heard Luca scream my name, raw and desperate. The next second, I was in his arms. He lifted me up, and ran for the door.

Sofia came sprinting after him, grabbing his arm, sobbing. “Luca, my head hurts, I don’t feel well—”

Luca ripped his arm away from her, and kept running, holding me tight to his chest.

His voice was cold, final, over his shoulder. “Call my assistant. She’ll take care of you. I’m taking Isabella to the hospital.”

When I woke up, I was in the VIP wing of the private clinic.

Luca was sitting in the chair beside the bed. He hadn’t slept. The second my eyes opened, his whole body relaxed, like he’d been holding his breath for days.

We stared at each other for a long time. Neither of us spoke.

He poured me a glass of warm water, handed it to me, then stepped out to call the doctor. He stood by the door the whole time the doctor checked me over, listening to every word like his life depended on it.

His phone buzzed a hundred times, his secretary blowing up his line, begging him to come to the family’s emergency capos meeting. He ignored every single call.

Finally, I spoke. “You should go. I can take care of myself. This isn’t your job.”

Luca knelt down beside the bed. He took my hand in his, his voice rough, broken, quiet. “It is my job. Isa, don’t you remember? You did this for me. For seven years. You took care of me.”

My eyes stung.

For a second, I was back in that old estate, holding him while he cried.

But it was too late. We could never go back.

That afternoon, the nurses took me for a full body scan.

When they wheeled me back to my room half an hour later, I pushed the door open, and froze.

Luca was standing in the middle of the room, holding my personal cell phone to his ear, screaming into the receiver.

His voice was shaking with rage. “I told you, I will never marry anyone but Isabella! I don’t care about her bloodline, her family, any of it! You will stop wasting your time! She’s not leaving me! Ever!”

Then I heard Anna’s voice, shrill and screaming, loud enough to carry through the phone, even from across the room.

“Are you out of your fucking mind? You’re being played for a fool! She already signed...”

The line cut out mid-sentence, my phone dying mid-call.