The Don's Secret Wife No More

The next afternoon, I met the Falcone family's lawyer, James, and formally requested the return of all Rossi family assets.

James looked up. His face was pure shock.

“You’re certain? You want to pull all legitimate businesses from the Falcone portfolio?”

“But… under your management, their value has tripled in five years. Why so suddenly…”

He trailed off. I dropped my gaze.

Before yesterday, I’d believed that too.

These businesses were my tools. I used them to launder every dollar of Matteo’s bloody empire.

I remembered three years ago, Matteo holding me in our penthouse overlooking Lake Michigan as the sunset painted the city gold.

“See all those skyscrapers?” he’d said, pointing. “Half of that comes from my casinos and my deals. But without you, it’s all just blood money.”

He kissed my neck, his voice low and intoxicating. “You’re my best strategist, Natalia. This empire is nothing without you.”

Back then, I believed him.

I used my head for business to wash every dirty dollar he made.

Casino cash became art investments. Profits from underground deals became real estate developments.

I built him a legitimate empire.

“Mrs. Falcone?” James’s voice pulled me back.

“Obey the order. I want all the documents on my desk by tomorrow afternoon.”

After confirming the procedures, I walked out of his office.

The moment I got back in my car, my encrypted phone buzzed.

When I opened it, it was a photo from Cecilia..

It was her, kissing a sleeping Matteo. Her swollen breasts were pressed against his chest.

Right after the photo came a message.

“Had to ‘take care of me’ all night after I drank too much. Now he’s left his marks all over me. Ugh, so sore.”

I thought about all the other times.

Cecilia always provoked me like this, sending intimate photos.

The lipstick marks on Matteo’s bare chest, a woman's watch on his wrist, a piece of lingerie left in his car…

Before, her cheap tricks would always set me off.

Matteo and I would fight. We’d even gotten physical.

And every time, he’d shut me up with a rougher kiss, a more possessive grip.

“I told you, she’s just for fun. For the thrill of it. You’re Mrs. Falcone. Don’t lose your composure over a whore.”

Matteo was sure I loved him. He was even more sure that I wouldn’t dare leave him, for the sake of our families' alliance. So he did whatever he wanted.

I smiled, but all I felt inside was a wasteland.

When I returned to the Falcone estate, the butler, Marcus, greeted me.

“Ma’am, Miss Cecilia is here......and she’s in the Boss’s study now.”

I stopped in my tracks.

That oak-paneled room. Matteo’s private sanctuary.

Priceless oil paintings on the walls, exquisite revolvers on the shelves.

When I first secretly married Matteo, he never let me in there.

Until one drunken night, he carried me into the study and promised me a grand wedding.

That night, he pulled up my dress and pressed me against the cold desk.

Papers scattered across the floor, but nothing could stop him from entering me.

“Isn’t this a thrill, Lia?” he’d whispered in my ear, thrusting hard.

His sweat dripped onto my skin.

He held me and promised softly, “After the wedding, this room is yours alone. I swear, I’ll never let anyone else into our secret space.”

But now, he’d let Cecilia in without a second thought.

The me from back then was so pitifully stupid, deceived by his sweet words again and again. Foolishly, I let him lie to me ninety-eight times.

“Marcus,” I said, looking at the nervous butler.

“Yes, Ma’am?”

“The rules have changed,” I cut him off. “From now on, there are no rules for her.”

I walked toward the master bedroom on the second floor, each step light and slow.

The divorce papers, signed by Matteo himself, felt warm in my hand.

From downstairs, I heard Cecilia scream. A scream of pleasure, of climax.

Then, Matteo’s low laugh.

I thought of him signing the papers last night, distracted, his mind already on his way to Cecilia.

He never even read them.

Because it never occurred to him that I would want to leave him.

For five years, I had endured every betrayal, every humiliation, every broken promise.

He thought I would endure it forever.

He was wrong.

There wouldn’t be a next time.