The Fake Amnesiac's Very Real Divorce

"A divorce?" Vincent echoed.

His voice dropped an octave, his fingers tapping twice against the desk. "Valenna, that isn't the kind of joke we make within the Corleone famiglia. You should know your place better than that."

I watched him put on his little performance in silence. Not a single ripple of emotion stirred within me anymore.

I decided to play along.

"I was the one who pushed Signor Ferrante to witness our union all those years ago. Now, let's just end it here."

Angela was practically glowing with delight as she listened to our back-and-forth. "She's right. This is long overdue. Let's go see Signor Ferrante right now."

She nudged Vincent's arm, eager to see our ties severed once and for all.

Vincent hesitated for a brief moment, his tone giving nothing away. "I have famiglia business to attend to. We'll discuss this in seven days."

I studied him, puzzled that he wasn't biting. He had already chosen Angela over me, so why wasn't he jumping at the chance to give her what she wanted?

If this were the old me, I would have demanded an explanation.

But now? I couldn't care less.

I decided to push Angela's buttons just so I could leave faster.

"If Vincent isn't willing to cut me loose," I mused aloud, "does that mean he loves me more?"

That hit the mark. Angela's jealousy flared instantly.

Her eyes welled up with practiced tears as she clutched Vincent's hand, her voice melting into a whine. "Amore, I'm your woman. Don't you want to make my place in the Corleone famiglia official?"

Vincent saw the stalemate dragging on. After a long pause, he spoke, his voice turning cold. "Fine."

…

When we reached the Elder Council, Vincent stopped in his tracks.

His gaze drifted to the garden of dark roses outside, and something flickered in his eyes, as if a buried memory had surfaced.

"This place… it feels familiar," he murmured. "I remember now. It was during the Grand Gala. This is where the priest stood when he witnessed our union."

He knew how much the Grand Gala had meant to me. Back then, I had truly believed it was the beginning of our happily ever after.

So he thought that by invoking that memory, I would go soft—that I would cling to the sentiment and wouldn't be able to bring myself to leave him.

Just like I always had before.

Little did he know, I had already uncovered the truth through the encrypted messages he had been exchanging with Angela.

In one message, he had written, "Sincerity? Choosing the Grand Gala was nothing more than a matter of convenience. Piggybacking on an existing event saved me the trouble of decorating another venue."

Another read: "Her expertise in mechanical engineering helps solidify the Corleone famiglia's power. This marriage was a business move from the very start. Delaying it until the Grand Gala was just a way to dress up a cold transaction in the robes of famiglia authority."

As I took in his cold, callous words, a chill settled over my heart, inch by inch.

I thought I had found true love. It turned out I was nothing more than a bargaining chip.

No wonder he had tightened his grip on the territory and the business once the Corleone famiglia expanded. It turned out he had been guarding against me, the "outsider", all along.

My thoughts were interrupted when Vincent clapped me on the shoulder, asking if he had gotten it right.

I couldn't be bothered with his act, so I just shook my head. "Your memory must be failing. You really aren't well, are you?"

Vincent's smile froze. He clearly hadn't expected me to say that. His face flushed a deep, angry red.

A dark look flashed in his eyes. He pulled a black gemstone ring from his suit pocket and shoved it onto Angela's finger, the gesture leaving no room for argument.

"You're right. Angela is my only fiancee. I'll be submitting the formal engagement papers to the Council shortly!"

Shoulders squared, he tucked Angela's arm into his and strode inside with measured composure.

I wasn't the least bit angry. I simply followed them in.

As soon as we submitted the divorce application to the Corleone elder, Tommaso Ferrante, we were led into the council chamber.

Vincent pulled Angela into his arms, took a swig of whiskey from a glass on the table, then tilted her chin up and fed the liquid into her mouth with a kiss.

The gesture was equal parts dominance and provocation.

He expected me to be jealous, but I couldn't have cared less. To me, the whole display was just laughable.

Back then, he wouldn't even stand close to me in front of the famiglia, claiming that such displays were beneath a man of his rank.

But now, his behavior was so brazen that even Tommaso couldn't bear to watch.

My indifference infuriated him. Seething, he barked at Tommaso to hurry up and finalize the divorce.

Once the divorce papers were in my hands, I let out a long breath of relief.

Seven years of marriage, seven years shackled to the Corleone famiglia—finally fell away.

…

I hailed a black sedan and headed straight to the munitions R&D facility to collect my belongings.

Angela clutched Vincent's arm and followed me like a hawk, her voice shrill as she snapped, "You're not the precision machinist anymore! Even the title of Donna belongs to me now. You're not welcome here! Pack up your junk and get as far away from here as you can!"

Vincent swept a cold gaze over me, his tone dripping with disdain. "Angela is the Corleone famiglia's top precision machinist now. From this moment on, you're not fit to set foot in this lab."

He hurled those words like daggers, waiting for me to crack under the weight of his authority.

In the past, I might have snapped, screamed, and made a scene.

But now, I didn't bother. I simply replied, "Fine. I'm leaving."

I unzipped my bag and began packing my things.

These instruments were a legacy from my mentor. They had been with me for years, and I wasn't about to leave them behind.

Everything had slipped beyond Vincent's control, and he was starting to unravel. To regain his grip, he pulled a miniature detonator cufflink from his sleeve and furrowed his brow, as if a flicker of memory had just surfaced.

"Valenna, you designed this cufflink specifically for my protection. Don't you remember?"

I was busy wrapping glassware. Without even looking up, I gave a dismissive reply. "It's just mass-produced junk. Anyone could wear it."

That pushed him over the edge. Vincent hurled the cufflink against the floor.

"Get out!" he roared. "Don't you ever come back!"

I zipped my bag shut, grabbed my instruments, and walked out without a backward glance.

After I left, Vincent's expression darkened.

Angela sensed the tension and hurried to offer a feigned apology. "Don Corleone, I just wanted a little taste of what it's like to be the Donna. I never expected Valenna to blow things up like this. This is all my fault. Maybe I should go talk to her and clear things up?"

Vincent's lips trembled with barely contained rage, but he forced himself to pat Angela's shoulder reassuringly.

"It's not your fault," he hissed. "Valenna can't read the room. She's being petty with a man who's still ill. Forget about her. Just enjoy being my Donna. She can't survive without me. One word from me, and she'll come crawling back."

I walked out of the famiglia headquarters, carrying my gear.

This time, I was leaving for good. And I was never coming back.