The Last Thing the Don Expected Was Divorce

Thirty minutes later, the armored Mercedes pulled up to the iron gates of Il Nonno’s—the Moretti family’s oldest front.

Vincenzo’s parents had never accepted me.

To them, I was nothing but a street rat with a paintbrush who’d tricked their golden boy into a morganatic marriage.

Only Don Salvatore, his grandfather, had ever looked at me as anything more than a liability.

They’d never forgiven me for failing to give them a male heir to run the rackets, and after three years of marriage with no pregnancy, their contempt curdled into something venomous.

Every Sunday lunch felt like walking into a room full of loaded guns, all pointed at me.

This time, his mother had called at dawn. She said it was family business. I had no choice but to show up.

We stepped into the dimly lit dining room.

His parents were sitting at the head table, sipping espresso. The second their eyes landed on me, their forced smiles dropped.

I kept my gaze fixed on the tablecloth, but Vincenzo noticed. His hand tightened around mine.

“If you two keep treating my wife like garbage, we won’t be coming back. Ever.”

The room went dead silent.

His father slammed his espresso cup so hard against the marble tabletop it shattered.The waiters scrambled to clean up the mess without making a sound.

“Watch your mouth, boy!” he snarled. “Are you really going to turn your back on your own blood for this whore?”

Vincenzo pulled me closer, his jaw clenched.

“Elena is the only woman I’ll ever love. The only person in this world who matters to me. If you can’t respect that, you can keep your damn empire. I don’t want it.”

The mafia boss who could order a hit with a flick of his wrist sounded like a devoted husband willing to burn everything down for me.

It was almost convincing.

After a long, tense silence, his mother sighed,

“Fine.”

Lunch passed in a suffocating quiet.

His mother kept shooting me disgusted glances, and I gripped my fork so tight my knuckles turned white.

I knew what was coming.

She dropped her fork with a clatter.

“Enough waiting. It’s been three years. The Moretti bloodline can’t die with you.”

“Get pregnant.Give us a son.”

The words sliced through me like a switchblade, but before I could speak, Vincenzo set his fork down.

“I told you both.I won’t force her to have a child right now. If we never have a kid, so be it.”

Their faces twisted with rage. Just as they were about to explode, I spoke, my voice steady and calm.

“You’ll have your grandson.”

The room froze. Three pairs of eyes snapped to me.

Vincenzo squeezed my hand, his face painted with that fake, sickening concern.

“Baby, you don’t have to do this. I don’t care about an heir. I only care about you.”

I almost laughed. Care about me? He couldn't even stay faithful long enough to finish a family dinner.

I smiled anyway.

“You want a grandson so badly. Let’s make it happen.”

Their faces softened instantly, greedy and pleased. But Vincenzo looked uneasy, like he could sense the trap but couldn’t see the wire.

Then his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, and I caught the name: Lila.

Vincenzo, the charity luncheon is a mess. I need you here now to go over it.

He stood up, grabbing his jacket.

“Elena, I have to run back to the house to handle some business. Stay and finish lunch. I’ll send a car for you later.”

He didn’t wait for me to answer. He just walked out the door.

The second the door shut, all pretense vanished.

“You have two months,” his mother hissed. “If you’re not pregnant by then, don’t ever show your face here again. We’ll throw you out on the street.”

And Vincenzo? He never came back.

He finally showed up at seven that evening, calm and relaxed.

We got into the car, and I stared out the window.

“Everything okay?” I asked lightly.

He hesitated for a split second, then nodded.

“Yeah. It was nothing major.”

The silence stretched for minutes.

Then he said, “Did my parents give you a hard time after I left?”

I was about to answer when my eyes fell on the floor between the seats. A single pearl earring. Not mine. I’d seen it before—on Lila’s ear.

So that's where he'd been. Not going over contracts. Sleeping with her in the backseat of our car.

Three years of marriage. I’d always been quiet, reserved.

Once, I’d asked him if he found me boring. If he wanted me to be more like the other mob wives.

He’d held me close, kissing the top of my head.

“Baby, I don’t want other women. I want you. Don’t ever change for anyone.”

But the man who’d said those words now reeked of jasmine and lies.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “What do you think?”

He thought I was talking about his parents. He had no idea I’d already seen through every single one of his lies.

He slammed on the brakes, pulling the car over to the side of the road. He pulled me into his arms.

“I’m so sorry, Elena. I shouldn’t have left you alone with them. I promise it’ll never happen again.”

His embrace felt like a cage. I pressed my hands against his chest, pushing him away gently.

“Just drive, Vincenzo. I’m tired.”

I stared out the window at the passing streetlights, the pearl earring burning a hole in my pocket.

One more day, and I'd be gone.

And this time, I'd leave forever.