Trapped In A Mafia Marriage

Alessia POV: I said nothing. I didn’t apologize. I simply walked away, leaving them standing in the center of the ballroom, the whispers of the guests buzzing around them like flies. Up in my room, I laid the crushed pieces of the locket on a silk scarf. I tried to fit them together, a hopeless, heartbreaking puzzle. It was irreparable. But I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away. I wrapped the broken fragments in the silk and placed them in my jewelry box, a tiny tomb for the last piece of my mother. A soft knock came at the door. It was Seraphina. She leaned against the doorframe, a smug, victorious look on her face. “You still don’t get it, do you?” I didn’t answer. “He loves it,” she said, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Dante, Nico… they love when you’re in pain. Your tears are like a drug to them. It proves you’re theirs. That no one else can hurt you the way they can. It’s the ultimate form of possession in their world.” “You’re a tool, Seraphina,” I said, my voice cold and steady. “A temporary one. He’ll get tired of you, and then he’ll discard you.” She laughed, a sharp, unpleasant sound. “Maybe. But before he does, he’ll get rid of you. Completely.” She tried to push past me into the room. I was tired, broken, but a spark of defiance flared within me. I stood my ground. “Get out.” She pushed me. It wasn't hard, more of a shove to assert her dominance. But I was off-balance, and I stumbled back. In a desperate, instinctive move to steady myself, I pushed back. My shove had more force than I intended. Seraphina wasn’t expecting it. She gasped, flailing her arms, and her high heel caught on the edge of the plush runner in the hallway. She let out a theatrical shriek and tumbled backward, not just falling, but launching herself with the practiced grace of a stuntwoman, right towards the top of the grand, sweeping staircase. It was a masterpiece of manufactured drama. Her scream brought Dante and Nico running from the study. They arrived just in time to see her land in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the first landing. They rushed to her side, their faces masks of frantic concern. “She pushed me!” Seraphina wailed, clutching her ankle. “Alessia pushed me down the stairs!” Dante’s eyes lifted to meet mine. And for a terrifying, split second, I didn’t see anger. I saw a flicker of dark, chilling satisfaction. He had wanted this. He had orchestrated a situation where my reaction, any reaction, would be twisted into a crime. The satisfaction vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by a mask of cold fury. “Get the car,” he barked at a nearby Soldier. “We’re taking her to the hospital.” He scooped Seraphina into his arms, murmuring reassurances. Then he looked back at me, his eyes promising retribution. He pointed a single, commanding finger at the two burly Soldiers who had appeared at his side. “Teach her a lesson,” he said, his voice flat and deadly. “The same one.” My blood ran cold. “Dante, no! I didn’t push her, she fell!” “She’s lying, Dad!” Nico shouted, his face alight with a righteous, terrible glee. “Mamma was jealous. She hurt Seraphina. She broke the rules. She needs to be punished for her disloyalty.” The Soldiers seized my arms. I struggled, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. “Dante, you can’t do this! You know she’s lying!” I screamed a vow, a promise born of pure, unadulterated rage. “You will regret this! I swear to God, Dante, you will live to regret this day!” They dragged me to the top of the staircase, the same one Seraphina had just descended. I looked down and saw Dante standing at the bottom, watching, waiting. Seraphina was still in his arms, and over his shoulder, she gave me a small, triumphant smile. And on Dante’s face, there it was again. Unmistakable this time. A faint, terrifying smile of his own. Then, the world tilted. A brutal shove from behind sent me hurtling forward. There was a moment of weightlessness, a silent scream trapped in my throat, and then an explosion of pain as my body crashed against the hard marble steps. I tumbled, bones cracking, my head striking the railing with a sickening crack. The last thing I saw before I blacked out was Dante and Nico looking down at me. “See?” I heard Nico say, his voice filled with a disturbing wonder. “Now she’s really crying. She really does love us.” I woke up in a hospital. Again. The pain was a living thing, a fire consuming my entire body. A nurse bustled in, her expression professionally cheerful. “Oh, you’re awake! Your husband has been so worried. He’s been here all night, pacing the halls. He barely left your side.” A bitter, soundless laugh escaped my lips. The performance never ended. Dante Rossi, the powerful Don, was also a master of illusion. “I don’t want to see him,” I said, my voice a croak. For three days, I recovered in solitude. The pain was immense, but in the quiet, a plan began to form. A cold, clear, and methodical plan for my escape. On the fourth day, my lawyer, Mr. Harrison, visited. He was a quiet, unassuming man with eyes that saw everything. He brought the papers. “Are you certain, Alessia?” he asked gently. “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life,” I whispered. A week later, I was discharged. Dante and Nico were waiting for me in the lobby, a picture of a concerned family. Seraphina was there too, leaning on a crutch, a theatrical limp in her walk. Mr. Harrison walked beside me, a briefcase in his hand. We stopped in front of them. The air was thick with unspoken tension. Without a word, I took the thick sheaf of papers from Mr. Harrison’s briefcase. I held them out to Dante. “What’s this?” he asked, his brow furrowing in genuine confusion. It was a divorce petition. A legal request to dissolve our marriage, citing irreconcilable differences. But it was more than that. It was a declaration of war. In our world, a Don’s wife did not leave. She endured. Or she disappeared. I was choosing a third option. I was choosing to fight.