When The Principessa Strikes Back

I returned to my office and sat at my desk, carefully examining the damaged bag.

The scuff wasn't large; you couldn't see it if you didn't look closely.

But once a piece is flawed, it can never be perfect again.

And because it was so precious, even a trivial flaw was nearly impossible to repair.

Even harder to repair was my marriage to Lester.

The look he gave me this morning still felt like an icicle piercing my heart.

Lester and I always had lunch together. The Falcone family kitchen would prepare it and deliver it to my office, and he would come over to eat with me.

Today, I waited until one, figuring he wouldn't come.

But just as I opened the lunchbox, he arrived.

And trailing behind him was Bianca.

Her eyes were red and swollen. Head bowed, she looked meek, delicate, and utterly deferential.

I set down my fork and watched them.

Lester sat beside me and sighed.

"Bianca's being ostracized by everyone in the family because of last night."

I picked up my spoon and ladled some soup for myself, not even glancing up.

"What's the problem? She's the Don's assistant. Can't she handle something so minor?"

"I need you to call off your people. Stop them from making things difficult for her."

Due to an unwritten rule among mafia families, we each had our own people planted in the other's territory.

Lester was implying my people were targeting Bianca to defend my honor.

Last night's gala was co-hosted by both our families, with almost all core members present.

It was inevitable that Bianca's actions would be criticized.

I stirred my soup and took a sip.

"First, I haven't ordered anyone to target your assistant. You know that's not my style."

"Second, this is her own damn fault. She has no sense of propriety, no boundaries."

"You still don't understand people, Lester. Your indulgence, your tolerance of her—that's what's making her enemies. You're the one hurting her, not me."

Bianca, who had been silent, suddenly took two steps forward and spoke anxiously.

"It has nothing to do with Don Falcone."

"Rania, I admit I was thoughtless yesterday. It was the first time I'd received such an expensive gift, and I was overcome with excitement. I offended you, and I apologize."

I paused, then laughed.

"Lester, your assistant is quite a piece of work. Doesn't seem to grasp the conversation, yet she's fiercely protective of you."

I didn't accept Bianca's insincere apology, nor did I stop my people from targeting her.

Bianca's tears and supposed grievances grated on Lester's nerves.

He lost control. To defend Bianca, he raised his voice at me for the first time, smashing a crystal glass at my feet.

He even told me to apologize to Bianca.

I had done nothing wrong. Why should I apologize?

The lunch ended in ruins.

That afternoon, Lester took Bianca and flew to Chicago for family business.

That night, while drinking with my best friend, she complained I was too much of a queen.

That was why, she said, a girl like Bianca—who knew how to play the doe-eyed victim—had caught Lester's eye.

My mother passed away when I was young, and my father never remarried.

I was groomed from a young age to be a leader of the Moretti family, to shoulder the weight of our entire clan.

Feminine weakness was a liability I couldn't afford.

I could stick to my principles for thirty years without wavering.

Why couldn't Lester Falcone?

In the end, the love had just… dissipated.

And I had no use for divided loyalty.