Where the Olive Trees Weep

The boy I once saved grew up to be the Don of the Falcone family.

He was possessive. Obsessive.

For ten years, he caged me in his estate. My grandfather's life was the price for our marriage.

But my heart was the one thing he could never own.

So he found my replacement—a woman with my face.

One day, she stormed into the estate. "You bitch! You really got surgery to look like me? Just so you could go after my man?"

She smashed my wrists with a hammer. "You'll never paint again!"

I was left broken, bleeding.

That's when he returned. Don Oliver Falcone.

He didn't recognize my ruined face.

"Get rid of the intruder," he ordered.

"Wait!" the housekeeper cried, rushing out. "Boss, the Signora is missing!"

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1

When I was young, my parents were killed by mistake—caught in the crossfire of a war between the Falcone family and their rivals.

The boy from next door inherited the Falcone empire.

He took me in, bringing me to live with him in San Francisco.

For the next ten years, I was a prisoner of his sick obsession. He used my grandfather’s cancer as leverage, the cost of chemotherapy a chain that bound me to a marriage I never wanted.

Three months ago, he grew tired of my cold indifference. He found a woman, Rosina Romano, my near-perfect double.

Then the videos started arriving. Countless intimate clips of them kissing, each one a calculated attempt to make me jealous.

I watched each one without a word. Instead, I took my oil-slicked paintbrush and began to fill the estate walls with olive trees.

Now, the walls of the estate were nearly covered in them.

My grandfather’s chemotherapy was scheduled to end soon.

Oliver Falcone had given me his word I could see him once he was discharged.

I was humming to myself, lost in a rare moment of peace, when voices echoed from beyond the main gate.

"Every night, he's here. I'm going to give him a surprise and win him over!"

The others chimed in eagerly. "Rosina, once you're the Don’s wife, don't you forget us!"

I rushed outside to warn them away. Oliver allowed no one on these grounds.

I’d tried to escape once. I asked an Associate for help. For his trouble, Oliver had the man’s tongue cut out. After that, he locked me away in this remote San Francisco estate.

This place was a gilded cage, and I had no way out. He left only Dorothy, a loyal housekeeper, to see to my daily needs.

But when I swung the door open, I found myself face-to-face with my mirror image. Her presence sent a chill through the air.

Her hair, her face, the flawless green dress she wore—the resemblance was so uncanny it stunned me.

This had to be Oliver’s new plaything, Rosina Romano. Finding a substitute so identical couldn't have been easy.

Rosina’s face froze. The joy on it quickly curdled into rage. She raised a hand and slapped me hard across the face.

"What are you doing here? How dare you sneak into my man's estate! You really have some nerve!"

Before I could get a word out, she grabbed a fistful of my hair and dragged me into the olive grove.

"You bitch, getting plastic surgery to look like me and hiding in my man's estate! Looks like you've done your homework! You've been spying on me and my man, haven't you?"

She pinched my face, her eyes spitting venom. "Not only the surgery, but you even learned to paint like me, too. You're pathetic! How dare you try to seduce my man! You're asking for it! If I hadn't come today, you would've really gotten away with it!”

Gravel bit into the skin of my knees and arms, tearing them open. The pain was like shards of glass shooting through me.

Dorothy, the housekeeper, was out. I was alone in the house, with no hope of winning a physical fight.

"I'm Oliver's legal wife," I explained quickly. "If you don't believe me, I can call him."

But as my fingers brushed against my phone, Rosina snatched it from my hand.

She gripped my hand and pressed my thumb to the screen, unlocking it.

Her eyes landed on the contact saved as "Amore." A sharp, mocking laugh escaped her lips.

"You're telling me this is my man's number? Please. Then who is this one?”