Chapter 1: The Day I Chose to Leave

When people married into the Mafia, they expected danger.

No one warned them that betrayal would hurt far more than bullets.

For three years, I had stood beside Don Carlo through blood feuds, assassinations, and betrayals.

I cleaned his wounds after every mission, buried his enemies without asking questions, and waited through countless lonely nights.

Yet somehow, the only battle I couldn't survive was watching my own husband slowly choose another woman over me.

The first excuse came on our wedding anniversary.

"I'm sorry, Isabella," Carlo had said over the phone. "Something urgent came up."

"We'll celebrate another day."

I believed him.

I always believed him.

Until one photograph shattered every excuse he'd ever given me.

The private investigator quietly slid a thick envelope across the table.

"Mrs. Romano," he said cautiously, "I checked everything you asked for."

"I wish I hadn't."

My hands trembled as I opened the envelope.

Inside were photographs.

Dozens of them.

Then hundreds.

Every single one showed Carlo with the same woman.

Valentina.

One picture showed them laughing together after target practice.

Another showed him standing behind her, guiding her hands as she aimed a pistol.

There was one where she rested her head against his shoulder while they shared a slice of cake.

Another captured him wiping dirt from her cheek with surprising tenderness.

My chest tightened.

Carlo hated guns.

Or at least that's what he'd always told me.

He claimed loud gunfire reminded him of painful memories.

Whenever I invited him to the shooting range, he refused.

"Not today," he'd always say.

"You know I hate that place."

Apparently, he only hated it when I was the one asking.

I kept flipping through the photographs.

Christmas.

The holiday he claimed he had to spend handling urgent family business.

Instead, there he was beside Valentina at a quiet restaurant overlooking the river.

She wore a bright smile.

He looked happier than I'd seen him in months.

I laughed softly.

Not because it was funny.

Because crying in front of strangers felt even more humiliating.

"Thank you," I told the investigator.

"That will be all."

After he left, I remained seated for nearly an hour.

The coffee in front of me had long gone cold.

So had my heart.

Eventually, I folded every photograph back into the envelope.

There would be no dramatic confrontation.

No screaming.

No begging.

If love had to be fought for, then perhaps it wasn't love anymore.

I drove directly to the Romano headquarters.

The guards greeted me respectfully.

"Good afternoon, Madam."

"Is the Don inside?"

"Yes, Madam."

"He's in the training wing."

Training wing.

Of course.

Exactly where the photographs had been taken.

I walked through the familiar hallways.

The sound of gunfire echoed from behind reinforced doors.

When I entered quietly, no one noticed me at first.

Carlo stood behind Valentina, correcting her shooting stance.

"Relax your shoulders," he told her gently.

"You're gripping the pistol too tightly."

She laughed.

"Then you'll have to keep teaching me, Don."

"As many times as necessary."

His voice was warm.

Patient.

Almost affectionate.

I couldn't remember the last time he'd spoken to me like that.

One of the soldiers finally noticed me.

"Madam!"

The room instantly fell silent.

Valentina stepped away from Carlo.

He turned around.

Surprise crossed his face.

"Isabella?"

"What are you doing here?"

I simply placed the thick envelope onto the table.

"Enjoying your afternoon."

His eyes landed on the photographs spilling from the envelope.

His expression changed.

"Who gave these to you?"

I smiled faintly.

"That's your first question?"

"Not whether I'm hurting?"

"Not whether there's an explanation?"

"You want to know who exposed you."

He rubbed his forehead.

"You're misunderstanding this."

"Am I?"

I picked up one picture.

"Our anniversary."

"You cancelled dinner."

"Because she had a difficult mission."

Another photograph.

"Christmas."

"Family emergency."

"Except your family turned out to be her."

The room remained painfully quiet.

Even the soldiers avoided looking at us.

Valentina lowered her eyes.

"Mrs. Romano..."

"Please don't," I interrupted.

"This conversation isn't with you."

Carlo dismissed everyone with a wave.

"Leave us."

Within seconds, the training room emptied.

Only the three of us remained.

"Speak," I said.

"Tell me why."

Carlo loosened his tie.

"Valentina is one of my soldiers."

"She struggled after a failed mission."

"She needed guidance."

"That's all."

"Guidance?"

I held up another photograph.

"Do mentors usually celebrate Christmas by candlelight with their students?"

His jaw tightened.

"You're making assumptions."

"No."

"The photographs made them for me."

He took one slow step forward.

"Bella..."

"Don't call me that."

"Not today."

For the first time, uncertainty flickered across his face.

"What do you want?"

"The truth."

"And if I already gave it?"

"Then it's not enough."

Silence stretched between us.

Finally, I reached into my handbag.

I removed a folded document.

"What's that?" Carlo asked.

"Your freedom."

I placed the divorce papers on the shooting bench.

"I've already signed them."

His eyes widened.

"You're divorcing me?"

"I'm setting both of us free."

"Isabella, don't be ridiculous."

"Ridiculous?"

"No."

"Ridiculous was believing every excuse you ever gave me."

I picked up my handbag.

"I'm going home to pack."

"Don't follow me."

"Don't call me."

"And don't insult me with more lies."

Without waiting for his answer, I walked away.

Behind me, I heard Carlo call my name once.

"Isabella!"

I didn't stop.

For years, I had always turned around whenever he called.

This time...

I kept walking.

Back at the mansion, I packed two suitcases in complete silence.

The bedroom that had once felt like home now felt unfamiliar.

Every photograph on the wall reminded me of promises that no longer meant anything.

I placed my wedding ring beside the signed divorce papers on the nightstand.

Just as I closed the final suitcase, the bedroom door opened.

Carlo stood there.

His breathing was uneven, as though he'd rushed home.

"You're really leaving."

"Yes."

"You're serious."

"I've never been more serious in my life."

He stepped toward me.

"Give me time."

"I'll fix this."

"You had months."

"Maybe years."

"You simply never realized there was anything to fix."

For the first time since we'd met...

Don Carlo had no answer.

I walked past him with my luggage.

He didn't stop me.

Perhaps he believed I'd cool down and return in a few days.

Perhaps he thought this was another argument.

Neither of us realized that this simple goodbye would become the biggest regret of his life.

Because once I walked out of that house...

I never intended to walk back in.