After Ditching My Abusive Don Husband, I Fell in Love with My Adopted Son.

It was a rainy night when the Volkov family was cleaning up traitors. I was 25 years old, and I had been the Donna for three years.

To outsiders, I was the esteemed Donna, but in this mansion, I was nothing more than Nikolai’s plaything.

Just an hour ago, I was pleading with him on behalf of an old subordinate at his banquet.

But he grabbed my wrist, pinning me against the cold wall, his knuckles digging into my flesh. He said, "Isadora, don't forget your place. You belong to me, and you have no right to speak for others."

Rainwater mixed with the stench of blood as 15-year-old Silvio knelt in the mud, covered in wounds, with his parents lying dead in the pool of blood next to him.

He was badly hurt, blood dripping from the gash on his forehead, staining half of his face. His tattered clothes barely concealed the bleeding cuts on his arms and waist. Yet, he stubbornly held his head high, clenching his teeth, refusing to lower it.

They were a small branch of the family, but due to an accidental leak of information, they had become pawns to demonstrate Nikolai’s power.

Nikolai stood on the porch, holding a cigar, lazily waving his hand. His subordinates immediately aimed their guns at the boy’s head.

I suddenly spoke up, “Leave him.”

All eyes turned to me. Nikolai looked over, his cold gaze filled with mockery. “Isadora, when did you start pitying trash?”

“He’s just a child,” I gripped the umbrella handle tightly, my knuckles turning white, too afraid to look him in the eye.

"In the world of the Mafia, there are no children, only the dead. You think that by saving him, he’ll be grateful? You’re just raising a wild dog that will eventually bite you back."

His words were like ice, stabbing deep into my heart. But I refused to back down. "I want to keep him. There are plenty of empty rooms in the mansion. A dog is easier to keep than those two-faced people."

Nikolai’s trusted subordinates instantly flashed a moment of panic in their eyes. His face darkened as cigar smoke drifted from his nostrils, obscuring his sharp features. He stared at me for a few seconds, as though judging whether I was deliberately provoking him.

Finally, he sneered, lifted his chin, and waved his hand to dismiss his subordinates. “Do as you wish, but remember, this was your choice. If this wild dog bites you one day, don’t come begging me.”

I closed my umbrella and walked over to the boy, crouching down in front of him. “Can you get up?”

He raised his eyes, his dark pupils filled with wariness. He shoved away the servant who tried to help him and stood up on his own.

"My name is Isadora. From now on, this will be your home. What’s your name?"

"Silvio," he paused, then added his surname, "Silvio Rourke."

I had the servants take him to treat his wounds and prepare food for him.

He walked away with his back straight, not looking back, like a wild plant in the wind and rain.

In the beginning, Silvio was as quiet as the air, avoiding any contact with anyone. But every day, he would show up at the training grounds before dawn.

Bare-chested, he threw punches and kicked, the old wounds rubbing open and bleeding, but he would simply wipe them and continue training.

Nikolai leaned against the second-floor doorframe, holding a wine glass, watching downstairs. “He’s humiliating himself. A wild dog can never become a wolf, no matter how much it trains.”

When I said nothing, he pinched my chin with such force that it almost crushed it. “Don’t forget your place. You don’t need to care about a wild dog.”

I pushed him away. “He’s just a child.”

“In my eyes, there are only useful and useless people. If he’s useless, he’ll die eventually.” He left with that, not waiting for my response.

Ever since I didn’t know when, Silvio became my shadow. Wherever I went, he followed. Always half a step behind me, perfectly positioned to block any ill-intentioned gazes.

When I handled family affairs, he stood outside the study door, even his breathing softened. When I came out holding a cup of coffee, his eyes would be half-closed, yet the moment I appeared, he immediately opened them and straightened.

“How long have you been standing there?”

“Not long.” His voice was hoarse, his gaze resting on me, hiding a trace of warmth that was hard to notice.

At a family banquet, a fat, greasy man came over and tried to wrap an arm around my waist, spewing vulgar words about making me drink with him.

Before his hand could even touch me, Silvio grabbed his wrist. The man grimaced in pain.

Silvio only said one cold word.

“Get lost.”

The man scrambled away in panic. I said softly, “Thank you.”

He turned around, the corner of his lips curling into a faint smile.

“Protecting you… is what I’m supposed to do.”

It was the first time I had ever seen him smile.