Chapter 1
On our fifth wedding anniversary, I kicked open the door of the VIP suite to catch my husband in the act.
Vincent Castellano, the Don of our mafia family, was lounging on the sofa with a new girl, lazily lighting a cigar.
"You're five years older than me, Victoria," he said, blowing smoke toward the ceiling. "You should know when a man is done with you. Aren't you tired of playing the warden?"
The girl in his arms, Bianca, giggled. "Give it a rest, lady. Men like them young. You're just in the way."
The room roared with laughter.
I smiled, too.
For five years, I had waded through blood to put Vincent on the throne. I ran his rackets and buried his bodies, only for him to treat the empire like a toy. Every time I dragged him out of the gutter, his excuse was the same: I'm young. I haven't had my fun yet.
Everyone thought I was obsessed with him, a pathetic wife tolerating every insult. They were wrong.
I never loved Vincent. I only tolerated him because he had his brother's face—Dominic's face. My dead fiancé. The only man who ever truly mattered.
I had spent five years living in a hallucination.
Now, the dream was over.
Victoria
The laughter died the second I smiled.
Vincent dropped his smirk. He frowned, crushing his cigar into the ashtray. "How many guards did you bring this time? Same old routine. It's getting boring."
On the drive over, I had planned on making a scene. I had even brought a dozen enforcers. But standing there, the stench of stale smoke and ego hit me, and I just felt tired.
"Have your fun, but know where the line is," I said.
I pulled a stack of photos from my bag and tossed them onto his lap. They weren't just innocent snapshots from a club—they were high-res photos of the two of them tangled in bed.
"It's our anniversary. Be home tonight."
Vincent glanced at the explicit pictures, a flash of irritation crossing his face. Then, he grabbed Bianca's waist, tilted her chin, and kissed her hard.
"Understood, Boss Lady," he sneered, his voice a low, raspy taunt. "But Bianca and I have business to finish. See yourself out."
His men cheered. I turned and walked out into the cold night without another word.
By eight o'clock, I was back at the hillside estate.
The candles were lit, and the cake was on the table—all for show. Vincent always came home for our anniversary to keep up the charade for the other families. A united front kept the rival syndicates at bay.
But tonight, ten o'clock rolled around, and he never showed.
I pulled out my phone to call his driver, but a message popped up on the screen instead. It was sent from Vincent's number, but the sender was clearly Bianca.
Vinnie's busy. Don't wait up.
Attached was a video.
The lighting was dark—probably the master cabin of his yacht—but the tangled silhouettes and heavy breathing were crystal clear.
"Vincent," Bianca's voice was sickeningly sweet. "Won't your wife be mad?"
Vincent let out a mocking scoff. "A thirty-year-old woman actually thinks she can control me?"
I'd received texts like this before. He loved letting his girls poke at me. But skipping our anniversary for a mistress? That was a first.
I didn't send my men to drag him back. I just locked my screen, set the phone face down, and finished my cold steak.
Halfway through, my phone started buzzing nonstop.
The scandal had blown up.
Someone had leaked photos of Vincent and Bianca kissing on a yacht out in the harbor. Every year, the headlines were about our perfect marriage. Tonight, the whole city was watching the Castellano Don publicly cheat on his wife.
My head of security called, panicked. "Boss, should I kill the story?"
Usually, I would have had our PR team scrub the news in minutes. Staring at the screen, I was dead calm. "No. Leave it."
A sudden wave of nausea hit my stomach. I covered my mouth, ran to the bathroom, and threw up until nothing was left.
When I looked up, my reflection in the mirror was pale as a ghost.
I pulled a crumpled pregnancy report from my pocket, tore it into pieces, and threw it in the trash.
This child was a disaster. In our world, having a kid with a man who despises you isn't a blessing—it's a fatal weakness. I couldn't keep it, and I didn't want to.
A cold tear slipped from my eye, hitting the back of my hand. I held my flat stomach, standing alone in the massive, quiet house, and cried in silence.
Ever since I married into the Castellano family, I rarely cried. I wasn't allowed to. To the streets, Victoria was an untouchable machine who held the family's lifeline.
But I could still hurt.
I had trapped myself in this life for one man, doing everything to protect the empire he left behind.
But now, Dominic's debt was paid.
There was no reason for me to stay.
