The Night I Took Off the Donna Necklace, I Made the Don Beg Me Not to Leave

At the Rossi family’s New Year’s Eve gathering, I stood beside the head of the long table, smiling, raising my glass, looking every inch the perfect Donna.

This was my fifth year of marriage to Noah Rossi.

And tonight, he was two hours late.

When Noah finally shoved the door open, his shirt was half unbuttoned, and Amelia came in right behind him, one of the Rossi family’s outer-circle associates.

“Vivian. You know her,” Noah slurred, reeking of alcohol as he wrapped an arm around Amelia’s waist.

“We’ve met,” I said evenly.

For the past three months, Noah had brought up her name at the dinner table a hundred times.

Her sick grandmother. Her family drowning in debt. Her tragic little life story. And every single time, he would tack on the same line at the end. “I just feel sorry for her.”

Back then, I hadn’t said a word.

But between the unfamiliar perfume, the faint lipstick stain, and his shirt hanging open, I understood now.

“So yeah,” Noah said, standing by the long table, swirling his drink. His eyes locked on me while his other hand stayed planted on Amelia. “Some women can’t even compare to one of Amelia’s fingers.”

A few capos and soldiers let out strained little laughs, awkward, forced, eager to follow his lead.

For the past five years, the Rossi family had climbed higher and higher because of mine, the Moretti family, the strongest of the Five Families. Without the power behind my name, the Rossis would never have risen this fast, never built this kind of reputation in the mafia world.

And now he sat at his own family table and spoke tenderly about another woman in front of his wife.

He even showed up with lipstick on his white shirt. Then brought that woman here openly.

I lowered my eyes and said nothing.

I just slowly reached up and unclasped the necklace around my throat, the Donna necklace.

A Moretti heirloom and the same necklace Noah had fastened around my neck with his own hands on our wedding day.

I set it on the table. The silver chain caught the light and gleamed cold under the chandelier.

The whole room went silent. The smile froze on Noah’s face.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked, frowning.

“It’s too tight,” I said, the corner of my mouth lifting slightly. “Hard to breathe. Go on.”

Then I turned and walked out of the hall, each step calm and steady.

I was used to this by now.

No matter how violently things churned inside me, my face always stayed composed. Never cracked. Never gave anyone the satisfaction. That was how I had survived.

At the end of the hallway, Lucas Cooper was leaning against the wall with a cup of coffee in his hand.

He wore a plain black coat, no family crest, no colors, no mark that tied him to any crew. But none of the soldiers in the corridor dared stop him. They all knew who he was. A fixer.

He was also my aunt’s adopted son, brought back from overseas years ago. My cousin, though not by blood.

“You okay?” Lucas asked, holding the coffee out to me.

I took it and had a sip. Exactly the way I liked it. Exactly the right temperature.

He always remembered.

“When did you get back?” I asked.

“Whenever you need me,” he said lightly, like he was commenting on the weather.

I didn’t answer.

I knew what he meant.

I had always known.

Ever since I was sixteen, back when I taught him English and helped him adjust to this country, I knew the way he looked at me wasn’t the way a brother should.

But blood or not, he was still my cousin.

Later, he was sent to Europe, where he learned skills people didn’t talk about in polite company.

And later still, I married Noah. Lucas came back to this city as a fixer and started working with the Rossi family because I was with the Rossis.

He never said the things sitting between us out loud. He just appeared whenever I needed him.

“Lucas.” I took another sip of coffee. “I need you to look into something.”

“What is it?”

“Amelia Jones. I want to know what she is to Noah. And” I paused, “what he’s been moving around in the books lately.”

Lucas looked at me once and didn’t ask why.

“Three days,” he said.

I nodded and turned to leave.

“Vivian.”

I stopped.

“What are you going to do?”

I went quiet for two seconds.

“I’m not going to be the one who leaves first,” I said softly, every word sharp and clear. “I’m going to make them beg me to go.”

Lucas didn’t say anything after that.

I walked into my bedroom, shut the door, and looked at myself in the mirror.

My face was calm. No tears. No rage. No humiliation. Not even pain anyone else could read.

For five years, I had been the Rossi family’s Donna. For five years, I had been the woman behind Noah Rossi.

I helped him steady the family. I cleaned up the books. I handled the dirty business that kept their empire running.

And in the end, he looked me in the eye and told me I wasn’t worth as much as an associate.

I picked up my phone and opened an encrypted messaging app.

[Help me investigate someone. Noah Rossi. I want everything on him.]

Send.

Recipient: Aldo Moretti.

Then I set the phone down.

Ok. Let him find out for himself whether I measured up or not.