While Adrian was away negotiating an arms deal with the Russians, Veronica tampered with my haute couture gown—she knew I had prepared it for the family's charity gala, where I had to be flawless.

On the red carpet, in front of a sea of cameras and the city's elite, the seams of my gown tore apart in a moment of utter humiliation.

But Veronica didn't care. She pulled me into a lounge and sneered, "You're the Falcone Principessa, aren't you? So pampered. Why don't you just be a good little trophy wife and stay in your lane? Leave the real work—the blood and bullets—to me and Adrian."

I lost my temper and slapped her hard across the face.

The next second, Adrian appeared, pulling Veronica into his arms and shielding her.

He glared at me, his voice laced with reproach. "You're the Donna. Is this how you act? She's defenseless, and you attack her? Veronica didn't mean any harm. Why must you make everything so difficult?"

Veronica pressed herself against him, her eyes wide and shimmering with tears. "Donna, I know I'm clumsy. You aren't really going to send me away over something so small, are you?"

That night, he didn't return to our penthouse on Central Park West.

I sat on the cold silk sheets until dawn, a hollow ache where my heart used to be.

As I was packing away his shirts, I saw the tattoo on his back shoulder. The family falcon, once a symbol of our wedding vows, now had its wings subtly twisted into the letter "V." The betrayal was etched into his very skin.

Numb with heartbreak, I picked up the encrypted phone and called my father, the Don of the Falcone family.

————————

1

Adrian didn't stumble in until early morning, reeking of cheap alcohol.

The moment he walked in, I caught the scent of a perfume on him that wasn't mine.

My heart sank.

He didn't even notice the look on my face, just opened his arms to hug me from behind.

The cloying, sweet perfume washed over me, and a wave of nausea rose in my throat.

I shoved him away, staring at him coldly.

"Where were you last night?"

Adrian froze. He glanced away, the drunkenness in his eyes vanishing in an instant.

But he recovered quickly, striding toward me with a casual smile. "Oh, baby. I was out talking business with the Irish mob, you know, a few drinks."

"I've been putting in the hours to lock down the New York Harbor. I'm the Don of this family, after all—the responsibility falls to me."

His tone dripped with self-righteousness, a pathetic veil for his betrayal.

Since he was intent on lying to my face, there was no point in pressing him further.

There was another crucial negotiation with the Colombians that afternoon, but I was physically and mentally drained from the aftermath of the red carpet incident.

In the meeting room, I fought through my exhaustion, parleying with the Colombian drug lords, while across the table, Veronica draped herself all over Adrian—one moment adjusting his tie, the next whispering in his ear.

In front of everyone—even those ruthless cartel bosses who killed without a flicker of emotion—their display was brazenly inappropriate.

Each time, Adrian would pretend to scold her, patting her hand away with an indulgent smile. "Stop it, we're in a meeting. Behave."

Veronica pouted. "This meeting is dragging on forever. I'm so bored."

"Be good. After the meeting, I'll take you on a shopping spree at Hermès on Fifth Avenue."

This negotiation was critical for the family—securing the exclusive supply for the next five years would determine our future.

So I feigned ignorance of their nauseating display and continued my presentation.

As I turned to grab a file, a single, hot tear fell onto the back of my hand.

After our wedding, Adrian had been utterly devoted to me in every way—with one exception: business.

His management style was cold and ruthless. He tolerated no mistakes. Even I, his wife, was forbidden from disturbing him during official meetings.

Yet, he let another woman cling to him and whine, and he didn't just tolerate it—he seemed to revel in it.

I composed myself and pushed on with the presentation.

In the end, my proposal convinced even the most stubborn drug lord to agree to the partnership.

But when I asked Veronica to bring over the encrypted laptop—the one holding our only decryption key—a sharp gasp echoed through the room.

I froze. Veronica had "accidentally" spilled a glass of water on the laptop. The screen flickered twice, then went dead.

That laptop contained all our shipping routes and safe house locations for the next five years.

Adrian's face darkened. He shot to his feet and ordered Veronica to apologize.

"Veronica. Apologize."

Veronica stomped her foot, throwing a tantrum. "Why should I? I didn't know that laptop was so important! It was just sitting there—I thought it was nothing!"

"You told me I could touch anything in your office! And why aren't you blaming Naomi? If it was so damn important, why wasn't she guarding it? You're all just ganging up on me!"

Adrian grabbed her wrist, trying to calm her down.

But Veronica violently wrenched her arm free, tears welling in her eyes. "You promised you would only bring me to this negotiation! Why did you bring Naomi at the last minute? She's the noble Falcone Principessa—she should stay in her ivory tower, not meddle in our business!"

"Since you're choosing her over me, fine! I'll leave! You two can handle the deal yourselves!"

She spun around and ran out in a huff.

"Veronica!"

Adrian panicked and immediately bolted after her.

When he caught up to her and saw her small frame trembling, his anger dissolved. The harsh words on the tip of his tongue morphed into gentle reassurances. "It's okay, it's okay. It wasn't your fault. Don't cry."

The deal collapsed. Adrian's family lost a crucial revenue stream.

With no one else to blame, Adrian directed his fury at me. "You're the Donna. How could you be so careless? You can't even protect a vital piece of equipment?"

I had given everything for this family, only for him to blame me for a mess Veronica had orchestrated.

I didn't bother to defend myself.

The humiliation of the red carpet incident festered, and the whispers of gossip felt like tiny daggers in my heart.

I could endure the psychological torment, but the ache in my chest was a different beast entirely—a sharp, relentless agony.

Seeing my silence, Adrian softened his tone, trying to console me. "I know you're still angry with Veronica, but she's a helpless orphan. It's inevitable she'll make mistakes. Show some tolerance. As the Donna, it's your place to be magnanimous. It makes you look better."

"I'm only saying this for your own good."

He always claimed it was for my own good, yet every action he took was tearing me apart.

Was altering our wedding tattoo also for my own good?

Three years ago, after a street shootout, I rushed to the scene. The block was a warzone. We found Veronica cowering behind a pile of rubble.

She had lost her parents and her home in the crossfire.

Out of sympathy—and a sense of duty as the Donna—I brought her back with me. I sponsored her education, and after she graduated, I arranged for her to become Adrian's assistant.

But Veronica was hopelessly incompetent. She would spill coffee on our associates during negotiations or mix up transaction locations.

Adrian used to complain to me constantly. "That girl you gave me can't do anything right. She's a walking disaster."

And I would always tell him, "She's still new. Give her some time. Don't be so hard on her."

Back then, I thought I was doing a good deed. But my kindness only fueled her arrogance, until she started setting her sights on what was mine.

Adrian sighed, stroking my cheek and studying my haggard expression.

I could only imagine my reflection—pale and ghastly, with dark circles etched under my eyes.

"I'll take you to a doctor after the banquet. Just hang in there."

As soon as he finished speaking, Veronica sauntered in, glanced at my face, and burst out laughing. "God, Donna—what happened to you? You look like death warmed over."

Laughing, she linked her arm with Adrian's. "Let's go, Adrian. We're going to be late for the Don's banquet."

I looked at Adrian, my suspicion rising. "What banquet?"

He couldn't meet my eyes. "It's just a small family banquet, but the Five Families will be there. You weren't feeling well, so I didn't want to bother you. Veronica will go in your place."

"It's for your own good."

Veronica tugged Adrian out of the room. "Come on—we're going to be late!"

At the door, Adrian glanced back at me. "Naomi, just rest. I'll take you to the doctor after."

Behind him, Veronica mouthed a silent message to me, her eyes glinting with blatant provocation.

On the way to the banquet, Veronica sat in the passenger seat of the Rolls-Royce, her voice laced with feigned vulnerability. "Adrian, Naomi is a Falcone Principessa and your wife. I'm worried she'll get jealous and find a way to get back at me."

"What am I going to do if she really comes after me?"

Adrian's eyes remained on the road. Seeing her feigned helplessness, his heart softened.

"Don't worry. Naomi's just blowing off steam. Besides, you have me, don't you?"

His tone became smug. "With me here, no one would dare touch you—not even the Donna."

"She thinks she can do whatever she wants because her father is the Don. When it comes to real brains, you're ten times sharper than her."

What he didn't know was that Veronica had called me right before they left. I heard every single word.

Then, she sent me a text: "Did you hear that? That's what Adrian really thinks of you. If you have any dignity left, stop clinging to him. He doesn't love you."

I had already decided to leave Adrian. But since she wanted to provoke me, I would leave her an unforgettable parting gift.

I went to the underground shooting range alone, shredded a human-shaped target with a Beretta 92, and then made a call amidst the lingering scent of gunpowder.

"Adrian is taking his assistant, Veronica, to the banquet tonight. After the party, bring her to my penthouse."

"And in her champagne, add a little Devil's Vine extract."

Then I made another call. "Papa, it's time. Freeze all of Adrian's lines of credit at our family bank."

The Don's banquet was being live-streamed on the underworld's encrypted website, The Ledger.

Every Don attended with his Donna. Except for Adrian, who made the excuse that his wife was unwell and brought his assistant in her place.

I sat in front of the giant screen in my apartment, watching Adrian's hypocritical smile, my stomach churning.

The camera panned to Veronica as she descended the stairs, wearing the 'Siren's Tear'—the sapphire necklace that belonged only to the matriarch of the Marino family. The gaze of every man in the room followed her, their admiration obvious.

Veronica basked in the attention, gliding triumphantly to Adrian's side.

Watching this from the penthouse, my nails dug so deep into my palms that they drew blood.

That necklace belonged to the Donna. In the Marino family, only the woman who had taken vows with the Don before a priest had the right to wear it.

I remembered our own wedding—Adrian standing at the altar, vowing with absolute conviction.

"You are my only wife. I swear before the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit—if I ever betray you, may my soul suffer eternal damnation."

His gaze that day was so pure, untainted by anything but the deepest love.