In Chicago, they call me the perfect Mafia wife. A doormat.

On our eighth wedding anniversary, my husband, Damien Luciano, was splashed across the tabloids, partying with nine girls in Las Vegas.

In the third year, the college student he was keeping showed up on our doorstep, demanding my place and threatening to have me thrown out of the Luciano family.

In the fifth year, he spent a fortune on his lover at a charity auction, making me the laughingstock of Chicago's high society.

Everyone laughed at me for being a pushover.

But no one remembered that when Damien married me in that wedding of the century, he had sworn to love only me for the rest of his life.

I clung to that vow. So, at our eighth-anniversary party, I simply steeled myself for the arrival of his ninety-ninth mistress.

At this dinner—a family gathering meant to symbolize my dignity—he showed no restraint, letting his new favorite, Bianca, lord it over me as he casually issued his commands.

"You'll give up the master bedroom tonight. Bianca and I will be sleeping in there."

"Oh, and take off that ruby necklace. Give it to Bianca. She feels it's more fitting for the lady of the house."

In an instant, every eye in the room was on me, their gazes a mix of pity and morbid curiosity, waiting for the fallout.

But I just nodded, turned around, and dialed his mother Isabella's number.

"Eight years are up. It's time for me to leave."

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1

On the other end of the line, Isabella, the family's matriarch, was silent for a long moment before she sighed.

"You've truly been wronged all these years. If you've made up your mind, then go. Leave the rest to me."

Listening to her weary voice, a wave of bitterness washed over me.

The night I accepted Damien's proposal, Isabella had taken me aside for a private talk.

There was no clichéd check to force me to leave, no threats or intimidation. Instead, she had asked me earnestly, "Child, it's fine to play around with him, but are you really sure you want to marry him?"

Back then, I was young and reckless, fueled by a love that made me feel fearless.

Without a second thought, I told her I was sure, that I wanted to be with him for a lifetime.

At that moment, Isabella's eyes held a mixture of wistfulness, helplessness, and pity, but not a trace of relief.

Only much later did I understand the look in her eyes. She was pitying my naivety, helpless in the face of my blind love.

During the first year of our marriage, Damien was still the man I fell in love with, always letting me know his whereabouts before he went out.

At the time, I even laughed at myself for being paranoid, thinking Damien had truly settled down for me.

People say a reformed rake makes the best husband, and I foolishly believed Damien could become that man for me.

But slowly, Damien's "business" trips became more frequent, and the scents of perfume on his shirt grew more and more complex.

Eventually, he stopped coming home altogether, spending day after day carousing in nightclubs.

My fantasy was shattered on our first anniversary, when the news broke of him partying with eight models in Las Vegas.

I rushed into the hotel suite like a madwoman and cornered him, stark naked, on the bed.

That was the first time I had ever cried with such despair. Damien hastily sent all the women away and pulled me into his arms to comfort me.

He knelt before me, saying he had a moment of weakness and swore it would never happen again.

Gazing into his earnest eyes, I let myself believe him.

So, when that college student—as stubborn and headstrong as I once was—showed up on our doorstep, I couldn't even shed a tear.

It was then that Isabella and I made our pact.

She said Damien was still young and that I should give him eight more years.

If, after eight years, he still hadn't changed, she promised to give me a fortune and help me disappear to start over.

This was the eighth year. Damien hadn't changed at all.

After hanging up the phone, I had no intention of going back out.

But Damien found me, with Bianca on his arm.

"Elena, where did we put our wedding rings?"

"Bianca wants to engrave the first letter of her name on my ring tomorrow. What do you think?"

My steps faltered, and a dull ache spread through my chest.

Damien had spent a month designing those rings before he proposed. Back then, he had reverently stroked the letter E on the ring, telling me I was his one and only queen.

Later, I let every woman he brought home take what they wanted without a fight.

Those rings were the one piece of sacred ground I had defended for eight long years.

But this time, I nodded.

"Fine. It's just a ring. Change it if you want."

Damien looked stunned for a second, but relief quickly washed over his features at my easy compliance.

As if to compensate, his tone softened for a rare moment.

"How about this? You should come to the charity auction tomorrow, too."

"If you see anything you like, just bid on it. Consider it my way of making it up to you."

I was about to refuse, but before I could speak, Damien took a call and walked away.

He left me and Bianca standing there, face to face.

She looked at me, the gentle smile on her face instantly vanishing, replaced by a triumphant sneer.

"Elena, sometimes I almost feel sorry for you. It must be hard watching your husband with a different woman on his arm every day, isn't it?"

"You'd be better off showing some dignity and stepping aside sooner. Maybe then people would at least praise you for being considerate."

"After all, if it were me, I could never shamelessly cling to this place for eight years."

My expression remained placid, but my eyes were filled with scorn.

"You're picking up my cast-offs. Who gave you the nerve to speak to me like this?"

"Whatever happens, I am the Donna of the Luciano family. When did a cheap tramp like you earn the right to lecture me?"

"You'd be better off spending that energy on Damien. I've seen your type come and go. Don't be the last to realize when you've been discarded."

Bianca's face flushed crimson at my words.

I had no more words for her and turned on my heel, stalking into the guest room.

On the day of the auction, I arrived at the venue as planned.

Isabella's birthday was in a few days, and a Renaissance-era manuscript she adored was up for auction.

It would be my parting gift to her.

I had just taken my seat when a commotion erupted outside the door. I looked up and saw that familiar figure.

Damien strolled in, holding Bianca's hand, instantly drawing every eye in the room.

They looked at Bianca, then at me, their eyes filled with mockery.

Bianca stroked the dazzling diamond necklace around her neck, shooting a deliberate glance my way.

I feigned ignorance, my eyes fixed on the stage.

The moment the Renaissance manuscript was presented, I raised my paddle without hesitation.

The auctioneer saw my paddle and began the bidding.

"Two and a half million going once... going twice... sold to—"

Just as the auctioneer was about to finish, Bianca's paddle went up.

"Five million dollars!"

I turned to look in disbelief, only to see a triumphant Bianca and an indulgent Damien.

As the Don, Damien knew better than anyone that the manuscript wasn't worth that price.

But he showed no intention of stopping her. Instead, his eyes, as he looked at Bianca, were filled with pride.

That doting expression sent me back in time, to the first year we were together.

Damien had always been Chicago's most infamous playboy, a fixture at every high-society event.

But that first year, he was a changed man, dedicating himself to my happiness.

During the day, he would show me all over Chicago, and at night, he would whisk me away to auction houses.

I still remember the pride in his eyes the first time I mustered the courage to raise my paddle.

It was identical to the way he was looking at Bianca now.

Back then, I truly believed I was different.

Even though I'd long since given up on him, the memory laid over the present, tightening a bitter knot in my chest.

I forced my thoughts back to the present, watching numbly as the auctioneer prepared to slam the gavel down.

But just as the gavel was about to fall, the doors to the auction hall burst open.

A group of armed men rushed in, and the scene immediately descended into chaos.

"Dammit!"

Damien's face turned ashen as he quickly shielded Bianca.

The intruders were from the rival Gallo family. The surprise attack threw the entire auction into disarray.

Once the gunfire subsided, Bianca pointed at me, crying.

"Elena, it had to be her! She resents me for buying the manuscript, so she leaked your whereabouts to the Gallo family!"

"She just wants to get back at us!"

Hearing this, Damien's head snapped toward me, his eyes filled with endless disappointment and fury.

"Elena, how could you be so stupid?"

"Betraying me over a worthless manuscript? Do you have any idea what this means?"

"Let me tell you, Elena, if you can't handle being the Donna, plenty of others are lining up for the position!"

The coldness in his eyes made me feel even more numb.

Betrayal?

In every argument we had over these eight years, he had never once believed me.

It was as if the moment someone accused me, he would unhesitatingly stand on the other side.

"Fine. Since you think I betrayed you."

"Then let's get a divorce. You can give your Donna's position to whoever you want."

Damien's face was a mask of disbelief. Just as he recovered and was about to say something, Bianca grabbed my hand.

"Elena, I'm sorry, it's all my fault. You can hit me, you can yell at me, just please don't take it out on Damien. He's under so much pressure..."

I looked at her, confused, trying to figure out what she was up to.

But in the next second, Bianca, who had been sobbing, suddenly lifted my hand.

In an instant, she slammed herself into the corner of a nearby table, crumpled to the floor, and let out a horrified scream, clutching her forehead.

"Elena, I was wrong! I'll listen to you and never see Damien again! Please, please don't hit me anymore..."

"You're right, a girl from the gutter like me is no match for you. I should have accepted my place sooner."

At her words, Damien violently shoved me aside and helped Bianca, who was now bleeding from her forehead.

A stark, bloody gash marred her once-smooth skin.

Damien's voice grew even colder.

"What did she do to you?"

Bianca looked at me with a terrified expression, as if struggling to speak.

"Elena... she said if I kept seeing you, she would ruin my reputation..."

Damien turned to me, his eyes filled with an endless, chilling cold.

"Elena, it seems I've given you too much freedom over the years. So much that you've forgotten your place."

Scorn coiled in my gut, hot and bitter.

All explanations were now pointless. Damien wouldn't believe a word I said.

"Project the photos from my phone. Today, I'm hosting a private exhibition for my dear wife."

My blood ran cold, and my body began to tremble uncontrollably.

Sure enough, when I looked up again, my photos were on the large screen.

Intimate photos—stolen moments of vulnerability, suggestive poses—flashed across the screen. A wave of shocked whispers rippled through the crowd.

In the early days when Damien and I were deeply in love, he had coaxed me into taking many photos.

He said he would treasure them forever, but now he had turned that past sweetness into a sharp blade pointed straight at me.

I struggled, grabbing his arm, trying to bring him back to his senses.

"Damien, it wasn't me!"

But Damien shoved me away without a second thought, pulling Bianca protectively behind him.

"Hold her."

I was restrained by his men, forced to watch in despair as my most intimate moments were displayed one by one, too numb to even cry.

The surrounding whispers and laughter nearly drowned me.

Finally, the head of the rival family, Luca Gallo, shouted out.

"For one dollar, I'll buy all of Mrs. Luciano!"