In the third year of our arranged marriage, my husband, Mafia godfather Alessandro, paraded his new mistress in front of me.

He stood by while that woman caused my mother's death.

On the day I called him for help, he hung up on me to comfort his crying mistress.

Afterward, he sent an exorbitant diamond bracelet as compensation, insisting I would always be the one and only Mrs. Falcone and that other women were merely distractions.

But my mother was gone, and my heart was dead.

What was the point of being Mrs. Falcone anymore?

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1

After arranging my mother's funeral, I retrieved the asset transfer agreement I had prepared in advance.

It wasn't until the early hours of the morning that I finally heard Alessandro stumble in, reeking of whiskey and another woman's perfume.

"Elena, did you like the bracelet I sent you?"

A smear of lipstick still stained his face as he leaned in to kiss me, his eyes hazy with drink.

I fought back a wave of nausea and handed him the stack of documents.

He squinted, flipping through them, the corner of his mouth curling into a mocking smirk.

"More family authorization documents? It seems I've trained you well. A proper Consigliere in the making."

"Fine, a few routine authorizations. Stop bothering me with these trifles."

With that, Alessandro carelessly scrawled his name on one document after another.

When he reached the last one, an agreement concerning the dockside warehouses, he suddenly paused.

"What's this? This one looks different."

My stomach clenched. Before I could say a word, his mistress Isabella's call came through.

"Alessandro, you promised you'd spend the night with me. Why did you go back just because she's a little upset? You're playing favorites."

Hearing Isabella's aggrieved sobs, Alessandro's breath hitched.

He quickly signed his name on the final agreement, grabbed his coat, and turned to leave.

At the door, as if remembering something, he glanced back at me.

In a tone that left no room for argument, he ordered, "Elena, be more generous with her. Our marriage was arranged, but we're family now. Don't let outsiders see the family as a joke."

He didn't even give me a chance to respond before hurrying away.

With a heavy thud, the door slammed shut, leaving me alone in the vast villa.

The endless night swallowed me whole.

I stared at the signed agreements in my hand as tears finally blurred my vision.

Three years ago today was the first time I met Alessandro.

At the time, my family owed the Falcones an enormous debt. In exchange for my mother receiving cutting-edge experimental medical treatment, I agreed to the marriage.

For him, it seemed to be love at first sight.

Even for a political union, he swept me off my feet with grand romantic gestures.

He would cut family meetings short just to take me to an obscure art exhibition.

He remembered all my preferences and planted an entire estate of roses just for me.

Once, my mother's condition suddenly worsened.

At my most helpless and desperate, it was Alessandro who had mobilized the entire family's resources, locking down half of New York City and flying in Europe's top medical team on a private jet to save her.

At that time, his arm still bore fresh wounds from a clash with a rival family, yet he held me tight and swore:

"Elena, stay by my side. I swear, I will make you the most respected Mrs. Falcone. For the rest of my life, I will only love you."

Seeing the raw devotion in his eyes, I’d wept, believing I had married for love.

But the fairytale of a reformed rake didn't last long.

He soon grew tired of a life with only me, and all-nighters became his new routine.

When I got angry, he would compensate me with expensive jewelry.

When I suggested taking my mother and leaving, he threatened to cut off her treatment.

Our vows became nothing but a pile of lies.

Everything he had promised became the bars of a cage that imprisoned me.

Later, Alessandro grew tired of arguing.

He gave me a black card with no limit and laid out his traditional Mafia philosophy.

"Elena, I love you, but it's impossible for a man to have only one woman."

"You are my wife, the matriarch of this family. That will never change. As for the women outside, they are just for amusement."

In three years of marriage, the lovers by his side came and went.

Only Isabella had remained with him for a full six months.

He broke his own rules for her time and again, slowly eroding what little was left of our love until my heart turned to ice.

Now, my mother was dead.

I no longer had to endure this loveless marriage for her sake.

Once this thirty-day asset transfer period was over, Alessandro and I would be done for good.

He and his mistresses could have this blood-stained marriage.

More than ten days passed, and Alessandro still hadn't come home.

I stayed in the villa, sorting through my mother's belongings and placing her ashes in the church columbarium.

He was in Miami with Isabella—shopping, drinking, watching the sunrise.

He never sent me a single message.

Isabella, however, used a different number each day to send me intimate photos of them together.

She gloated, flaunting Alessandro's affection for her.

All the patience and companionship I had craved, Alessandro lavished on her instead.

After I blocked Isabella's number for the seventeenth time, Alessandro finally came home.

He held out a bouquet of slightly withered roses, acting as if he'd just returned from a short business trip, and spoke to me nonchalantly.

"Elena, I'm tired. Have the kitchen make me something to eat."

He was completely unconcerned about the glaring hickey on his neck or the cloying perfume clinging to his clothes.

When I didn't move, he frowned with a hint of impatience.

"Still angry about Isabella?"

"I told you, it was just a little girl's prank. You're overreacting. I just had to spend some time comforting her."

"Alright, don't give me that look. I've replaced the flowers for you, and I'll have someone replant the rose garden. As for your mother… I've already contacted the best sanatorium in Switzerland. You don't have to worry."

A sharp pang of grief shot through me, and my eyes burned with unshed tears.

It had been over half a month, and Alessandro still knew nothing of my mother's death.

He was even using such a clumsy lie to placate me.

I suppressed my heartache and looked at him.

His head was bent as he texted Isabella, the tender smile on his lips blinding.

Three years. Had he already forgotten everything?

Tears welled in my eyes and spilled down my cheeks.

Alessandro looked up, startled by my expression, and fumbled to comfort me.

"Don't cry, Elena. I'll spend more time at home with you from now on, alright?"

The words had barely left his lips when his phone rang.

"Don Falcone, the banquet is starting. Miss Isabella has been waiting for you."

It was his Consigliere, Marco.

Alessandro glanced at me, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, but he quickly relented.

"Alright, Elena, I said I'd stay with you, and I won't go back on my word. We'll go together. You can get out and clear your head."

Without giving me a chance to refuse, he dragged me into the car.

The moment I opened the car door, I spotted an earring belonging to another woman on the seat.

Alessandro, looking a bit awkward, quickly tossed it out the window.

"She's just a kid. She doesn't know any better. You need to be more understanding."

I didn't get angry as he had expected. I just calmly took out a wet wipe and meticulously cleaned the leather seat.

Alessandro froze, instinctively shifting his body to block the intimate photo of him and Isabella stuck to the dashboard.

He asked tentatively, "You're not angry?"

"There's nothing to be angry about."

I turned my gaze indifferently out the window.

He didn't know. The moment his pen touched that paper, he became a stranger to me. A target. He wasn't even worth my anger anymore.

The rest of the drive was silent.

Alessandro tried to speak several times but seemed unable to find the words.

Ever since he'd introduced that twisted Mafia code into our marriage, we’d lost the ability to have a civil conversation.

All that remained were endless arguments and rage.

And at this moment, I didn't even have the strength to argue.

My mother's death had drained the last of my energy.

I just wanted to get through these last few days in peace and escape this rotten marriage for good.

When we arrived at the banquet, a crowd surrounded us the moment we walked in.

I was pushed to the side, my lower back slamming hard against the sharp corner of the bar. The pain was so intense I could barely stand.

Isabella, dressed in a sexy red evening gown, glided toward us.

"Alessandro, today is our six-month anniversary."

"I don't want any expensive gifts. I just want to borrow the sapphire necklace your mother left you… Just for a little while. I can pretend… just for a moment… that I'm your wife."

Her performance was a masterful blend of charm and sincerity.

It wasn't just Alessandro; even the family members gathered around seemed moved.

Alessandro strode forward and pulled Isabella into his arms. "I promise."

The media, already poised, immediately swarmed in with their cameras.

They vied to capture the blissful moment as he fastened the necklace around her neck.

I lowered my head, a bitter smile touching my lips.

When Alessandro and I were married, he said we should keep the ceremony simple.

I didn't care about formalities; I only asked to see the matriarch's necklace.

But Alessandro said the time wasn't right, that we would talk about it later.

That "later" turned into three years.

He waited until we were on the verge of breaking apart.

He waited until I had to watch with my own eyes as he placed it around another woman's neck.

He waited until I finally understood that Alessandro hadn't changed—he had never truly respected me.

The love I thought was real?

It was nothing more than a passing game for a Mafia godfather.

Suddenly, a voice interrupted my thoughts.