On our fifth wedding anniversary, the first thing I got wasn't a gift. It was a video.

My husband, Domenico Valente, was in some suite at the Bellagio, laughing and sleeping with another woman like I didn't even exist. And it wasn't just any woman. It was Ambra Corsetti, his first love.

I watched the whole thing without blinking while waiting for him at the restaurant. I just sat there, ate my food, and smiled. The waiter refilled my wine twice. The candle burned down to a stub. I never looked away from my phone.

When I got home, I didn't cry either. I picked up my phone and called our consigliere.

"Consigliere, I sent you the divorce papers. The ones Domenico and I signed on our wedding day five years ago. Did you see anything wrong with them?"

I stood by the window when I said it, staring at my own reflection instead of the city outside. My fingers kept rubbing the edge of my phone like I was trying to peel something off it. Maybe I was just trying to feel something. Beyond the glass, the lights of Valente territory stretched to the river, all those streets and storefronts and restaurant fronts that paid tribute to my husband. To a man who had never once paid attention to me.

"Mrs. Valente, I've reviewed everything," the consigliere said, calm and distant. "There's no issue. You've got one month left before the five-year term ends. Once it's up, the agreement takes effect automatically. You can file for dissolution of the union."

One month.

Just one more month.

"…Okay. Thank you."

I hung up and didn't move for a while.

Then my eyes drifted up.

The wedding photo was still hanging there, right where it had always been. Like nothing had changed. Like everything hadn't already rotted from the inside.

I walked closer without thinking.

In the picture, I was smiling so brightly. God, I looked stupid. My dress was pure white, my eyes curved like I believed in forever. The Valente estate chapel behind us, all marble and old money, candles lit like the saints themselves were blessing a lie.

And Domenico…

He stood beside me in that perfect black suit, tall and untouchable. Handsome like something carved out of stone. But his face was cold. No smile. Not even a fake one.

Anyone could see it.

He never loved me.

"…It's almost over," I whispered, my fingers brushing against his face in the photo. Cold glass. That was all he'd ever been to me. "You must be happy, huh?"

Or was that just me trying to convince myself?

The sound of the front door's deadbolt turning snapped me out of it. Heavy. Metallic. The kind of lock you put on a house when the world outside wants you dead.

I pulled my hand back like I'd been caught doing something wrong and turned around quickly.

"You're back."

My voice came out softer than I wanted.

He walked in like he owned the world. Like the air itself moved out of his way. Domenico always had that presence. Heavy. Dangerous. The kind of man people lowered their eyes around. The soldier on night detail had opened the door for him and vanished without a word, the way everyone vanished when the Don came through.

I took his suit jacket as he shrugged it off and hung it up carefully. Then I knelt in front of him and helped him change into his house shoes. My hands moved on their own. I didn't even have to think.

I'd done this too many times.

Domenico loosened his tie, irritation already written all over his face. "Next month's the anniversary banquet," he said. "The Family's hosting it at the Grand. You're coming with me."

My hands paused for a second.

Then I finished adjusting his shoes and stood up slowly. "I can't go."

His head snapped toward me. "What the hell do you mean you can't go?"

I opened my mouth but nothing came out at first.

Should I tell him? That his woman sent their videos to me? Would it even matter? A man who'd broken every vow except omertà wasn't going to flinch at a recording.

Before I could say anything, his expression darkened like he already had his own answer.

"…Don't tell me this is about Ambra again." His voice dropped, colder now, sharper. "I told you from day one I had someone else. You said you wouldn't interfere. Or were you just talking shit back then?"

The words hit like they always did. Clean. Precise. Like a blade he knew exactly how to use.

My chest tightened and it hurt so bad I almost laughed.

Yeah. What kind of husband said that on his wedding day?

What kind of wife agreed?

"I'm not…" I stopped, swallowing hard. "It's not that."

But wasn't it?

Or was I just too tired to fight anymore?

He scoffed, running a hand through his hair. "Then what's your problem? It's just a damn banquet. You've done it before. Stand there, smile, play the part. That's all I'm asking."

Just stand there.

Just smile.

Just pretend like I wasn't slowly breaking apart inside. I looked at him and for a second, I wanted to ask. Did you ever feel even a little guilty? Did you ever look at me and think I was your wife? But the words died before they could leave my mouth.

Because I already knew the answer.

Five years ago, when our families announced the arrangement, I thought I'd been given everything. The Carusos were a small family, old-world honor but fading influence. We had a name and not much else. And the Valentes needed a bride from a bloodline the Commission would respect. It was an alliance. Everyone said so. But I'd liked him for so long. Longer than I wanted to admit. So when I heard I was going to marry Domenico Valente, I thought… maybe this was fate.

Maybe he'd learn to love me.

I was so stupid.

That night, in that same house, still in my wedding dress, he handed me a contract instead of touching me. The ink was still wet on the marriage certificate the priest had blessed not four hours earlier.

"I've got someone I love," he said, like he was talking about the weather. Cold. Detached. "She's not from the right bloodline, and my family won't accept her. But give me five years."

I remember just staring at him, my hands shaking as I held the paper.

Five years?

"For these five years, you stay as my wife in name," he continued. "I'll consolidate control of the Family, and when I do, no one will dare say shit about who I choose. After that…" He looked at me like I was nothing more than a clause in a pact between families. "We divorce. Clean. Simple."

That night, I signed the papers like he wanted. My hands didn't even feel like mine when I wrote my name. It was just… done. Like I'd already lost before anything even started.

Then I locked myself in the bathroom and cried until morning. No sound, just shaking and choking on it, biting my sleeve so no one would hear. Like that would change anything.

Less than three months into the marriage, Ambra disappeared. Just… gone. I heard they had a war of words before that, a blowout that shook the walls of the east wing, but no one told me details. I didn't need them. I saw what it did to him.

Domenico went crazy. He used every connection he had, every soldier under him, every dirty favor owed across five territories. A Don like him, someone who could find anyone in this world… and still, he couldn't find her.

I watched him break.

He stopped coming home most nights. And when he did, he smelled like alcohol and smoke and something darker. His eyes were always heavy, like he hadn't slept in days. I wanted to ask if he was okay. I never did. What right did I have?

Then one night, he came back drunk. Really drunk. The kind where he could barely stand straight but still walked like he owned everything. His ring caught the hallway light as he braced himself against the doorframe. His father's ring. The Don's ring.

Before I could even say anything, he grabbed me.

"Domenico…" I tried, my voice shaking.

He didn't answer.

He pushed me onto the bed like I weighed nothing. My heart was beating so fast I thought it would tear out of my chest. Was this… happening? Did he finally…?

But then his lips crashed onto mine and I froze. It tasted like alcohol. Bitter. Suffocating.

"…Ambra…" his voice broke, rough and desperate against my skin. "Why the hell did you leave me, huh? Why'd you run off with that guy? You think I wouldn't come for you? You don't trust me that much?"

Everything inside me just stopped. My body went stiff under him. So he found her. But she left him anyway. And I was just, here. A substitute. A shadow. Something he could hold when the real one was gone.

That night was my first time. I didn't even know if I should cry or laugh. He held me the whole night, his grip tight like he was afraid someone would take me away too. But every word that came out of his mouth… was her name. Over and over again. Not mine. Never mine.

I stared at the ceiling until my eyes burned, wondering… was this what being a wife meant? Or was I just something he used to survive her absence?

The next morning, he woke up first. There were bloodstains on the sheets. He noticed. I saw it in the way his eyes paused for a second. Just a second.

Then he looked away.

Didn't say anything. Not even one word. Not even… sorry.

I smiled like nothing happened. I got his clothes ready, laid them out neatly like I always did.

"You've got an important sit-down today," I told him softly. "Don't be late."

Like I wasn't the one who bled all night. Like my heart wasn't already torn open.

...

From that day on, I tried harder. Pathetic, right? I knew he didn't love me. I knew I was just filling space. But I still tried.

He had a bad stomach, so I woke up early every morning and made him broth. The kind that wouldn't hurt him — slow-simmered chicken, the way his mother's cook used to make it before Domenico dismissed the old staff. He was always under pressure, dealing with things I didn't even want to imagine — territories shifting, tributes running short, the constant weight of holding five capos in line — so I learned how to massage his shoulders and his back, careful and quiet.

I liked silence anyway. Or maybe I just got used to it. I stopped making noise, stopped asking for anything. Even my footsteps became softer on the marble floors of the Valente compound. If I stayed small enough… maybe I wouldn't bother him.

And somehow, he started changing. A little.

When he came back from trips — Palermo, Zurich, wherever the Family's business carried him — he'd sometimes bring me small things. Nothing big. Just… something.

When I got sick, he'd make me medicine himself and hand it to me without looking at me.

"Drink it," he'd say. "Don't be stubborn."

And at night, sometimes he held me. His arm around my waist, his body warm against mine. Those moments felt so real it scared me. Like maybe… maybe he was starting to see me. Maybe I wasn't just nothing to him anymore.

He never mentioned the divorce again. Not once. Like that paper we signed never existed.

And I… I actually believed it. I thought maybe if I just held on a little longer, he'd fall in love with me.

Stupid, right?

Three months ago, Ambra came back. She broke up with her boyfriend and returned from Europe like nothing happened.

And Domenico? He went back to her without hesitation. No explanation. No guilt. Nothing.

He took her out to eat at the Family's restaurants, went shopping with her on Fifth Avenue, stayed by her side like she was the only thing that mattered in the world. He even canceled sit-downs, important ones, the kind he used to say could never be moved — men left waiting in backrooms, capos exchanging looks that said more than words. All because she said she was in a bad mood.

I stood by the window one night and watched his black sedan pull away from the compound gates, the taillights disappearing past the soldiers on perimeter detail. Same direction. Same place. Her place.

I didn't cry this time. I just watched.

And finally understood.

Love was love. Real love didn't change. No matter how much I gave, how much I tried, how much I broke myself into something smaller and quieter and easier to keep… it would never compare to one look from her. Not even close.

Five years. It was almost over.

"Why aren't you saying anything?"

His voice snapped me out of it. I blinked and looked at him, my throat tightening like something was stuck there.

He didn't remember?

For five years, I'd been counting down every single day, scared that when the time came, he'd just walk away without even looking back. But now he stood there like none of it existed. Like that agreement meant nothing.

Did it ever mean anything to him?

I parted my lips, about to remind him, to say it out loud before I lost the courage again — but his phone rang.

He picked it up right away.

I couldn't hear clearly, but I knew that voice. Ambra. She was crying, choking on her words, panicking about something.

Domenico's expression changed instantly. His whole body tensed, like nothing else in the world mattered anymore. His hand stilled on his father's silver ring, and then he was already moving.

"Hey, hey… don't panic," his voice dropped, low and urgent. "I'm coming right now. Stay there. Don't move, you hear me?"

He didn't even wait for a reply. The call ended and he grabbed his keys, already moving.

"Domenico, I—"

I didn't even finish.

He rushed past me and his shoulder slammed into mine so hard I lost my balance. My back hit the door frame and a sharp pain shot through me. I let out a small sound, something between a gasp and a groan.

But he didn't stop.

Didn't look back.

Didn't even notice.

The door closed and he was gone.

Just like that.

I stayed there for a few seconds, leaning against the wall, trying to breathe through the pain. The compound was quiet around me. Somewhere beyond the walls, an engine turned over and tires bit gravel. Then nothing.

I slowly pushed myself up and walked back to the bedroom.

I took off my coat and saw the bruise already forming on my shoulder. Dark. Ugly.

I opened the first aid kit and cleaned it quietly, pressing the cotton against my skin. It stung, but it was nothing compared to what was inside my chest.

That felt like something dull was slicing through it… slowly, over and over again.

I sat on the edge of the bed and stared out the window. The sky was getting darker, the city lights coming on one by one beyond the estate walls, past the iron gates where the soldiers stood their posts.

I don't even know how long I stayed like that. Until my phone rang.

Domenico.

I hesitated for a second then picked up.

"Come to the Favilla clinic," he said, straight to the point.

My heart skipped. "What happened?"

"We'll talk when you get here."

The line went dead.

...

When I arrived, I saw him right away. He was standing outside the operating room, two of his soldiers posted at either end of the corridor, keeping the hallway clear. And Ambra… she was pressed against him, crying like her whole world was falling apart.

My steps slowed.

Something tightened in my chest again, like a hand squeezing too hard.

I still walked over.

"What happened?" I asked softly.

Domenico looked at me, his expression serious. "Ambra's mother collapsed earlier. It's a severe blood disorder. Her body's failing fast. She needs a bone marrow transplant immediately."

I froze. "And…?"

"We checked everywhere," he continued, calm like he was discussing a piece of business at a sit-down. "No match. So I had them run a test on you. Quietly."

Something inside me dropped. My fingers drifted to my left wrist, pressing against bare skin where nothing sat anymore.

"And?" My voice barely came out.

"You're a match."

For a second, I just stared at him.

"Y-you want me to donate?" I asked, my fingers curling slightly. "Domenico… I can't. I'm scared of needles, I don't even… this is surgery, it's risky, I—"

"I didn't call you here to complain," he cut me off, his tone turning cold. "Don't start that shit with me."

"I'm not complaining, I just… I'm scared, okay?" My voice shook and I hated it. "Can't you find someone else? Please, I really can't do this—"

Before I could step back, two of his soldiers moved. They grabbed my arms.

Hard.

I flinched, panic rising in my chest. "Let go! What are you doing?"

Domenico stepped closer, his shadow falling over me. His eyes were dark, unreadable, like there was no room for refusal. The fluorescent lights of the private ward hummed above us, and neither soldier so much as shifted. They held me like men accustomed to holding people still.

"I'm your husband," he said, voice low and dangerous. "And you'll do exactly what I say."

My heart dropped.

"Your life is mine," he continued, his grip tightening on my chin, forcing me to look at him. "So you're donating. Don't make me repeat myself."

For a moment, I couldn't breathe. Was I even a person to him? Or just something he owned? My eyes burned but I forced it back, swallowing everything down like I always did. My left hand drifted to my bare wrist, fingers brushing the skin where my grandmother's bracelet used to sit. The ghost of its weight was all I had left.

"…Okay," I whispered.

The men let go of me.

"I'll sign."

The nurse handed me the form. My hands were shaking, but I still took the pen.

Stroke by stroke, I wrote my name. Each line felt heavy. Like I was carving something into my own heart. And I smiled a little, just enough so no one would notice the tears I was trying so hard to hide.

Just before they pushed me in, I couldn't hold it in anymore.

"Domenico!"

My voice came out weaker than I wanted. He stopped and turned his head slightly, eyes cold, like I'd just interrupted something unimportant. The silver ring on his right hand caught the corridor light as he half-turned. For a second, I forgot everything I wanted to say.

My lips trembled. Then I forced out the only thing I could.

"…Nothing."

His eyes flickered, just a little. I thought maybe, just maybe… But he didn't say anything.

He turned and walked outside. The doors closed right in front of me. And that was it. The moment they shut, my vision blurred and the tears I'd been holding back just fell. Quiet. Helpless.

So this was how deep his love went.

Deep enough to throw me onto an operating table without hesitation. Deep enough that even if it was my life, he wouldn't care.

When I woke up, everything felt heavy. My body, my head, even my breathing. It was like I was floating somewhere between awake and not.

The lights were too bright. My throat felt dry.

"…You're awake?" a nurse's voice came gently beside me.

I blinked slowly, turning my head. "Mm… yeah…"

"How are you feeling? Dizzy? Pain anywhere?"

"A little," I whispered. "I-is the surgery done?"

She smiled. "Yes. It went well. The patient is stable now and recovering."

Good.

That meant she was okay.

I swallowed, my chest feeling strangely empty. "Domenico, where is he?"

The nurse paused for a second, then said casually, "Mr. Valente? He's with his wife and her mother right now."

My heart stopped.

His wife?

Oh.

Right.

I stared at the ceiling, not saying anything. The private ward was still. Somewhere down the corridor, a door opened and closed, and low voices carried through the walls of this Family-funded clinic where no one asked questions and every room had a lock from the outside. The nurse didn't notice. She just kept talking, even giggling a little.

"Honestly, I was watching them earlier and I got so jealous," she said, her eyes lighting up. "They look like such a perfect couple!"

I didn't move.

"Mr. Valente was so attentive," she continued, almost dreamy. "He kept holding his wife's hand and talking to her softly. You wouldn't even guess he's someone so powerful."

Each word felt like something pressing deeper into me.

"And the way he looked at her," she added, smiling. "Gosh, it was so sweet. I mean, you can really tell he loves her a lot."

I closed my eyes slowly.

"Even when the doctor came out, he didn't leave her side," she said again, laughing quietly. "He kept comforting her, like she was the one who just went through surgery. If I had a husband like that, I'd never let him go."

I let out a small breath. So that was how it looked from the outside. A loving husband. A devoted man.

And me? What was I?

I forced a small smile, even though no one was looking.

"…That's good," I murmured. "As long as she's okay."

I lay there staring at the ceiling, my hand hooked to the IV, the slow drip the only thing keeping time. My body still felt heavy and numb, like it didn't belong to me anymore.

The nurse had just left when the door opened again.

I thought it was Domenico but it wasn't.

Ambra walked in.

She looked soft, fragile, eyes still a little red like she'd been crying for hours. In her hands was a basket of fruit, neatly wrapped like this was some kind of polite visit. A soldier stationed outside the door glanced in, registered her, and looked away. She belonged here. I was the one who didn't.

"Mrs. Caruso…" she said gently, stepping closer. "I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to trouble you like this again."

I looked at her but didn't say anything.

She placed the basket down and gave me a small smile. "Thank you. Really… if it wasn't for you, my mom wouldn't have made it. You saved her."

Her voice softened, almost sweet but it was fake. She tucked a strand of hair behind her left ear with a slow, deliberate motion.

"Thank you for being such a devoted slave to my husband. I mean… devoted wife to Domenico."

My fingers twitched slightly on the blanket.

Slave?

"Do you want some apples?" she asked, already reaching for one. "I'll peel it for you."

"I'm fine," I said quietly.

She didn't stop.

The knife slid against the apple skin in slow, careful strokes. The sound was soft, almost soothing. Almost.

"I really didn't expect…" she continued, her voice turning distant, like she was drifting somewhere else. "After all these years, he's still like that with me."

My chest tightened.

"What do you mean?" I asked, even though I wasn't sure I wanted to hear it.

She let out a small laugh, shaking her head. "He just never changed."

The peel fell in one long strip as she spoke.

"Last year, I mentioned once that I liked this limited edition watch," she said casually. "I didn't even remember saying it. But a week later, he flew overseas just to get it for me. It wasn't even available locally."

My fingers slowly curled.

"He showed up at my place in the middle of the night," she added, smiling faintly. "But I was still mad at him back then, so I didn't even let him in. I told him to leave and threw the box back at him."

Her tone was light. Like it was nothing. Like his effort was something she could just throw away.

My mind went blank for a second.

Because I remembered. That same time. He told me he had an arrangement overseas. Three days. When he came back, he handed me a watch. Just like that. No explanation. No emotion.

"Take it," he said. "Saw it. Thought it suited you."

I'd been so happy. I didn't even wear it. I kept it safe, tucked away like something precious I didn't deserve to ruin.

And now? It was just something she didn't want. I didn't realize my nails were digging into my palm until it started to hurt.