Three months after Pete took his foster sister as his mistress, I terminated my marriage, chose to die on paper, and vanished from his life entirely.

One quiet morning, I handed my child over to the nannies arranged by the family and walked out of the Rizzuto estate alone.

Pete didn’t chase after me that day.

He believed I would come back. Once I had calmed down, I would lower my head.

The following spring, I was diagnosed with cancer.

Standing in the hospital corridor, I suddenly remembered years ago—

Pete had taken my hand and said,

“You’ll be the finest Donna this Rizzuto family has ever had.”

What pulled me back was not Pete.

It was a letter from Sicily.

Thin paper.

Cold, rigid handwriting—the kind favored by old families who had ruled too long to bother with sentiment.

“The heir has begun showing signs of emotional instability.”

“Recent violent behavior has caused internal concern.”

“There is disagreement within the family regarding the current Don’s judgment.”

In the mafia world, there is only one reason the elders would bypass a man and reach out to a wife officially presumed dead—

When the family itself begins to lose balance.

So I returned. To the place I had once fled with everything I had.

This time, there were no illusions. I no longer placed any hope in emotion. I was there only to fulfill the obligations of the family.

I knew exactly how much time I had left. And I knew exactly what needed to be done.

I became a proper Donna.

I no longer demanded monogamy— I no longer asked for emotional loyalty.

That kind of fantasy had never belonged to this world—certainly not to a mafia family.

I personally selected women for Pete: clean backgrounds, obedient temperaments, fertile.

I fired the tutors who had been forcing Berg to study, so he could do whatever he wanted.

I diligently took care of Tom's mother, reorganized the accounts, and mediated factional disputes.

The family stabilized.

Everything fell back into place. Except Pete.

That day, he finally snapped.

In the study, priceless ornaments shattered one after another, fragments scattering across the floor.

“I’ve already sent Mia away!”

His eyes were bloodshot, his voice hoarse, like a cornered beast.

“What more do you want from me before you’ll stop?”

I stood there calmly.

“Stop what?”

Berg, standing nearby, was on the verge of tears.

“Mother, I was wrong,” he said.

“I won’t say men should have multiple women anymore. I won’t mention Mia again.”

“Please… don’t do this anymore. Okay?”

Pete didn’t understand. He thought this was my revenge.

He looked at me for a long time, exhaustion finally overtaking his rage.

“Are you trying to punish me,” he asked quietly,

“or yourself?”

I didn’t answer right away.

Instead, I said, evenly,

“Isn’t this the life you chose?”

He let out a short, broken breath.

“You came back,” he said.

“So stop pretending this is what you want.”

“We can still fix this. The three of us—we can live properly again. Isn’t that enough?”

I nodded once.

“Fine.”

The word left my mouth without hesitation.

And that was what broke him.

Something in his expression shifted—not anger, not rage, but the slow realization that I wasn’t bargaining anymore.

A pause settled between us. Then footsteps.

A maid’s voice came from the doorway, careful and deferential.

“Madam. The women you requested have arrived.

I smiled faintly. "Let them in."

I rose to greet them personally, my voice calm and composed.

"These women were all chosen by me personally," I said.

"I believe you will find them very suitable."

As soon as they entered the room, Peter was stunned.

All three women bore a striking resemblance to the same woman.

Mia. His foster sister.

Pete’s hand tightened slowly, his knuckles whitening.

I felt nothing.

If he had once loved her to the point of losing control, then women like these were the most suitable compensation—for the family, for bloodline continuity.

“Greetings, Don Rizzuto,” the three women said in unison.

The first to break was Berg.

He rushed to my side, looking up at me, desperation in his eyes.

“Mother, if you truly intend to live well again, then please send them away.”

“Father won’t like them. I don’t like them either.”

I brushed his hand aside, my voice cold.

“Nonsense.”

“How can a family as large as the Rizzutos lack women to attend its Don?”

“You are no longer a child. Do not disgrace yourself at a moment like this.”

I turned to Pete. “Shall they stay tonight?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped forward abruptly and gripped my shoulders.

“Why must you do this?”

“Are you reminding me—again and again—of how unforgivable my mistake was?”

My voice remained even.

“You’re overthinking.”

“The Rizzuto family has only one heir. That is not the mark of a great house.”

“I am doing this for the family.”

“Enough!” He shoved me away.

I lost my balance and fell. My hand landed on the shattered remains of a vase—

blood spilled instantly.

For a moment, he froze completely.

“Isabella—” He bent down to help me up.

I avoided his touch. Instead, I rose with the aid of a maid.

That single movement— destroyed the last trace of reason in his eyes.

“So you despise my touch that much now?”

I looked at him. And said nothing.

“Don’t worry, Pete,” I said calmly. “I don’t want your clothes stained with blood.”

The three women sensed the change in atmosphere and fell silent.

Only the one who most resembled Mia—especially her eyes—stepped forward.

“I’m medically trained,” she said softly. “If you don’t mind, I can bandage your wound.”

“It’s nothing,” I replied. “You should focus on taking care of Pete. That’s why you’re here.”

She lowered her eyes, not daring to respond.

Before everyone could react, Pete smashed another of my favorite pieces of jewelry.

“Does it have to be like this?” he snapped.

“You think picking three impersonators will solve everything?”

“Will you be happy if I bring Mia back?”

“If you want her,” I said calmly, “then bring her back. You’re Don; you can do whatever you want.”

He gritted his teeth, staring intently at me.

“Very well,” he finally spoke, his voice filled with rage. “Very good.”

He took two steps back, then turned and walked away.

“Father!”

Berg called out twice behind him. Peter didn’t turn around.

Berg turned around, his face pale.

“Is this really what you want?” he asked.

I met his gaze, noticing the stiffness in his shoulders and the effort he was making to maintain his composure.

Before, I would have knelt beside him.

I would have carefully chosen my words.

I would have tried to make him understand.

I would have told him not to be afraid—that even if his father and I were fighting, we still loved him. That none of this was his fault.

But I wouldn't do that now.

“If you have something to say,” I replied calmly, “say it. Otherwise, leave.”

His jaw tightened.

“You weren’t like this before,” he said hoarsely. “Mom… you’ve changed. You’re not the same.”

He swallowed, his eyes reddening.

“You used to care,” he went on. “You used to fight for him. You got jealous. You lost control. You chased those women away.”

“But now… you don’t care about anything anymore.”

He paused, his voice dropping.

“About us, either.”

His voice trembled despite himself.

“Do you not love me anymore?” he asked. “Do you not love Dad anymore? Do you not want this family at all?”

“We know we were wrong,” he said quickly, almost desperately. “He knows it. I know it.”

He looked at me, searching my face, as if hoping to find even a crack.

“Why won’t you forgive us?” he asked. “Why won’t you give us another chance?”

I said nothing.

I gestured, and the servants took him away.

I gave a few simple instructions to the women, then let them leave as well.

After the room was empty, my legs gave way, and I collapsed to the floor.

I curled up, a sharp, merciless pain shooting through my chest.

Berg asked me what I wanted.

In my remaining time, I never wanted to see them again.

If it weren’t to prevent this family from falling apart completely, I would never have come back.

I wouldn’t have acted—pretending to be the perfect Donna, turning a blind eye to everything.

Pete moved quickly. Within days, he brought Mia back.

When I heard the news, memories surged up, distant yet vivid, so sharp they were almost unbearable.

It was the memory of the day I learned the truth—when I was nine months pregnant with my second child.

That morning, on my way to church, an inexplicable sense of unease washed over me. Halfway there, I turned back.

I saw Pete helping Mia out of the car. The closeness between them was intimate, undisguised, almost deliberate. They didn’t hesitate. They went straight to my bedroom.

The maids in the manor noticed me at once—their faces stiffening, eyes darting away. No one dared to stop me.

By the time I reached the door, they were already inside.

Completely naked.Lying on my bed.

For a moment, I couldn't accept it.

The man I had loved for twenty years, the man who swore to be good only to me—was sleeping with his adopted sister.

Pete knelt on the floor. He pleaded. He slapped himself hard.

"I was wrong," he cried, "I was wrong, Isabella, this is my first time."

"Did you know I was pregnant?" I asked softly.

I wanted to know if he still loved this child.

Perhaps the child sensed it too—she didn't belong in this family, her father wasn't that kind of person.

A sharp pain struck.

Blood soaked my pale dress, spreading faster than I could comprehend.

Pete was deathly pale. I was terrified. Instinctively, I reached out to grab him—just to steady myself.

He didn't take my hand. He walked past me. He put his arm around Mia.

"You must leave now," he said urgently, "I'll take you away from here."

I blinked, stunned.

I never expected him to do this to me.

I survived that ordeal at the cost of my child.

The doctor said I could never conceive again. This was the price of survival.

I don't know how many days I was unconscious. But when I awoke, my butler told me what happened next.

Pete ordered his men to take Mia out of town and place her in a secluded, safe location.

He prepared everything for her, arranging for constant protection.

Careful and meticulous. Afraid of any harm to her.

And the butler told me he had discovered Pete's affair had lasted for at least a decade.

All these years, I had never known.

Pete had hidden it very well.

The first thing I did afterward was bury the already formed child.

Pete didn't come, saying the Mafia was in turmoil.

But I knew he was with Mia.

Later, when Pete came to see me, I filed for divorce. I didn't make any demands.

I only wanted to take my son, Berg, with me. But to my disappointment...

Just minutes before, the boy was sitting by my bedside, holding my hand, asking if I was in pain.

Now he pulled his hand away.

"Just for something this trivial?" he said, frowning. "Mother, you're too suspicious. If you weren't pregnant, Father wouldn't have gone to Mia. This is your problem."

"Father has respected you. You shouldn't cause any more trouble."

"Besides, Mia is a good person. She never interferes with me," he added.

"Unlike you, who has a private tutor controlling me every day. I'm not happy at all."

I heard every word clearly.

I never expected him to say such a thing.

I sat there, speechless for a long time.

Pete noticed my silence and casually reprimanded Berg.

"That's enough," he said. “Isabella, don’t listen to him. I can compromise on everything else.”

“But divorce. Absolutely not.”

I ignored him, forcing myself to sit up straight.

“Berg,” I asked softly, “when did you meet her?”

“How could you know her?” He hesitated. “When I was four, Dad—”

Pete rushed forward and covered his mouth, pulling him away.

That is to say, he had known her since he was four. My own child had kept it from me for over a decade.

I smiled.

Because at that moment, my last attachment to this family vanished.

I no longer wanted any of them.

I left. Completely left.

The first few months after leaving myself were unbearable.

I numbed myself with alcohol and gambling, enduring day after day.

Then I went to the hospital, and the diagnosis came back.

The cancer was already in its late stages; surgery was impossible.

I only had a month to live.

Just then, the family elders found me and sent word, urging me to return.

Peter and Berg had gone mad after my disappearance—no one knew why, only that they had become irrational, reckless, almost uncontrollable. The elders feared the family would tear itself apart, so they came looking for me.

After some thought, I agreed.

Going back would stabilize everything.

Not because I wanted to face the father and son who had once betrayed me—but because I owed the elders a debt.

Years ago, when my parents were hospitalized and I had no way out, it was the elder who paid every medical bill. I could turn my back on Peter and Berg, but I could not walk away from that kindness.

Shortly after I returned, chaos erupted outside the courtyard.

A maid knocked and stepped inside.

“Madam,” she said cautiously, “Peter has decided to give Oshmia Estate to Mia.”

“He requires you to move to the maid’s quarters.”

“Yes,” I said calmly. “I will move.”

The maid hesitated.

“Peter also said…” She lowered her voice. “That you are to rely on yourself from now on. That you’ll learn your lesson.”

“Yes,” I replied.

I packed only a few sets of clothes and two blankets. I had just stepped outside when I was pushed to the ground. I weakly coughed up blood.

Everything fell to the ground.

I looked up.

Mia stood there. She smiled sweetly, her eyes filled with smugness and mockery.

“Long time no see, I’m back after all.”

I didn’t answer. I bent down to pick something up.

She stepped on my hand.

“Still pretending nothing’s wrong?” she said casually. “Do you really think that by acting indifferent, you can fool him—that he won’t see through your little trick?”

She let out a soft chuckle.

“Look at you,” she went on, her tone light and cruel. “So cowardly. Faced with your husband’s and your son’s betrayal, all you dare to do is endure in silence. How utterly pathetic.”

“When you weren’t here, he came to see me often,” she added. “Always bringing jewelry. Ornaments. Little tokens of affection.”

I glanced at her, then yanked my hand free.

She lost her balance, screamed, and fell backward—straight into Pete’s arms.

Berg followed closely behind, his face drained of all color.

“Mia! Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” she said weakly.

“Pete…maybe I should move somewhere else.”

“Your wife doesn’t want me here.”

I covered the marks left on my hands. “I didn’t say that. I’m glad you’re back,” I replied calmly.

Pete blocked my way.

“Are you going to throw everything away?” he asked.

“All of these?”

He pointed to the things the servants had taken away, the wedding jewelry, the gifts he gave me every year.

These were things I had once treasured.

But to be honest, since I came back, I found them utterly unsightly.

I had thought about throwing them away. Then I thought it wasn’t worth it. Let them gather dust.

"You've misunderstood," I said calmly.

"You're the one who gave this place to her."

"And these things were brought out by the servants," I continued.

He frowned. "Then why didn't you take them away?"

I met his gaze.

"The rooms assigned to the servants are very small," I said calmly. "There's no place to put these things."

"So I intend to get rid of them."