I'm ten years older than Vincenzo Corleone.

He had just turned 23 years old when he took over the Corleone family as the patriarch. A hint of teenage childishness could still be seen etched onto his youthful features.

I was the one who held his hand and helped him calm the turbulence of his family affairs.

I blocked three assassination attempts that were made on him. I used five years of my life to help him grow from a useless scion into the fearsome don who wielded the utmost authority in Nowork's underworld.

Once, Vincenzo had embraced me in the church. He rested his forehead against my palm as he swore, "Age, identity, or the world's viewpoint of us will never stop us from being together, Freya. I will protect you with my life."

But after that, he told his older brother, Marco Corleone, "Freya is too old. She's already 38 years old; I can practically smell the rot of age rolling off her. Even the crinkles in her smile disgust me to no end."

Some time later, Vincenzo found himself a mistress who bore some resemblance to me. She was young and vibrant—like a white rose who had never experienced the ugly side of society.

While Vincenzo gave me the title of the Donna of the Corleone family, he reserved his gentle, doting, and even passionate side for the mistress named Lina Marino.

Vincenzo thinks he can pull everything off flawlessly. What he forgets is that the reason why I can establish my reputation in the underworld isn't because of his protection. I've been relying on my ruthlessness and my sharp sixth sense this whole time.

When I slam the signed divorce agreement onto the spot before Vincenzo, I say with a smile, "You've fought by my side for so many years, so you should know very well that I can afford to go for high-stakes risks and withdraw my chips whenever needed.

"But once I lose, someone here has to pay the price!"

The sixth sense of a woman who moved among underworld forces was normally inseparable from vigilance.

While Vincenzo Corleone was handling business in the study, his personal phone vibrated once.

It was an encrypted number with no contact name.

When the screen lit up, I caught a glimpse of the message preview. The two words read, "Miss you."

Vincenzo reached to turn off the screen almost instantly, his gaze flickering momentarily. Then, he returned to his paperwork, as if nothing happened.

That momentary hesitation was all I needed to confirm that he was cheating on me.

My hand was unnaturally steady as I held the coffee mug, yet my fingertips had gone white from the pressure.

When Vincenzo went down to the basement armory to inspect the weapons, I unlocked his phone using the password I'd obtained with my hacking skills.

From the encrypted number, I found the woman in a hidden social media app.

Her profile picture is a photo of her taken by the Seranian seaside, with cascading curls framing her sweet, smiling face.

Her username was "Sunshine Lina", and Vicenzo had muted her notifications.

Their chat was empty, with only one unread message from earlier. But the emptier it was, the more obvious the cover-up.

I clicked into Lina's feed. Nearly every post was related to Vincenzo.

There was a photo of her in the passenger seat of a Rolls-Royce. The Corleone family crest on the steering wheel was unmistakable.

Her caption read, "My exclusive ride is here!"

Another photo showed a vanity overflowing with luxury goods. Among them was a diamond necklace which Vincenzo had given me for my birthday last year. He'd claimed that it was a one-of-a-kind necklace.

Her caption read, "I have someone who'd buy whatever I like for me without hesitation."

What hit me the hardest was the post from three days ago.

Lina had written, "I only want the amount 143, nothing more!"

Attached below were screenshots of her chat with Vincenzo. Her contact name for him was "Don Mio".

Lina asked, "Where is the 'I love you' you promised me?"

Vincenzo transferred her a million dollars right away.

Lina didn't accept it. Instead, she sent it back and repeated, "I only want 143! It means 'I love you'!"

Vincenzo replied with a string of ellipses before eventually sending her 143 thousand dollars instead.

Lina added a shy emoticon and replied, "That's more like it."

I saved a screenshot expressionlessly.

After exiting Lina's feed, I opened Vincenzo's secret bank account and started scrolling through his endless transaction records.

He had been sending her a steady 50 thousand dollars as a monthly allowance for six months straight.

There were also transactions sent on special occasions too—11,111 dollars, 14,300 dollars, 143 thousand dollars. He'd even transferred 100 thousand dollars just to celebrate their 100th day together.

I sent every record to my encrypted email.

When I logged out, I made sure their chat still showed as unread. I even left his phone's battery at the same level it had been when Vincenzo left.

I was calm throughout the entire process, as if I was handling a famiglia document that had nothing to do with me.

"What's on your mind? Your coffee's gone cold," Vincenzo asked as he came up from the basement.

The black shirt outlined his broad shoulders and narrow waist, and his sleeves were rolled up to reveal the brutal famiglia tattoo along his forearm.

It was the tattoo I had personally inked on Vincenzo when he took over the famiglia at the age of 23.

I once thought that the tattoo served as his badge of honor and a reminder of the bond between us.

But now, it meant nothing at all.

"Nothing." I looked up and flashed Vincenzo a composed smile. "Your phone rang earlier. It's an encrypted number, and it hung up after one ring. Want to call it back?"

"No need." He picked up the phone and casually tossed it onto the desk before grabbing his coat. "Something came up in Brodlyn. Someone crossed our turf and moved in on our shipment, so I'll need to take care of it. Don't wait up tonight."

"How many men are you taking?" I asked instinctively. Years of habit had trained me to think ahead for Vincenzo.

"Five will do." He paused, then added, "Marco is coming with me. You don't need to worry."

How convincing. Vincenzo had a problem, backup, and even made a point to soothe me.

If I hadn't seen the evidence myself, I would've laid out his bulletproof vest and reminded him to be careful, just like what I always did.

I nodded and got up to fix Vincenzo's collar for him. "Be careful. Don't get hurt."

Something flickered in his eyes. He reached out to hug me, but stopped short the moment his hand brushed past my shoulder.

He eventually withdrew his hand and replied in a muffled tone, "I'll get going now."

I watched as Vincenzo left in a hurry. Then, I picked up the cold coffee and drank it in one shot.

The bitterness that spread across my tongue couldn't compare to what I felt deep down.

…

Vincenzo didn't come home that night.

I sat on the couch in the living room, staring at our wedding photo on the wall for a long time.

Vincenzo had bright eyes and was smiling shyly in the photo. He was holding my hand tightly, like I was his everything.

Meanwhile, I was dressed in a long black gown, my expression cold. But when I looked at him, something in my face softened without me realizing.

I couldn't make sense of the reason Vincenzo would betray me.

Was it because I'd grown older? Or was it because I had weathered through blood and violence, and had lost the innocence Lina still carried?

Or maybe, Vincenzo's "love" for me from the start was nothing more than dependence and convenience.

I leaned back against the couch and closed my eyes. Images flickered through my mind, one after another, until a blurry figure suddenly popped up.

My eyelids flew open at once. I hurriedly pulled out my phone and started scrolling through Lina's photos again.

I had seen this woman before.

About half a year ago, Vincenzo got into a fight with the Irla mafia over a turf dispute. During an ambush, he was shot in the left arm and rushed to the famiglia's private hospital.

I was dealing with some issues with the drug transport route in Myradi back then. The moment I got the call, I flew back overnight.

Vincenzo's face was pale as he lay on the hospital bed. Even with his left arm wrapped in thick bandages, he still tried to brush it off. "It's just a scratch. Nothing serious."

I felt upset and heartbroken at the same time, seeing blood seeping through his bandages.

I snapped, "Can you rein in that spoiled bravado of yours? This isn't some lawless era anymore. You can't solve everything with your fists!"

Vicenzo suddenly grabbed my hand. Grievance filled his gaze when he said, "They called you an old hag, Freya. Said you weren't fit to be the Donna of the Corleone famiglia. I couldn't just do nothing."

Just like that, my anger drained away. All that was left was just tenderness for him.

I thought then that Vincenzo truly cared about me.

When Vincenzo had finally recovered, I took him out to eat at one of the famiglia's restaurants.

We had barely stepped outside the hospital when a young woman in a server's uniform suddenly rushed over. She threw herself in front of Vincenzo with tears streaming down her face.

"Thank you, sir! I don't even know what would've happened to me if you hadn't saved me that day!" she sobbed.

I was stunned for a moment. Then, I turned to look at Vincenzo.

He frowned, looking irritated. "You should find another job. Waiting tables doesn't suit you."

The woman's expression crumpled. "Something came up at home, so I needed the money. Otherwise, I wouldn't have taken the job—"

"That's not my problem," Vincenzo cut her off sharply, already pulling me to leave.

But the woman refused to give up. She trailed behind us for a bit, her voice pleading. "My name is Lina. Could you leave me a way to contact you? I want to repay you someday!"

Vincenzo's face darkened. Just as he was about to lose his temper, I pressed my hand over his.

I said to Lina, "He doesn't need you to repay him. Just take care of yourself."

Marco was with us that day. After we got into the car, he blurted out, "Don't you think that young woman—Lina—looks a bit like you? Especially her eyes."

Back then, I laughed it off with a shake of my head, finding it ridiculous.

But now, as I stared at Lina's photo on my phone, the memory slid neatly into place.

It was really her.

It turned out that everything was pre-planned after all.

…

Vincenzo only returned during noon the next day.

He brought me a tiramisu that I used to love. It was the signature dessert from a century-old bakery in Brodlyn.

"I waited in line for half an hour." Vincenzo set the cake in front of me. He sounded a little apologetic when he said, "Try it. See if it still tastes the same."

I didn't touch it. Instead, I looked at him. "How did things go last night? You didn't get hurt, did you?"

"I'm fine." Vincenzo let out a breath, clearly relieved that I was still concerned about him. "We've already handled those idiots who didn't know their place. Brodlyn still belongs to us."

As he spoke, he shrugged off his coat, revealing a shirt speckled with dried blood. He tossed it into the laundry without a second glance. "I'm taking a bath."

"Okay," I replied.

The moment Vincenzo stepped into the bathroom, I picked up the box of tiramisu and tossed it into the trash.

A flavor I once craved now made my stomach turn.

I grabbed the spare key and headed for the underground garage.

Vincenzo's black Bentley had been cleaned spotless. The passenger seat was reclined low. A faint trace of perfume lingered in the air, cloying and clearly not mine.

I opened the door, slid into the driver's seat, and connected to the dashcam. Footage from last night through this morning played back, clear and uninterrupted.

Vincenzo hadn't gone to Brodlyn at all.

After leaving the villa, his car headed straight for an art academy.

Vincenzo called Lina, speaking in a gentle tone unfamiliar to me. "Come down. I'm waiting at the gate."

She came skipping out a few minutes later. She was dressed in a white dress, looking like a college student.

Lina slipped into the passenger seat and immediately threw herself into Vincenzo's arms. The sounds of them kissing and panting were caught clearly in the dashcam,

"Did you touch that old hag?" she asked, voice thick with possessiveness.

Vincenzo did not answer her.

"Did you or did you not?" Lina pressed.

Vincenzo's voice was hoarse and dripping with lust when he answered, "What do you think?"

Lina smiled, pleased. "I knew it! You only want me. That old hag is old and boring. How could she ever be worthy of you?"

"Shut up." Vincenzo's tone cooled down, but there was no real reprimand in it.

"Am I wrong?" Lina said sweetly. "She's in her 30s already. Her skin must be sagging by now. Unlike me—young and full of vigor. By the way, when are you divorcing her? I want to be the real Madre Corleone."