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."

Vincenzo fell silent for a while before answering vaguely, "Give it some time."

The car sped through the journey and eventually pulled up beneath a luxury apartment building.

The dashcam footage cut out at the moment they got out of the car, wrapped around each other.

It was already 8:00 am the next morning when the recording resumed.

This time, Vincenzo returned to the car alone.

He lit a cigarette and stared at the passenger seat for a long while, his expression unreadable.

Just then, Marco's call came through. "When are you coming over, Don Corleone? Everything in Brodlyn's set. We're just waiting on you."

"Be right there." Vincenzo crushed his cigarette and started the engine.

Marco clicked his tongue and teased, "Don't tell me you're with Ms. Lina again last night? That's a bit much, even for you. You're not actually serious about her, are you?"

Vincenzo chuckled softly. His tone was tinged with impatience, and even a hint of disdain that he didn't seem aware of himself. "Serious about what? She's just for fun."

"What about Freya then?" Marco carefully asked. "You fought the famiglia elders for her back then. The former Don Corleone even broke your arm over it."

The question seemed to catch Vincenzo off guard.

After a long while, he spoke up, his tone icy. "Freya's 38 now."

"What's wrong with that? She's still sharp as ever. She'd even helped us clean up that mess with the FBI last week," Marco replied.

"I don't know why," Vincenzo started, his tone edged with something cruel. "But once she passed 33, she started to feel dirty to me. The fine lines on her face, the smell of gunpowder that never leaves her, and those eyes that see through everything—they made me sick."

It hit me all at once, and my mind went blank. My blood ran cold, my fingertips numb, and even my breath seemed to catch.

Dirty? Sick?

I had put my life on the line for Vincenzo. I held the famiglia together and cooked for him. I gave up my freedom and dreams for him.

And in the end, those were the two words he chose to describe me.

How long has it been since Vincenzo last touched me?

I sat in the car, lighting a cigarette.

It was the brand I used to smoke when I was younger. Later, I quit because Vincenzo didn't like it.

But now, I picked it up again.

I started pondering as smoke curled around me.

It had probably started half a year ago, after Vincenzo saved Lina.

Back then, the famiglia was under FBI investigation. I was stretched thin, sleeping only three or four hours every night. All I wanted was to collapse whenever I got home.

Once, Vincenzo came back drunk and tried to pull me into his arms.

Exhausted, I pushed him away. "Don't do this. I really don't have the energy. Next time."

Vincenzo was stunned. His gaze dimmed, yet he said nothing and went to the guest room instead.

The second time was the night I finally resolved the investigation crisis. I thought we could finally return to how things used to be.

Vincenzo wanted me, but I was slow to respond after days of exhaustion.

He halted halfway through, expression hardening when he asked, "Are you really that unwilling?"

I tried to explain, but he slammed the door and went out drinking until the next morning.

The third time, Vincenzo suggested we sleep separately. "You've been too tired recently. Get some rest. We'll sleep apart for now."

I was so moved by his act that I actually teared up, thinking he was being considerate then. But now I only realized that he wasn't being kind. Instead, he was repulsed by me.

Vincenzo found someone younger and full of energy. He found a woman who fed his vanity to replace a wife who was "old" and "dirty".

The cigarette burned down to the filter, searing my fingertips.

I snapped out of the pain and stubbed it out. However, a small blister had already formed on my fingertip.

This pain was nothing compared to what Vincenzo had said.

I opened the car door and stepped out. As I entered the house, I ran into Vincenzo fresh out of the bathroom, dressed only in his bathrobe with his hair still dripping.

He frowned when he saw me coming in. "Where did you go?"

"I took the trash out," I said evenly. "And went to get some air."

Vincenzo didn't question it. Instead, he nodded and said, "I'm hungry. Have the cooks make something."

"Alright." I turned and headed toward the kitchen, my back straight and my steps steady.

Only I knew that my heart had completely shattered the moment I heard Vincenzo call me dirty.

Vincenzo had just turned 18 when I first met him.

He was the youngest son of the Corleone famiglia, often overlooked and even ostracized by his uncles.

The former Don Corleone wanted Vincenzo to marry the daughter of another Illyian mafia famiglia to strengthen their alliances.

But he rebelled and ran away from the famiglia to come to Nowork. There, he found me, someone who had already made a name for herself in the underworld then.

Marco was worried about Vincenzo and sent word through intermediaries. "Please look after him for a while, Ms. Freya. He's stubborn, so you may discipline him however you see fit if he upsets you. You don't have to worry about me."

I had no intention of getting involved in family politics.

But my heart softened when I saw Vincenzo at the station.

He was squatting beneath a tree, a backpack slung over his shoulders, jeans faded from too many washes. His gaze was stubborn, yet he looked a little lost, like an abandoned boy.

"I know you're Freya." Vincenzo stood up when he saw me. His voice still carried a youthful twinge when he said, "I want to stay with you. I'll do anything for you—cook, drive, fight, even kill."

I found him ridiculously naive, but I still brought him back to my apartment.

I assumed our time together would be temporary. I didn't expect Vincenzo to mean every word.

Even though his cooking was barely passable, he prepared my meals every day. Rain or shine, he rode his bike to pick me up from work daily.

He'd even secretly trailed me on a mission, rushing in without hesitation to take a knife meant for me when things went wrong. The blade cut across his back, leaving a long scar.

Vincenzo was still smiling as he lay on the hospital bed. "Let me protect you from now on, Freya."

That was the exact moment I fell for him.

As I watched Vincenzo, a man a decade younger than me, running toward me with nothing but raw sincerity, I was unable to resist him eventually.

Later, he told me he had first seen me when he was 16.

That day, I was at Illyia on a mission. I had stepped in in my black dress and pulled Vincenzo out of the hands of his bullying uncles.

I hadn't expected that single moment would stay with him for two full years.

"From the moment I saw you, I began to envision a future with you," he once said.

When Vincenzo was 23, he got down on one knee and proposed to me. In his hand was a ring fashioned from the famiglia's crest.

He said, "I know there's an age gap and the famiglia's opposition between us, Freya. But I don't care. I just want to be with you, even if it costs me everything."

To be with me, Vincenzo turned his back on the former Don Corleone. He took a broken arm and fought his older brothers for the right to inherit the famiglia.

I thought we would last after everything we'd survived. But now, he was the one about to tear it all apart.

I sat on the edge of the bed and watched Vincenzo sleep. His breathing was steady, yet his brows were slightly furrowed, as if he was trapped in a nightmare.

I thought about the years we spent drenched in blood and gunfire. I also recalled the sweet nothings he used to whisper to me.

The tears came at last, but only for a moment.

After all, I was never one to cry.

I could accept Vincenzo taking back his love, but he would have to repay what he owed me in full.

"I'm getting a divorce," I said.

"What?" Marco exclaimed from the other end of the line, startled. "What are you talking about, Freya? Aren't the both of you in love? And besides—"

"And he's having an affair," I cut in, my voice calm as if I was describing someone else's problem. "He has a mistress named Lina. She's an art student, and she looks a little like me."

"That's impossible!" Marco's pitch flew. "Don Corleone isn't that kind of person. His feelings for you—"

"Feelings?" I chuckled lightly. Then, I sent him the screenshots from Lina's feed.

I continued, "See for yourself. Her contact name for him is 'Don Mio'. He gives her 50 thousand dollars as a monthly allowance, and he never misses a holiday transfer. He even stays overnight at her apartment instead of handling the so-called Brodlyn territory issue."

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. Marco eventually exhaled heavily. "I understand, Freya. What do you want to do? Do you need my help?"

I said, "I want a divorce. Draft it according to the highest famiglia standard. I want him to walk away with nothing. Everything in his name—money, property, and every inch of territory he expanded after taking over—comes to me.

"Also, I want every single cent he's transferred to Lina all recovered.

"Walk away with nothing? That won't be easy," Marco replied, hesitant. "Don Corleone is still the famiglia's head after all. The elders—"

"I'll deal with the elders," I replied evenly. "You only need to draft the agreement as I say. I want it in three days. And for now, don't tell anyone, especially Vincenzo."

"Alright," Marco agreed. He paused for a moment before adding, "Take care of yourself, Freya. No matter what happens, I'm on your side."

After ending the call, I leaned back on the couch and closed my eyes.

Marco was Vincenzo's older brother and also a long-time close friend of mine.

He knew better than anyone how hard we fought to get hard, as well as all the efforts I had put in for the famiglia.

Things would go far more smoothly with Marco's help.

This was how an adult functioned. You deal with what was in front of you first, no matter how much it hurt you inside.

Emotions like grief, heartbreak, and despair could wait until everything was settled.

I poured myself a glass of whiskey and drained it in one swallow. The burn scorched my throat, but it cleared my head.

I opened my laptop and began compiling everything I had done for the famiglia over the years.

Over the years, I had defused multiple FBI investigations, opened up the Enroppe drug routes, absorbed three rival famiglia's turfs, and built up the famiglia's legitimate business empire.

All these were my bargaining chips.

I had never lived by clinging to Vincenzo. Without him, I could still thrive, or even do better.