Dinner tasted like ash.

Sophia flirted with him openly.

"Oh, my hand hurts from when she pushed me, feed me, Dario."

"Oops, let me get that sauce off your lip." She licked her thumb, then looked at me with wide, innocent eyes. "Habit. Don't overthink it, Elena."

Dario kept glancing at me. Seeing me silently cutting my meat, head down, his eyes darkened.

After dinner, I tried to escape to the church, but my mother-in-law—that greedy old bat—dragged me to the master bedroom.

"Stop acting like a saint," she hissed, eyes gleaming with greed. "Go get pregnant. Tonight. We need a spare heir."

I walked into the bedroom.

Dario was sitting at the old desk, stiff as a corpse. The air was thick with tension.

He looked up, his gaze like a loaded gun.

In his hand was a folded piece of paper.

My flight confirmation. And the divorce papers.

My ears rang.

He slammed the papers on the desk. Bang.

"What is this?"

He laughed, a cold, sharp sound.

"No wonder you acted like a zombie today. I'm flirting with Sophia, and you don't even blink."

"You already lined up your next mark, didn't you? Planning to divorce me and run?"

"You? A simple Jersey girl going to Europe? Who's taking you? Which Family is he from? How long have you been screwing him?!"

It was laughable. He lived in a Manhattan mansion with another woman for seven years, and he was interrogating me?

I walked over calmly and took the papers back.

"I was going to Europe to find a specialist for your mother's illness."

"The divorce papers? Those are for Maria next door. She asked me to print them. Her husband hits her."

Dario scrutinized me, searching for a lie. Seeing my face remain stone cold, the murderous rage slowly faded, replaced by that suffocating arrogance of a made man.

"I knew it. A traditional woman like you? You waited eight years. You wouldn't dare leave me."

I looked him dead in the eye.

"Dario. If you ever betray me, if you have another family... I won't just divorce you. I will vanish. You will never find me."

"I waited because I am your wife. Not because I am a fool."

"So tell me, Dario. In eight years, have you ever betrayed me?"

He froze for a second. Then he smiled, that charming, lying smile, and took my hand. His palm was rough with calluses from handling guns.

"Why bring this up? We have honor."

"How could I betray you? If I did, may God strike me down in a hail of bullets."

He raised his hand to swear, but his eyes didn't look at the crucifix on the wall.

If I hadn't met that drunk mobster, I might have believed this devil.

Now, I just felt sick.

"Elena, you are the only woman I recognize. When I was bleeding out at the border, your photo kept me alive."

"I climbed the ladder for us. To make you the Don's wife."

"Come to New York. No one will ever touch you again."

I wiped a tear from the corner of my eye.

"Okay."

Dario, since you can lie to God, I can lie to you.

That night, we lay in the same bed.

He reached for me. I turned away.

After the second time, he sighed in frustration and gave up.

I dreamt of the past. Him on his beat-up Harley, sharing a stolen pizza. Him giving me his leather gloves in winter.

The open-air cinema showing The Godfather. He whispered, "One day, I'll give you a wedding in Sicily just like Michael Corleone's."

Turns out, the bride in that wedding was Sophia.

Morning came. I walked out to find the family at the table.

My mother-in-law looked guilty. Sophia was leaning on Dario, swirling red wine like she owned the place.

They had told the old woman.

I poured myself black coffee.

"Elena," Dario commanded. "I'm selling this house. It was your dowry, so I need your signature."

I gripped the mug.

"I found a penthouse in Manhattan. Selling this dump covers the renovation costs."

Sophia giggled. "Sister, we picked the Jacuzzi specifically... oops, Dario, stop pinching me."

She smirked at me. "Don't worry, Elena. I tested the mattress for you. It's very soft."

I stared into my coffee.

"Fine. Sell it tomorrow."

Dario looked surprised at my submission.

I stood up, walked to the wall, and took down our engagement photo—black and white, taken in a cheap booth.

I dropped it into the trash can.

Dario lunged, grabbing my wrist. "Are you crazy? Why are you throwing that away?"

"If we're selling the house, we should clear out the trash," I said, my voice flat.

Ignoring his complicated stare, I grabbed the necklace on the coffee table—made from the casing of the first bullet he ever fired, a memento he gave me years ago—and tossed it in the bin. Clink.

I didn't stop until every piece of sentimental junk was in the trash.

Dario tightened his lips, then forced a smile, trying to rationalize my actions.

"Right. You're thinking ahead. In New York, we'll do a real wedding. Hollywood style. We'll get everything brand new. This old stuff is useless."

"Go pack."

I went to the bedroom and closed the door.

A few minutes later, my mother-in-law pushed the door open.

Her eyes were red. She tried to take my hand, guilt written all over her face.

"Elena, don't blame Dario. Sophia's family... they are powerful. He had to do it to rise in the ranks..."

"I know it hurts you. We failed you."

I pulled my hand away, cold.

"Don't say it, Ma. I don't blame him. It's just business."

Her lips trembled as she tried to comfort me. "Don't worry. No matter how many wildflowers are outside, you are the only one I recognize as his true wife!"

"I promise you, Dario will take care of you."

I chuckled softly. "Understood."

I sent her away and started packing.

I didn't have much. Just a small leather suitcase.

At the bottom lay a red velvet coat. Dario had spent his entire savings on it when we first got married.

I remembered his apologetic face back then:

"Elena, wait for me. When I make real money, I'll buy you couture from Paris. You'll look like a movie star."

I pulled the coat out and threw it on the bed like a dirty rag.

It belonged to Dario. I didn't want it. Carrying it made me feel filthy.

The door swung open. Sophia walked in. She picked up the coat with two fingers, making a disgusted noise.

"You wore this cheap thing when you got married? Pathetic."

"Do you know what I wore? Custom Vera Wang. Dario said his greatest wish was to see the woman he loved in the most expensive dress."

I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms.

Seeing I didn't respond, she gloated.

"You didn't really believe that 'widow' story, did you? How naive."

"When he got shot at the border, I hid him in my father's villa. I nursed him back to health. He said seeing me gave him the will to live. He proposed as soon as the bullet was out."

"He said the only reason he didn't dump you sooner was guilt. Because you were a free servant for his parents."

"Oh! Wait! That little ceremony in that run-down chapel? It has zero legal standing. Legally, I am his wife. You? You're just the mistress."

She laughed, her body shaking. "You didn't know? We are legally married. He registered it to protect me. And I'm carrying his seed! The heir!"

She stepped closer, her voice sharp.

"I tolerate you, you peasant, so you should be kneeling in gratitude. Selling your house to pay for my renovations? Even your dowry should be mine by rights!"

She snatched the gold bangle from my wrist.

"Trash like you doesn't deserve gold."

My heart slammed against my ribs. I looked up, furious.

"Give it back! That was my mother's legacy! Not Dario's!"

"Who knows if you're stealing it to pawn it!"

Sophia shoved me hard. "Uneducated trash. No wonder you cling to him like a leech."

I saw red. I raised my hand and slapped her across the face.

"Enough! Shut up!"

But my hand never touched her again. A steel grip clamped onto my wrist.

"Elena!"

Dario shoved me away with terrifying strength. I stumbled back, falling hard. The back of my head cracked against the table corner. Darkness flickered in my vision.

Beside me, Sophia launched into an Oscar-worthy crying performance.

"I just wanted to help her pack... I admired her bracelet... and she called me a whore! She said I seduced you..."

Dario looked at me with disappointment and rage. He roared:

"Elena! She just wanted to look at it! How can you be so vicious?"

"Even if she liked it, you should have offered it to her! That is respect for a guest!"

"She saved my life! Don't you know gratitude? Is your head filled with nothing but jealousy?"

Seeing Sophia crying, Dario's face softened into pain.

"Don't cry, baby. It's my fault. You've suffered so much, you shouldn't have to envy anyone..."

"Take whatever you want. I'll give you everything."

I watched as he raided my suitcase—my mother's cross necklace, her ring—handing it all to Sophia.

I struggled to get up, screaming in despair.

"Dario! Those are my mother's! She gave them to me on her deathbed!"

"Give her anything else! Just give those back!"

I begged him, my dignity shattered. "Please!"

Dario looked at me like a cold judge.

"You only care about dead people's junk? You hit Sophia, and you won't even apologize?"

"When did you become so selfish and unreasonable?"

"Apologize to Sophia! Now!"

I knelt on the floor, head bowed, sobbing.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please, just give me my mother's things."

Sophia snuggled into his chest, whispering, "I was wrong... I shouldn't have been jealous that she has a husband who loves her..."

Hearing that, Dario looked at her with overflowing affection.

He coldly pried my fingers off the jewelry box, one by one.

"Elena, there is a price for bad behavior. That's the rule."

"These are confiscated. Consider it your apology to Sophia."

The next second, he saw the blood trickling down my forehead. His pupils constricted.

"You're bleeding? Did I..."

He instinctively stepped toward me, but Sophia suddenly clutched him, screaming.

"Ah! It hurts! Dario, my stomach! She pushed me... I think she hit the baby!"

Dario's face went deathly pale. The fear of losing the Heir. He scooped Sophia up and turned to run.

Before leaving, he shouted back at me:

"Elena! Stop the bleeding yourself! Once I make sure my son is okay, I'm coming back to deal with you!"

The roar of his sports car faded. They were gone.

I sat on the floor, slowly wiping the blood and tears from my face.

Looking at the empty room, I started to laugh.

I stood up, snapped my suitcase shut, and placed the signed divorce papers on the table where he couldn't miss them.

This time, I didn't look back.

I grabbed the ticket to freedom and the fake passport. Before the taxi arrived, I vanished into the night.

Goodbye, Dario.

When you realize what I really took, I hope you can still smile in hell.