My Husband the Don Betrayed Me,So I Married His Rival

In the second year of our renewed alliance marriage, I caught Vittorio Falcone with another woman for the third time.

He expected me to throw a fit, maybe even demand a dissolution of vows.

What he didn't expect was for me to do the opposite. No hysterics. No interrogation. Instead, I personally bought him a hundred condoms and a hundred sets of lingerie.

Afterward, Vittorio came to me on his own. "She threw herself at me that time..."

"I know." I cut him off, all understanding. "I didn't see anything. Didn't hear anything. Don't worry about me."

My indifference made him frown.

He studied me for a long moment before letting out a cold laugh. "Bianca Moretti, what game are you playing now? Playing hard to get?"

"I'm telling you, that trick doesn't work on me."

I looked at him, face blank, and said nothing.

Then his phone rang. Whatever he heard drained the color from his face. He stormed past me, shoulder clipping mine hard enough to knock me sideways. He didn't even notice.

I stumbled, barely catching my balance.

Once I was sure he was gone, I pulled out my phone and called Enzo D'Angelo.

When the line connected, I made myself clear: "The photos need to be high-resolution. Ideally, I want video of the affair and clear shots of their faces. Ten million dollars will be wired to your account when it's done."

No hesitation on the other end. I heard the faint click of a pen shutting before he agreed.

I hung up and let out a slow breath.

I'd been with Vittorio since high school. Ten years, from hallway crushes to a cathedral ceremony that half the city's families attended. And in the end, he'd beaten me black and blue over a club hostess who kept his books, until I had no choice but to file for a civil severance.

All I'd wanted was to end that wreck of a marriage. I never noticed I'd been maneuvered into walking away with nothing. Not the fronts. Not the cash reserves. Not my family's share of what the Moretti name had built before my parents were gone.

Two years of scraping by later, Vittorio came looking for me again, demanding I donate blood for his precious little bookkeeper. I agreed to the renewed alliance without a second thought.

Not for love. Only to reclaim the shares that were rightfully mine.

——

I turned and headed upstairs to clear out the villa.

After I'd left, Vittorio never set foot in this place again, so nearly everything I owned was still here. The house sat at the edge of Falcone territory, gated and quiet, the kind of property where soldiers drove past twice a night but never came inside.

I threw every piece of couple's merchandise and clothing into the trash. When I looked up and saw the wedding portrait above the headboard, I froze.

Six years ago, Vittorio had thrown me an alliance ceremony so lavish it made the papers from Crestfall to Thornridge.

Under a thousand candles in the cathedral, he'd dropped to one knee, his gaze burning with sincerity, and made me a promise: "Bianca, from the moment I first saw you in high school, I knew you were the only one for me. From this day forward, I will treasure you above all else. I will never betray you."

But beautiful things never last. Four years into the marriage, I walked in on him and his bookkeeper in a compromising situation in the back office of his private club. I stormed in demanding answers, and she accused me of assaulting her.

Vittorio slapped me across the face without a word. Ten years together, and that was the first time he'd ever raised a hand to me. Over another woman.

The shrill ring of my phone cut through the memory. I steadied myself and answered.

"Bianca, I underestimated you. I thought you genuinely didn't care, but it was all an act. You have fifteen minutes to get to the hospital and apologize to Serafina Caruso. Otherwise... you won't like the consequences."

He hung up before I could get a single word in.

Not half a sentence. He wouldn't hear it.

I assumed Vittorio was just running his mouth. I was wrong. Fifteen minutes later, his soldiers dragged me to the hospital entrance and forced me to my knees.

I tried to stand. Two massive enforcers pinned me down.

My kneecaps cracked against the concrete. The pain was sharp enough to steal my breath.

"Vittorio said he wanted to see me," I ground out. "What the hell is this?"

One of the soldiers sneered. "The Boss says you have zero manners. Seeing as you're the girl who got both her parents killed, and nobody ever taught you how to behave, he figured he'd teach you himself."

The words "got both her parents killed" hit me like a fist to the chest.

Of course. My parents died young. The Moretti bloodline ended with them, and everything they'd built passed into other hands. It was the deepest wound I carried, and he knew exactly where to press.

I knelt in the blazing sun for six full hours before Vittorio finally granted me permission to enter the hospital room.

He noticed my cracked, bloodless lips. Not a flicker of pity crossed his eyes. His black signet ring sat perfectly still against his knuckle.

"Have you learned your lesson?" he asked, voice like ice.

My lips moved twice. My thumb brushed once over the bare inside of my ring finger. I thought of the unsigned severance papers and forced the words out. "I've learned my lesson."

Vittorio scoffed. "Good. Now go apologize to Serafina."

Every muscle in my body locked. My fingers curled into fists.

"Apologize for what?" I couldn't stop myself. "What exactly did I do wrong?"

Vittorio's eyes went wide. "You hired a driver to run Serafina down, and you're going to stand there and play dumb? The driver already gave you up. What's left to argue?"

Attempted murder. That was a charge I could never accept. A stain like that would destroy any future I had left. In this world, an accusation like that didn't go to a courtroom first. It went to a sit-down, and the sentence came before the evidence.

Before I could open my mouth, Serafina let out a pitiful whimper. "Don Falcone, please don't put yourself through this. After all, no one ever admits to the crimes they've committed."

"Stubborn, are we?" Vittorio's lips curled. "I have plenty of ways to deal with stubborn."

He ordered the soldiers to haul me to the precinct where the Falcone family kept bought cops on payroll, and right in front of me, he told them to give me "special treatment."

That night, I was shoved into a cramped, pitch-black room. Several heavyset women filed in after me.

They didn't say a word. Fists knotted in my hair, nails raked across my skin, hands tore my clothes to shreds. The moment I tried to fight back, a storm of blows rained down.

After three hours of beating, I heard a voice ask: "Are you ready to confess?"