"Knowing you're not one for flashy presents, I had the Underboss hit up all the big luxury brands six months ago to get your anniversary present sorted.

"Do you like it?"

At a glance, I recognized the mini ear studs from the jewelry store, the ones thrown in with the purchase of that fancy green jade necklace.

I nearly burst into laughter from sheer frustration, dodging his attempt to adorn me with the studs.

I settled onto the armchair, responding to my family's messages in our group chat.

Then, my phone pinged with bank notifications, one after another.

The first was a whopping 200 million dollars from my parents' joint account, a generous token of their love.

The day's gloom lifted in an instant with a flurry of texts.

80 million dollars from my eldest brother, another 80 million dollars from the second, and 50 million dollars from the youngest. My eyes brimmed with tears, the weight of the day's worries washed away by my family's barrage of good news.

Then, came that voice, tinged with irritation and command.

"Why are you just sitting there? The laundry's piling up, and there's no dinner on the table. What's gotten into you now?

"I've been slaving away for the family all day, and I come home to no hot meal and your sour face."

I could not help but snort. "You've already eaten, haven't you? I'm not just talking about food."

Matteo frowned, puzzled. "What are you on about? I'm out there busting my back for us, to give you a better life.

"You don't care about me, always on edge," he continued, his words hitting me like a ton of bricks.

For a decade, I was the first up and the last to bed. While Matteo was lost in dreams, I was up at dawn, whipping up a hearty breakfast.

By day, I was the 'assistant' at the family firm, doing the grunt work of a Soldato. Every multimillion-dollar deal was the product of my sleepless nights and strategic thinking.

At night, as Matteo drifted off, I was still at work, laundering his shirts, ironing, cleaning up, laying out his suits and ties along with his matching cufflinks for the next day.

Ten years of that routine had truly worn me down. Had it not been for love, I would have thrown in the towel long ago.

I grabbed the Antinori Grappa from the table and took a hefty swig.

Matteo's expression darkened as he grabbed the glass from my hand and questioned, "What are you doing? You know you can't drink if we're trying for a baby, right?"

He noticed my flushed cheeks and realized something was off.

He came over and sat down next to me, gently taking my hand that felt like it was on fire.

Matteo's voice was soft as he asked, "What's going on with you? Why are you hitting the bottle so hard? Did you forget we're trying to start a family?"

I could not focus, my head was spinning, and I stayed silent.

Matteo watched me, his face a mix of frustration and forced patience. "I get that trying for a baby is stressful, but you can't just trash your health."

I did not say anything. Instead, I slid the divorce papers I had drawn up across the table to him.

"I know you're swamped, so I spared you the hassle of drafting these. Just sign at the bottom."

Matteo's face fell. "Divorce? Why? Is this because I gave Elena an extra glance at the meeting?"

I kept my voice steady.

"Yeah, because of that glance. Isn't that enough?"

"Just sign it, okay? I'm not going to squabble with your secretary over who gets what. I'm walking away empty-handed. Just sign it.

"You're worried about your secretary going hungry? Get her a nanny. Problem solved."

Matteo's hands balled into fists, and he glared at me, his voice booming.

"There's nothing going on with her! You're the one who brought her in, remember? You said she was good at her job, that she'd help me out."

"Sure, I said she'd help with the work," I replied.

"I didn't say she should help you in bed. You told me you needed to secure your spot at the helm before we could go public with us. For that, I waited in the wings for ten years. I took peanuts for pay, did the grunt work, and made you a fortune.

"How did you repay me when you finally made it? The moment you had the chance, you gave your secretary way too much power. I told you right from the start, I won't stand for any lies or deceit.

"If I'm not in your eyes, then I'd rather not be at all!"

Matteo's face darkened. "She's just my secretary. If there was anything going on, don't you think it would've happened by now? Stop causing a scene."

I massaged my aching eyes and said to him with a steady voice. "This isn't a scene. I'm calmly telling you that I'm done with you!

"Sign the divorce papers when you get a chance, and then get the family's Underboss to give me a call. I'll have someone pick them up."

I watched him crush his cigar against the marble table in a fit of rage, almost reminding him out of habit.

However, it hit me that we were getting divorced.

Why bother with his indifference to all my efforts and sacrifices, as if they were invisible to him?

Then, it all made sense. His neglect was just his way of showing I was never really in his heart.

I let out a bitter chuckle and headed for the bedroom.

Matteo's angry voice followed me. "Isabella, I've let you get away with too much over the years. Just stay home and think things through."

He stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

My head was spinning, my body alternating between burning up and chilling to the bone. I was running a high fever.

I fumbled for some painkillers in the drawer, took it, and buried myself under the covers to sleep it off.

Waking up the next afternoon, I checked my phone and did not receive a single call. Matteo had not come back last night, nor had he bothered to call.

I collected my papers and returned to the closet, my eyes resting on the few lonely items of clothing that were mine, tucked away in a corner.

I could not suppress a chuckle as I firmly grabbed my purse and left behind the place that had been my cage for a decade.

Telling people I divorced Matteo because he looked too long at his secretary could seem a bit far-fetched.

However, I was the only one who knew the depth of love hidden in that fleeting glance.

It was a secret that only Matteo and I shared.

We met when he was having a rough time at school.

His family had cut him off, and he ended up as the new kid at our school.

Caught in the middle of family feuds, he became a target for bullies, all aiming to crush him.

His deep eyes caught mine the moment he stood up to introduce himself in class.

He got stuck with a desk in the back corner.

On his way there, he tripped at least seven times.

One evening, as I got to school, I saw a bunch of kids rushing toward the alley out back.

Lucy Thompson, my classmate, out of breath, stopped me and said, "Isabella, they're saying the new guy is getting the tar beaten out of him in the alley. Let's go check it out."

She pulled me along to the alley, and right as we got there, I heard someone shout, "You think you can steal my girl, you bastard?"

Then I saw Matteo on the ground, getting whaled on by a gang with sticks.

He was a mess, sprawled out and barely hanging on.

"I didn't," he managed to force out the words, his voice a mix of pain and defiance.

He was so new, he did not even know who was who, let alone steal someone's girl.

David Gerome, as if on cue, gave him a couple more kicks.

Matteo's muffled groans filled the air again.

The crowd of students watched, but no one dared cross the bullies or step in.

They were not showing any signs of stopping.

If that kept up, Matteo was going to be destroyed.

"Police! They're here!"

I ducked behind my classmates and yelled out in the commotion. "Move!"

The gang was cursing up a storm, but they scattered in an instant.

I called my driver and bodyguard over, and we lifted Matteo into my car and rushed to the hospital.

Once the doctors had him stabilized and I had settled the bill, I headed home.

The next day back at school, I found a blue orchid, my favorite, waiting on my desk.

When I looked up, I saw his eyes. They had lost their dullness, replaced by a glimmer of something new.

I saw him again in the hallway on my way to the restroom.

He emerged, soaked to the skin, and upon spotting me, he bashfully looked down and scurried by.

A week later, I was walking off lunch in the campus grove when a chilling voice said, "Break his legs, then he won't dare challenge me again!"

I spotted a guy flipping a dagger with a nasty grin, grabbing a thigh-thick stick, and heading straight for Matteo.

Realizing it was Matteo in danger, I texted my bodyguard to hurry over.

The stick was poised to crash down on Matteo's knee.

"What the hell are you doing?" I yelled with all my strength.

They turned around, saw a young girl, and laughed mockingly.

"What, you want to get in on this?"

"This is a school, and what you're doing is wrong. It's bullying, and I'm telling a teacher."

I was stalling for time, waiting for my bodyguard.

Telling a teacher about such things on campus was pointless. They stayed out of our family's mafia business.

Then, someone recognized me as the Moretti family's Principessa and whispered it to the others.

The guy gave me a hard look, gestured, and the whole group scattered.

I rushed to Matteo's side and found him crumpled on the ground, his arm grotesquely twisted at his side. It was obviously broken.

His face was so swollen and bruised that it was almost unrecognizable, and a sharp twinge of sympathy stabbed at my heart.

Together, the bodyguard and driver helped me carry Matteo back to the villa I called home for the time being.

Our family doctor arrived in no time, gave Matteo a thorough examination, and fixed his broken arm.

Matteo was out cold the whole time.

The doctor assured us that, with plenty of rest, Matteo would be out of danger.

I knew he had no one else to care for him, so I did not opt for the hospital.

From then on, I could feel Matteo's eyes on me constantly.

Whenever I sensed his stare and glanced his way, he would quickly look away.

On days when I would go for a walk without a driver, I would notice a shadowy figure keeping a discreet distance.

It was my very own stalker.

One weekend, I made plans to go rock climbing with some friends.

We had barely started our adventure in the wild when we ran into Joseph Ricci, the heir of a rival family.

I averted my gaze, but Joseph's hand tightened around his cigar, and his menacing stare bore into me.

Five minutes into our descent, a shower of rocks and the sounds of a scuffle from above caught us off guard.

Our main rope began to sway dangerously, as if someone was trying to sever it. Before I could even think of a backup plan, Matteo's voice rang out from above.

"Isabella, I'm here. Don't be scared, I'll pull you up."

Admitting I was not terrified after such a narrow escape would be a lie.

When I saw Matteo, bloodied and battered, and Joseph groaning on the ground, it all clicked.

Joseph had wanted me dead.

However, Matteo was my savior.

His intense gaze held mine, swirling with emotions that I could not quite understand.

Matteo's gaze softened as he looked up again, the intensity replaced by a warmth that could only be described as love.

"Thank goodness you're safe."

Those were his last words before he slumped over, unconscious.

He was out for three whole days and nights, and I was right there, unwavering, by his side the entire time.

When he finally woke up, we made it official.

We became a couple.

"I can see in your eyes how much you love me. If that look ever fades, I'll let you go," I said.

He raised his hand to swear an oath, but the movement pulled at the deep wound in his belly.

"Ouch!

"Don't worry, you'll never have to see that day."

I knew he did not believe me. He thought I was just teasing him.

Little did he know, one day my words would become reality.

From then on, his father, the Don, sent the family's Underboss to bring him home.

I stood by him, helping him face every obstacle and plot out our next moves.

In time, his father stepped aside, and Matteo took his place as the new Don.

A loud screech of brakes snapped me out of my daydream, and the memory of that young man's loving gaze grew hazy.

Back at the villa where I lived before we were married, I crashed into bed and did not wake up for over two days.

Not a peep from Matteo. No texts, no calls.

It was as if I had vanished.

However, the family buzzed with talk of Elena.

"Ms. Conti is the Don's right-hand now. "

"Exactly. I heard Ms. Conti's practically got the influence of an Underboss. "

"Looks like Ms. Conti and the Don are heading for happy news. She'll be the Don's wife before we know it. "

When Matteo and I tied the knot, he was fresh at the helm of the family, with loyalties still in flux.

We agreed to keep our marriage under wraps until he had the family firmly in his grasp. Only then would we go public.

A decade had slipped by, ten long years.

Then, as I reflected, was it all to keep the peace?

No, it was all about making a clean break, at least that was what I told myself.

The whispers never stopped, always buzzing in the background.

I massaged my tired eyes, grabbed the family exit notice I had printed, and headed into Matteo's office.

There, in Matteo's grand office, Elena sat at his massive desk, leisurely enjoying a bowl of the famed Itania tomato soup.

I did not even need to look closely. A mere glance was enough to spot the bright red splatters on the pristine marble surface.

The sight was a slap in the face, my cheeks burning with the sting of irony.

For a decade in that office, I had not touched a drop of hot soup, not even a sip of coffee.

Matteo was clear. A messy office would tarnish his reputation with the crew, a stained desk would tarnish the family's image.

However, there Elena was, allowed to sip her aromatic soup, splashing it onto the desk without a care.

The splatters were so bold, so mocking, it was as if they were laughing at me.

"Mrs. Santoro, what are you doing here?"

Elena fumbled, setting down her spoon in a fluster.

She was one of the very few in the family, besides the Underboss, who knew I was the Don's wife.

Matteo said there was no need for secrets between us since we were all family.

Sure, for Elena, my not-so-secret status was just a convenience, a way for her to cash in on my hard work.

I had negotiated a 50-million-dollar arms deal, and Elena was the belle of the ball.

I had brokered an 80-million-dollar drug trade, and still, it was Elena who shone at the party.

All the deals I crafted with my blood, sweat, and tears, and it was Elena who wore the crowns of success.

Matteo had merely turned a blind eye to all my toil.

I had given all my accomplishments to Elena, dressing it up as a learning opportunity for her.

Matteo would have said, "She's young. Let her learn from this."

However, Elena's question, which seemed innocent enough, had set Matteo off like a lit fuse.

"Who said you could come in without knocking?"