"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?"

I did not even get a chance to answer.

"Mrs. Santoro must've had something urgent to forget to knock," I heard someone say.

"Isabella, you're getting out of line. I've been too soft on you, letting you get away with too much," Matteo scolded.

I felt a rush of frustration so intense I thought I might explode, my fingers gripping the Family Withdrawal Notice so hard they turned white.

"I'm here for the divorce papers."

"Get out! If you don't know how to knock, don't bother coming in," Matteo bellowed, his voice filling the office.

At the mention of divorce papers, Elena's composure shattered as she pleaded, "Mr. Santoro, please. Mrs. Santoro meant no harm. She must've spoken out of turn in the heat of the moment."

She reached for my arm, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "Mrs. Santoro, let's not be hasty. We can talk this through."

I tried to pull away, but just then, Elena stumbled and fell, her forehead kissing the cold marble floor.

"Mrs. Santoro, I don't hold it against you. It was my own fault," she said, dazed.

I opened my mouth to speak, but Matteo was already by her side, lifting her gently into his large chair.

He tenderly brushed the hair from her bruised forehead, his face a mask of fury.

In a flash, he grabbed a folder and flung it at me. The sharp edge of the folder cut through the air and my skin, leaving a trail of blood down my face.

For a moment, the sight of my blood softened Matteo's anger.

He moved to come to me, but Elena clutched at his arm, stopping him.

"Mr. Santoro, don't hold it against Mrs. Santoro. I'm sure she didn't mean to push me."

No sooner had I spoken than Matteo's voice thundered through the room.

"Your games are getting dirtier by the minute. So, you want a divorce? Are you sure about this? You won't get a single thing from the divorce!"

"Ouch!"

I flinched as my hand, wiping away tears, grazed the cut near my eye.

"I didn't plan on taking anything anyway."

"Alright then! I'll sign it! Just don't come to regret this!"

Matteo's frosty tone, mixed with the scratch of his pen on paper, cut through the silence of the spacious room.

I quickly passed him the Family Withdrawal Notice.

Without a glance, Matteo scrawled his name across it in bold strokes.

As he set down the pen, he snapped, "You're free to go, but leave all the deals you've set up, both current and future, with Elena. She's in charge now."

Elena could not hide her glee, giving me a smug look.

Tears welled up in my eyes again. "Why should she? I've worked tirelessly on those deals. What gives her the right?"

I grabbed the divorce papers and the notice, stormed out, and did not look back.

I posted the notice on Twitter and the family chat, then left the group for good.

To my parents and brothers, I sent a simple message.

[The little Principessa is coming home. Pick me up?]

With my backpack in tow, I made a beeline for the airport.

Matteo watched the doctor treat Elena's wound with iodine, feeling a sudden surge of annoyance.

My determined exit haunted him, and the thought of the major deals I had crafted with such dedication left him feeling even more unsettled.

The success of those deals would be a game-changer for the family. With that in mind, he knew he needed to have another chat with me.

I had a knack for sensing the undercurrents in mafia deals that others just could not match. My uncanny intuition had saved their skins more than once.

Matteo was confident that I would not just walk away from the deals I had poured her soul into. He figured that with a little sweet talk, I would be back in the game, working my magic for the family.

Matteo picked up the phone, only to be greeted by a robotic voice.

"Sorry, the number you have dialed is not in service."

Then, there was a knock at the door.

The Underboss burst in, looking like he had seen a ghost. "Don, we've got trouble. Our deals for the next few years have been hijacked by the competition."

Matteo's legs gave way as he roared, "What? How could anyone outside the inner circle know about our major moves?"

Matteo lashed out, "What have you fools been up to?! Incompetents!"

Pacing the floor, Matteo snapped, "Get Isabella in here, now! She's been handling these documents. This mess is on her!"

The Underboss, still reeling from the outburst, finally managed to get the words out.

"Don, Mrs. Santoro just walked out of your office. She posted a Family Withdrawal Notice in the family chat."

Matteo was incredulous. "A Family Withdrawal Notice? Who gave her permission to leave? She wouldn't dare leave without my say-so! "

"Don, your signature is right there on the notice she sent out, saying she's leaving the family."

"No way! How could this happen?"

The office was left with only Matteo's low murmurs.

He was sure he had signed his name three times. Exactly three times.

He signed twice on the divorce papers, which meant the last one had to be the notice of her leaving the family.

'Isabella has the nerve to trick me just to get away from me. How did she dare to do that?!' Matteo thought.