The Ashes of a Don's Regret

My fiancé, Vincenzo, the Don of the Cavalieri family, reached out for the first time in ages—all because I hadn’t used his credit card for three days.

"Baby, I've already approved the funds for the next stage of your heart treatment. See? As long as you learn to be good, I'm willing to give you anything."

His tone dripped with the same patronizing generosity he always used, the voice of a powerful man feigning concern for his fiancée.

But he didn't know that as the word "Baby" flashed across my screen, I was drafting the papers to dissolve our engagement.

Before I left, the only thing I could take from this penthouse apartment was the old T-shirt I had worn when he first brought me home.

No one would have guessed that the future Donna of the Cavalieri family—in name only—hadn't even been allowed to buy a single art book I coveted in the three years of our engagement.

Every single expense had to be approved by Isabella, a woman who was supposedly just Vincenzo's most trusted subordinate, the one managing the family's finances.

"Caterina, handling the books is messy work. You shouldn't stain your hands with it."

"Let Isabella handle trivial matters like paperwork. Your only job is to be beautiful—to be my perfect Principessa."

And so, my financial freedom became a privilege I had to beg for from Isabella—the woman supposedly "handling trivial matters for me."

Three days ago, I had an acute heart attack. I cried and begged him to approve five hundred thousand dollars for an emergency surgery.

But Isabella, citing the need to "avoid FBI scrutiny of overseas fund transfers," deliberately blocked the payment.

In the end, the delay caused permanent damage to my already fragile heart, all because I missed the optimal treatment window.

And just like that, I was done with him.

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1

When I walked out of the private clinic's examination room, the doctor's calm words still echoed in my ears:

"The damage to your heart muscle is irreversible. Miss Bianchi, there's nothing more we can do for you here."

My heart plummeted into an abyss, taking the diagnostic report with it.

When I arrived at Vincenzo's penthouse office, he was signing a document with Isabella.

When I proposed ending our engagement, he didn't even look up, merely letting out a low chuckle.

"Throwing a tantrum again? Because I didn't come home for dinner last night?"

"Caterina, don't make jokes like that. It's not funny."

I lowered my eyes, suppressing the familiar, hollow pang in my chest, and said firmly, "Vincenzo, I'm not joking. I want to end our engagement."

Vincenzo finally looked up at me.

He moved around the massive mahogany desk toward me, his arm wrapping around my waist in a familiar, possessive hold. I stiffened and pushed him away.

His hand grasped at empty air. A flash of displeasure crossed his features, vanishing as quickly as it appeared.

"I know you're upset that your treatment was interrupted. But that was a lesson in our financial protocols—for the family's security."

"Isabella was just strictly following my orders. Why would you undermine her in front of the family?"

"I restored your access to the funds yesterday. Baby, my time is precious. I run this entire family. Don't make me waste it soothing your hurt feelings, alright?"

Before I could answer, he glanced at the Patek Philippe on his wrist. "I have a meeting. I'll bring you your favorite macarons tonight. Wait for me at the apartment. Be good."

He was certain I couldn't leave him, certain that with a crumb of affection, I would bow my head in gratitude.

After all, in the past, even when he abandoned me at a charity gala to pick up Isabella, all it took was a simple, "She's an important member of the family," and I would be the one wiping away my own tears.

But I had stopped liking macarons a long time ago.

And whether the treatment was restored or not no longer mattered.

If, three days ago, Vincenzo had answered my call in the middle of his damned meeting, I might still be that same fool, living in a dream.

Back then, I had pleaded with him, begging him not to hang up, to just listen to me for one second.

But none of it could compete with the pathetic, simpering sound of Isabella's voice in the background:

"Don, did I say something to upset Miss Caterina? I was only reminding her that five hundred thousand dollars is a large sum. Without a detailed breakdown of its use, I couldn't approve it in good conscience."

"If Miss Caterina really needs it urgently, I'm willing to approve it even if it violates the rules, but I'm afraid the committee will investigate... it could affect your reputation, Don..."

"That's why I was stricter with the approval process. It was also to help our future Donna develop the financial discipline required by the Cavalieri family."

Hearing this, Vincenzo was clearly convinced, completely forgetting my pleas.

"Caterina, you see? Isabella is always thinking of me."

"Can't you learn from her? Stop being so impulsive and unruly."

"Listen to Isabella. Go through the proper procedures, and then we'll talk."

It was always like this whenever I needed him.

"I'm at the docks dealing with business. Find Isabella if you need something."

"Follow Isabella's arrangements."

"Do whatever Isabella says."

I was his fiancée, the Donna-in-name-only of his criminal empire, yet I lived without a shred of dignity.

Forget daily expenses; even for the charity galas I had to attend as the Don's fiancée, or family ceremonies where I was expected to stand by his side, I had to request jewelry and gowns from his confidante.

And every time, Isabella would dismiss my requests with a sweet smile and a casual flick of her wrist.

"Miss Caterina, that emerald necklace is a family asset. It has to be logged before it can be taken out. You'll need to submit the request again."

"Oh, Miss Caterina, you applied too late. All the couture gowns have been allocated. Why don't you wear this one from last season? You have natural beauty. The Don won't mind."

"Miss Caterina, why are you always like this? Look at the list you wrote. Didn't I tell you to confirm everything before you bring it to me to sign?"

She would always drag things out until the last possible second, leaving me to watch from the sidelines as I stood awkwardly beside a radiant Vincenzo in an ill-fitting, outdated dress.

And Vincenzo would just wrap his arm around my waist and whisper, "Caterina, this dress again? I don't mind you being frugal, but don't embarrass the Cavalieri name."

"You can't even manage something this simple. You still need Isabella's help. When will you ever grow up?"

The only reason I couldn't handle this "simple thing" was entirely because of Vincenzo's "good confidante."

But he never saw it. Or maybe he just didn't care.

He knew my heart was fragile. He knew I couldn't stop my medication or delay my treatment. Yet, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he still told me to just go find Isabella.