The Fake Amnesiac's Very Real Divorce

My husband, Don Vincent Corleone, has gotten ambushed during a trade-off. When he wakes up, he still remembers everyone… but me.

Soon, Vincent makes an announcement in front of everyone that Angela Mancini is his actual Donna. That's how Angela takes over my position as the precision machinist in the family.

When I'm in the machinery storage room, I accidentally overhear Vincent and Angela flirting with each other.

"Since you've lent me the identity as the Donna for a week, does this mean I get to do whatever I want with your body during this period?" Angela asks.

"Of course! The only reason why I've pretended to have contracted amnesia is so that I can appease you, after all."

As I hide in the shadows, I feel my nails digging into my palms. Still, I don't expose Vincent's lie on the spot.

At the family meeting the next day, Vincent forcibly snatches away the obsidian ring that I've been wearing. He yells at me that Angela is his actual Donna, and that I should submit all of my blueprints to the family before leaving Neplas once and for all.

All the subordinates stare at me, waiting for me to fight back.

Without moving an inch, I submit my resignation on the spot and file for a divorce.

What Vincent doesn't know is that I'm the only one who knows the assembly technology of the latest batch of firearms. There are only seven days left till the Corleone family has to hand the batch over to the client.

Seven days later, the batch starts showing issues, which implicates the Corleone family and putting them in a dire state. But that's when I've completely vanished from Neplas.

When Vincent and I meet each other again, he grabs me by the arm angrily while questioning me, "Where the hell have you gone to, Valenna? Why did you ditch me back then?"

I pretend to look confused. "Who are you? Do I even know you?"

"Before you even think about walking out that door, you're going to wipe every last byte of R&D data for this batch of firearms," Angela Mancini sneered, stepping into my path to block the exit. "That belongs to the Corleone famiglia. You didn't seriously think you were walking out with our crown jewels, did you?"

After seven years of heading up firearms development for the Corleones, I knew damn well there was no rule about wiping data before leaving. She was just throwing her weight around as the Donna, messing with me for the hell of it.

Vincent Corleone, who had been standing by her side, pointed at the encrypted drive in my hand and gave his command. "Drop it. That's the Corleone famiglia's secret. You don't get to take it with you."

If that data were wiped, seven years of my life's work would go up in smoke.

Vincent knew that the data meant everything to me. By teaming up with Angela to back me into a corner, he was betting that I wouldn't have the heart to just walk away.

Perhaps I should have seen this coming. Seven years of marriage, and I hadn't given the Corleone famiglia an heir.

Instead, I spent my nights alone under the lab's fluorescent lights, pouring everything I had into the firearms development that secured his throne in the arms trade.

In the absence of a child, the business had become my baby—something I would have died to protect.

At last week's sit-down, he tried to fast-track Angela's promotion to Head of High-Explosive Munitions R&D.

Every Capo in the room nodded along, eager to stay in Vincent's good graces.

I was the only one who had actually gone through Angela's performance evaluation. Right in front of everyone, I stamped "REJECTED" on the approval documents.

Vincent knew better than anyone that I would never let a fool like Angela get her hands on the core of our firearms development. That was why he was pulling this pathetic amnesia act to squeeze me out of my position.

When the Capos saw the standoff, they stepped in, trying to play peacemaker.

"Donna Valenna, please… Don Corleone isn't himself. You're his wife. You need to show him some grace while he's unwell."

The words seemed to embolden Vincent, and he pulled Angela into a tight embrace.

"My Donna is my life," he declared. "If anyone so much as touches a hair on her head, I'll wipe their entire bloodline off the map!"

The Capos chuckled and rushed to hold me back, trying to talk me down. "See? Don Corleone still cares about you. He just has you confused with someone else because of the amnesia."

Their "knowing" looks felt like a slap across my face. They thought they had it all figured out, but I was the only one who saw how pathetic the whole charade really was.

Over seven years of marriage, Vincent and I had maintained a veneer of domestic peace. But whenever disputes arose within the famiglia, he always pressured me to back down, hiding behind the same tired excuse—"for the good of the Corleones."

I used to buy into that bullshit. I had thought that making sacrifices for the Corleones was just part of the deal.

It was only when I saw him grind me into the dirt just to elevate Angela that I finally had my wake-up call.

If he had truly cared about me, his gun would have been leveled at whoever caused my grief, without ever stopping to calculate whether it was worth the cost.

When I didn't react, Angela snatched the whiskey bottle off the desk and hurled it at me. Glass shards sprayed across the floor.

"Who the hell do you think you are? I am and always will be the only woman in Vincent's life. You're nothing but a man-stealing bitch. Get the hell out of the Corleone famiglia!"

She jabbed a finger at me, screaming as if I were some unforgivable homewrecker.

Vincent didn't lift a finger to stop her. Instead, he swirled his own drink, watching the scene with an amused smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Numb with despair, I plugged the encrypted drive into the computer, ready to wipe it clean.

The Capos stood frozen, too stunned to even breathe.

Vincent hadn't expected me to actually go through with it. His hand shot out, clamping down on mine over the mouse before I could click.

"That won't be necessary," he said, his tone shifting. "The Corleones remember your contributions. But now, take your things and leave."

At his words, the Capos finally breathed a sigh of relief.

But Angela, standing right beside him, couldn't resist stirring the pot again.

"Amore! I'm your woman, the Donna of the Corleone famiglia! Does my word carry no weight here at all?"

I expected Vincent to indulge her whims like he always did, but for once, his expression hardened.

When he turned to me, the coldness in his eyes softened a fraction. He gestured for a Soldato to place a black leather briefcase, packed with gold bars, in front of me.

"Valenna, even though you're being relieved of your position as precision machinist, the Corleones won't shortchange you on compensation. Take the gold and stay at the estate for seven days. After that, you'll have your answers."

He actually thought that I was still in the dark—that once his little scheme with Angela had run its course after seven days, he could hide behind the illness excuse and come begging for my forgiveness.

But what he didn't realize was that the shipment of high-explosive munitions I had been overseeing had a hard deadline of exactly seven days.

That deal with the partner from Sicovenza hinged entirely on those crates. One day late, and the breach-of-contract penalties alone would be enough to cripple half the Corleone famiglia.

In the past, I might have swallowed my pride for the sake of the Corleones.

But now? I was done with him and the Corleones.

A stray lock of hair fell across my forehead, and Vincent's hand twitched upward instinctively. It was an old reflex from when he used to tuck my hair behind my ear.

But then he remembered the role he was supposed to be playing and jerked his hand back as if he had touched a live wire.

I unclasped the talisman he had handmade for me years ago and tossed it into the briefcase.

As the lid snapped shut with a heavy thud, I looked him dead in the eye, my voice perfectly level.

"Vincent, let's get a divorce."