When the Principessa Comes Home

Roxie Monroe, the mistress of my boyfriend of three years, Donovan Kincaid, posted a photo on social media.

The caption read: "What does it matter if you're my Capo during the day? At night, you're still mine!"

In the photo, she was straddling Donovan's bare body. The Valeriano family crest he’d tattooed on his chest for me was now twisted and warped into Roxie's name.

Just this morning, I had asked Donovan to take me to his family's dinner party.

He took the limited-edition antique gun I gave him but kicked over my easel, splattering paint everywhere.

His face was a mask of pure contempt as he declared, "Take a good look at yourself. Some nobody with no connections, you're not even fit to polish my shoes. Look at how pathetically you cling to me!"

For three years, I had silently endured his insistence that we keep our relationship a secret—a measure he claimed was to protect me, an "outsider." But in that moment, the truth hit me: it had all been an absurd lie.

In that moment of clarity, I sent a message to my father: "Papa, I'm done playing. I'm coming home."

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1

The moment I confirmed the corrupted tattoo in the photo had once been for me, I sent a bottle of the most expensive champagne to Donovan’s family-run club.

The attached note read: "To Mr. Kincaid and Miss Monroe. A match made in filth. May you be chained together for eternity."

A few minutes later, Roxie replied, claiming it was just a kinky game, part of a dare between them.

Donovan, who had been missing all night, finally called.

"Are you fucking insane? What the hell were you thinking, sending that to my family's place? Show some goddamn class. Why are you so damn jealous? Can't you live without a man?"

Before I could respond, Donovan added contemptuously, "What are you good for besides causing trouble? Crawl back to that hovel you call a studio."

Even though I’d anticipated his anger, hearing him threaten me made a shard of ice pierce my heart.

It was disgusting. A wave of intense nausea surged in my throat.

I trembled at the thought that just this morning, I was fantasizing about him finally going public with our relationship.

"Donnie, it's my fault, alright," I said with a cold laugh. "I'll go find your 'innocent' Roxie and clear things up right now!"

"No! You're not going anywhere!" Donovan snapped. Though he sounded furious, he couldn't hide his concern for the other woman. "It's late. It's not safe for you to be out alone!"

He turned his attention back to me, his voice a furious snarl. "Listen to me, Scarlett. Don't push me! Do you really think I can't deal with you?"

Before I could even get a word in, I heard Roxie's sobs on the other end of the line.

"Donnie, even if I have to crawl, I'm crawling over there right now. Don't you dare try to stop me. I won't let anyone spread rumors about you!" Roxie declared.

"Why are you bothering with that psycho? I'll make her disappear right now!" Donovan replied. "Roxie, you just stay put. As long as I'm the Capo here, no one can lay a finger on you."

After that, he hung up on me without a second thought.

I messaged him less than five seconds after he hung up to say I wanted to break up. He never replied.

Well, that wasn't surprising. If he didn't need anything from me, he would simply ghost me.

Two hours later, the safe house was empty. I had erased every trace of myself.

Everything in this house, from the most inconspicuous antique ashtray to the massive canvas in the living room, had been arranged by me personally.

I had even prepared a surprise for Donovan—I had bought the house, intending to give him the deed.

Now, I was just glad I had never told him.

Just then, my phone buzzed.

"Don't worry, Scarlett. Donnie and I are innocent. I've always looked up to him, like an older brother. I've never had any improper thoughts about him."

As if afraid I wouldn't believe her, Roxie even sent two videos. The first showed Donovan licking a wound on her knee; the second showed him holding her, murmuring affectionately.

In the past, I never dared to respond to such provocations. After all, I was always the one who ended up backing down, trying to win Donovan back.

Three years was long enough to exhaust the fiery, youthful passion that once drove me to chase love without a thought for the consequences.

Looking at it now, all my silent endurance had been for nothing.

"Are you begging for a beating? Sending me this just to get a rise out of me? Or do you just want me to blow up your phone so you can shove the vibrating thing in your needy little body and get off on it?"

I immediately saw the notification indicating that Roxie was typing.

"Oh, look. You must be trembling with rage right now."

After sending that, I blocked and deleted Roxie's number.

That night, I didn't sleep a wink. I waited until dawn before calling my father.

"Papa, I'm done playing. I'm coming home."

My father sent back a string of jubilant emojis, then called. "Are you sure, my Principessa? You're not pulling my leg, are you?"

"No, I'm not lying," I replied, a wry smile twisting my lips.

My father laughed heartily. "Ha! It looks like I just won my five-million-dollar bet with that old geezer!"

I felt a lump form in my throat.

My father's tone turned to ice. "You should have come back sooner! Then none of this would have happened. You can have any man you want! I really don't understand what you saw in that kid from the Kincaid family. I'll send my men to crush the Kincaids right now and let you blow off some steam. Anyone who dares touch the Principessa of the Valeriano family has a death wish!"