A Don's Tale

Elena's POV

In the first year of our marriage, Lorenzo Moretti publicly announced that I wouldn't be the Donna of the Moretti family. Instead, he made me do the work of a maid for a dollar per task.

I worked myself to the bone, injuring my back. On rainy days, I would shake from the pain.

In the second year of our marriage, the Moretti family's casino in Lavergo opened, and I was called in to work as a dealer. I was paid five dollars a night.

I worked there for six months, enduring harassment from gamblers every day, and my voice went hoarse.

In the third year of our marriage, my father jumped from a building and needed emergency surgery.

I had no choice but to beg Lorenzo. What he did was make me drink high-concentration whiskey in a smoke-filled private club.

It was a hundred dollars per glass in exchange for the surgery fee.

Lorenzo wore a mocking expression, his sculpted features blurred slightly by the smoke.

I broke into a coughing fit, my voice rough and strained. "Lorenzo, I'm allergic to alcohol. Could we change—"

"No," Lorezo said coldly.

He put out his cigar, his eyes full of disgust. "From the moment you schemed behind my back with my mother to force me into this marriage and drove Sofia away, you lost the right to negotiate with me."

He pointed at the glass and said with a jeer, "Drink. I'll pay as much as you drink."

While surrounded by the gleeful looks of the spectators, I felt my heart sink deeper. But time was running out, and I no longer had a choice.

I closed my eyes, then opened them, schooling my expression to be completely calm. "Fine. I'll drink."

I picked up a whiskey glass with one hand and a bottle with the other, constantly pouring and drinking.

Dad had been severely injured, with internal bleeding, and I needed a lot of money.

I chugged a thousand-dollar bottle of whiskey as if it were plain water. Eventually, my body went numb, and I had difficulty breathing.

But I kept drinking, glass after glass. Empty bottles piled up in front of me like a small mountain.

Lorenzo's expression grew darker, and the hand resting on his knee clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

Finally, when I felt so sick to the point I couldn't breathe, my glass fell and shattered, and I had to stop.

I crouched down, covering my mouth, and coughed violently. Blood seeped through my fingers, but still, I forced myself to reach for another glass.

Lorenzo finally lost it. He stood up and grabbed my wrist, saying mockingly, "Elena Bianchi, when you used every dirty trick to marry me, did you ever imagine a day like this? Wagging your tail like a dog for a few thousand dollars?"

Hearing this, my expression didn't change. I just said calmly, "That's 999 glasses. Wire the money to my account."

Lorenzo said nothing as he looked at me with a complicated expression.

During the standoff between us, his phone suddenly rang.

Lorenzo answered the phone, and his Underboss' delighted voice came through the line, "Don Moretti, Ms. Sofia Ciampi has gotten divorced and is returning home. Her plane lands in half an hour."

Lorenzo's eyes lit up at that. Without hesitation, he pushed me aside and hurried away.

Unable to hold on any longer, I coughed up a mouthful of blood in agony.

The people around screamed in shock, but Lorenzo's footsteps never paused.

I smiled bitterly at myself and fell unconscious.

…

When I woke up again, my throat felt like it had been burned with a red-hot iron. The pain was so intense that I couldn't speak.

The nurse looked worried as she informed me, "Ms. Bianchi, your excessive drinking has caused severe laryngeal edema and gastric bleeding. There may be lasting damage."

I wasn't surprised to hear that. In fact, I felt relieved.

After all, I had managed to cover Dad's medical bills.

But just then, Dad's primary doctor called. The voice on the other end sounded apologetic as he said, "Mi dispiace, Ms. Bianchi. Your father passed away five minutes ago. Please accept my condolences."

Those words struck my heart like a heavy hammer.

The pain was so intense that I could barely breathe. With tears in my eyes, I ran toward Dad's hospital room.

But just as I arrived, I saw the doctor pull the white sheet over Dad's face. My foot twisted, and I nearly collapsed to the floor. I forced myself to kneel by his bed, sobbing uncontrollably.

The doctor's voice was regretful. "There was no money in the account, so we couldn't perform the surgery. We did everything we could. I'm very sorry."

I lifted my head sharply and asked, my voice trembling, "But didn't someone transfer the money over?"

The doctor and nurse both shook their heads, looking confused.

In disbelief, I opened Dad's account on my phone and refreshed it repeatedly. But the balance remained zero.

After Dad's body was placed in the morgue, I frantically dialed Lorenzo's number. It wasn't until the 187th call that he finally picked up.

I screamed, my voice breaking, "Lorenzo, you promised that if I drank, you would transfer the surgery fee for my father! Why didn't you?"

The other end remained silent. However, his breath hitched for a moment, a rare bit of guilt creeping in.

A sharp, twisting pain stabbed through my heart. In a broken voice, I said, "Do you know that because you didn't transfer the money, my dad—"

"Three years, and you're still so vulgar, Elena? You married into the Moretti family for money back then, and now every word out of your mouth is still about money?"

A cool, distant female voice came from across the line, tinged with a hint of pity and displeasure, "Elena, since you're the Donna of the Moretti family, you must learn to be composed. You can't measure everything with money. That's too vulgar."

When I heard that condescending tone, I couldn't help but snap back, "That was my father's life!"

"Enough," Lorenzo cut me off. "I didn't wire the money because you didn't drink enough. Also, you broke two of my precious bottles of whiskey.

"Elena, rules are rules. You didn't meet the terms. Don't blame anyone else."

As he finished speaking, my phone chimed.

I looked down only to see that Lorenzo had transferred me one dollar.