After Seeing the Don’s Thoughts

[Still awake? Such an annoying dead weight.]

11:40 PM. The heavy oak door pushed open. Those glowing, semi-transparent words popped up right above Matteo's head out of nowhere.

I froze by the bed. My pupils shrank.

Matteo walked in, smelling of cold gunpowder. A hint of perfect concern touched his handsome, ruthless face. He slipped off his suit jacket, wrapped an arm around my waist, and kissed my forehead.

"Why are you still up, baby? I told you to sleep early." His voice was smooth and warm. His eyes dripped with affection.

His lips didn't move. But another line hovered above his head:

[She haunts me with this useless drama every single day. Doesn't she ever get tired of it?]

My blood ran cold. Ice filled my veins.

For four years, he was the flawless husband. Sometimes, I even forgot he was a cold-blooded Mafia Don.

I reached out. I gently unbuttoned his collar and whispered, "This weekend… do you want to go to the ranch and relax?"

"Of course. As soon as I clear my schedule, I'll take you." He smiled and stroked my hair. Pure, flawless tenderness.

Then a line flashed across his head:

[The ranch? Boring as hell. Who has time to play pretend with her?]

My hand froze in the air. I pulled back slowly and moved to the edge of the king-sized bed.

"Yeah… let's talk about it later then."

I stopped. I pretended to be dead tired and pulled up the blanket.

A second later, new words popped up:

[Finally, some peace and quiet.]

I closed my eyes. I buried my face in the pillow. I let the icy darkness swallow me whole.

7:00 AM the next morning.

I went downstairs early. I ground premium coffee beans and baked fresh pastries.

I made everything to Matteo's exact taste. He used to shower me with praises for this. But today, I was terrified to see his real thoughts.

Matteo walked down the stairs in a sharp suit. He sat at the dining table, took a sip of coffee, and smiled at me gently. "Smells great, Sienna. Thanks, honey."

[Every single day with these trashy coffee and sugary junk. Where is the class and dignity of a Mafia boss's wife?]

[Completely pointless.]

Two lines hovered right above his coffee cup.

Four years of devotion. To him, it was just cheap begging.

"I have an executive meeting. I need to run." He wiped his mouth smoothly, gave me a polite goodbye kiss on my cheek, and walked toward the door.

10:00 AM. The gates of the estate swung open.

Old Mrs. Alessandra walked into the foyer, flanked by four guards in black suits. Her head was held high. She offered me a noble, polite smile. "Sienna. You look well today."

I stepped back respectfully. "Mrs. D'Angelo. Good morning."

A sharp, nasty thought floated above her head:

[At least she knows her place. She didn't dare crawl up to call me family.]

She strutted down the hallway like a landlord inspecting her property. She pretended to check the gardens. She threw sweet fake words at me, but her real thoughts poured out in a brutal storm:

[What else can she do besides petty housework? Useless.]

[If her deadbeat dad hadn't taken a bullet for my husband back then, a girl with her trashy background wouldn't even step foot near the D'Angelo gates.]

I dug my nails into the cold marble pillar. My nails almost snapped in half.

Every bit of tenderness, every ounce of respect—shattered into dust in a single second.

No love. No gratitude.

My marriage was never a romance. It was just a cold transaction for the Mafia to pay off a blood debt.

3:00 PM. The living room phone rang loudly.

I picked it up. A guard's polite yet cold voice came through the speaker: "Ma'am, the Don has an emergency commission meeting tonight. He sent word for you not to wait up for dinner."

Click. The dial tone echoed in the empty hall.

On the twelve-meter luxurious dining table sat my freshly prepared dry-aged steak and top-shelf red wine.

I sat alone at the head of the long table. I stared at the dinner that had already gone cold.

I cut a piece of steak with my silver fork and put it in my mouth. I chewed for a long, long time.

I couldn't taste a single thing.