Chapter 3

7:00 AM sharp. Usually, freshly baked scones and hot espresso would cover the dining table by now.

Today, I reached out, slapped the ringing alarm off, and rolled over to keep sleeping.

I stayed in bed until Matteo's annoyed voice echoed from downstairs.

"Where's breakfast? Why is the table empty?"

He stood before the large, bare dining table. His face darkened. The maid beside him bowed her head, trembling. "Lady D'Angelo usually manages breakfast. She didn't come down today, so the kitchen didn't prep anything..."

Matteo frowned subtly, saying nothing.

He didn't even bother sending a servant upstairs to check if I was sick. He smoothed his suit cuffs, stepped outside, and drove off with his massive motorcade of six bulletproof black SUVs, speeding into the distance.

In the past, I would have sent my routine safety text by now, double-checking every single security detail on his schedule.

Today, I cut all of it off.

I stayed in bed until he left. Then I got up, threw on a sleek black trench coat and dark sunglasses, smoothly bypassed the estate guard posts, and slipped out of the main house without a sound.

Thirty minutes later, I dialed my dark web partner Chloe using an encrypted satellite phone.

"Chloe, book me a meeting with those senior investors in Brooklyn," I said, pulling my hat low. My voice was icy and sharp. "The secret roadshow we planned? It starts today."

Chloe gasped in pure excitement over the line. "Lord Corvus! You're finally making a comeback? Those Mafia old-timers doubled their bounties just to locate you!"

2:00 PM, Brooklyn underground district.

I pushed open a hidden door behind a run-down auto repair shop and carefully scanned the perimeter.

Three massive walls of encrypted multi-screen terminals. Two heavy blast doors for emergency escapes.

This was my designated private studio.

The second I flipped the main power switch, cool blue light lit up my eyes.

For four years, I wore the chains of a Don's wife. Starting this second, I took back total control.

8:00 PM. The estate was dead silent.

Matteo came back to the main house early for once. He pushed the door open. No warm candlelight, no gourmet dinner—just a pitch-black, freezing living room.

He loosened his tie and looked around with a heavy frown. Three lines floated ghost-like above his head:

[No dinner either? What kind of mood episode is she throwing now?]

[Whatever. At least my ears get a few days of peace.]

[I just hope she doesn't break down, cry, and beg me to comfort her again.]

He didn't even care to step into the bedroom for a look. He waved a private chef over. "Make some quick pasta and bring it to the study."

At this exact moment, I sat alone under the floor lamp in my second-floor bedroom.

My mind-reading power grew stronger by the hour. Now, thoughts within ten meters popped up crystal clear, even without me trying to look.

Yet, I felt zero sadness.

Playing the role of a powerless Don's wife for years made me almost forget who I really was.

No fake social registry for Mafia spouses sat on my desk. It was global black-market cash models and encrypted ledgers.

Downstairs, the heavy, cold thud of guards' patrol boots echoed through the hallway.

I tapped my keyboard, flipping past page fifteen of an encrypted hedge ledger. Giant numbers flashed across the screen. My heart stayed completely flat. Not a single trace of the old pain remained.

Giving up on a man was easier than I thought.