Cut by the Don

I was performing the hundredth "restoration" surgery on my mafia husband's latest mistress when I finally decided to leave him.For five years, I, Isabella Rossi, have lived a double life: the respected wife of a powerful Don, and the personal physician tasked with "purifying" the women he discards. Vincent's twisted religious conviction is his law: only a wife untouched by any other man can bear his legitimate heir. I was that pure wife, yet he treated me as his most unclean possession.My love for him died a slow death. A thousand empty nights. It was killed by the cold steel of my own operating table. By the sounds of other women boasting about his touch. The five-year prenuptial agreement that bound me to this hell was set to expire at midnight. I had already called my grandfather, the only man Vincent truly fears. My escape was hours away.By the time he realized his mistake, it was too late. ...The scent of antiseptic couldn't mask the cloying perfume of the girl in the exa

Vincent stood over me, disheveled and frustrated. "Isabella, I can't get it right. The lace is snagging. You do it."He pulled me down to the laundry room. Several ruined silk garments sat in a basin. The sight sent a fresh, searing pain through my numb heart. Vincent, who had once refused a simple request to help me, was patiently ruining his hands for another woman.I took over, moving with practiced ease. Vincent watched me, and for a moment, it was almost peaceful. When the delicate items were carefully laid out to dry, he brushed a kiss on my forehead. "Thank God for you, Isabella." Then he was gone, off to his precious Sophia, not noticing the raw skin on my knuckles from the harsh soap.Later, scrolling through my phone, I saw Sophia's post: "My amazing hubby hand-washed my favorite lingerie! So caring!" Vincent, who never engaged on social media, had commented with a heart emoji.Then, a private message popped up from Sophia. "Hey hubby, miss you already! Can't wait for our

The lock turned.A heavy, mechanical clunk.It shattered the frozen silence of my prison.I was fused to the concrete. My skin ripped. A hot, sharp pain.Strong hands hauled me up. I cried out. My legs were useless.Marco stood over me. A silhouette against the dim light. His face was a mask of clinical detachment."Get the blanket." His voice was a command to someone unseen. "Don't let her fall asleep. Hypothermia is setting in."They wrapped me in rough wool. The friction was agony. I was a bundle of broken nerves.He didn't take me to my room. My old life was over.We moved through a hidden door in the paneling. A passage I never knew existed. Dust filled my lungs. I choked.We descended in a service elevator. It groaned in protest. Down, down, into the earth.An unmarked van waited in an underground garage. Its engine was a low growl in the gloom."Where?" The word was a raw scrape in my throat. A final, feeble demand."Somewhere he won't look." Marco bundled me inside. The van's w

I watched his rage from the eye of my own hurricane.His anger was a predictable, chaotic force.And like any force, it could be channeled. It could be weaponized.It was time to give it a target. To let him tear himself apart on the traps I set."He's tearing the city apart looking for Marco and Sophia." Luca's voice crackled over the secure line. My grandfather's network of eyes and ears was proving more valuable than any weapon. "He's ignoring all other business. He's getting reckless. He almost shot a bartender for no reason.""Good." I said, tracing a finger over a detailed city map spread on the steel table. "Let's make him more so. It's time we fed the beast. Let him think he's the hunter."The plan was a layered trap. Each part was designed to bleed him in a different way. To take another piece of his sanity.The first part involved Sophia. We knew Vincent would find her eventually. We just needed to control the how and the when. She was a loose thread. I wanted her snipped.

The silence in my command center was absolute after I powered down the screens. The ghost of Vincent's sobs seemed to linger in the air, a phantom sound of a shattered man. A part of me, the ghost of the woman I once was, trembled at the finality of it. But Isabella Moretti stood firm, her heart encased in ice.My grandfather found me there, staring at the blank monitors. "It is done, ‘cara’," he said, his voice a low rumble. "His power is broken. His allies are gone. He is a ghost in his own ruin.""He is a cornered animal," I corrected, turning to face him. My voice was calm, but a familiar, cold vigilance had taken root in my spine. "And cornered animals are unpredictable. We cannot assume he will simply fade away."My grandfather's eyes, sharp and old, held a grudging respect. "You have learned your lessons well. But to continue this hunt… it changes the hunter, Isabella.""I am already changed," I said, my hand instinctively moving to the raised scar on my abdomen, hidden beneath