Dumped the Underboss

"Boss, moving the wedding to a luxury yacht in Boca Raton... you can't be serious!"

Outside the study door, Lucas's hushed, panic-stricken voice cut through the air.

"Miss Sienna nearly drowned as a kid. She has severe trauma from deep water! Putting the wedding at sea will trigger a full-blown panic attack!"

My hand froze on the doorknob. My blood ran cold.

Inside, ice clinked against a whiskey glass, followed by Matteo's arrogant, irritated scoff.

"That's just old drama from her childhood. Tell her to drop the drama," Matteo said, his tone as cold as if he were talking about a total stranger. "Camilla loves the ocean view. Isn't a sea breeze way better than being stuck on land? Sienna loves me enough to go blind for me. She can suck it up and deal with a little water. She isn't that fragile. She'll go coordinate the venue with the Rossi family like a good girl."

"But San Siro Estate was locked in by both Don Rossi and Don Falcone!" Lucas pleaded, keeping his voice down.

"My word is final," Matteo cut him off brutally. "She's a half-blind cripple now. Who else would marry her besides me? She can take it or leave it."

Right then, his private phone rang.

The moment he picked up, all the ice in his voice melted away. He sounded disgustingly sweet. "Camilla? The Milan custom dress arrived? It's only six hundred thousand dollars, babe. Anything for you. Wear it on the big day. You'll be the most beautiful woman there."

A six-hundred-thousand-dollar custom gown.

I looked down at the cheap three-hundred-dollar dress I bought off the discount rack at a local bridal shop.

Yesterday during my fitting, my damaged vision made everything blurry. I asked him nervously if I looked pretty. He didn't even glance up. He just tossed out a lazy, "Looks fine, nobody's looking at you anyway," before rushing out to buy cake for Camilla.

It wasn't that he lacked money, or didn't know romance.

I just wasn't worth it.

I bit my bottom lip hard, fighting back the burning tears. My doctors warned me a thousand times—severe crying with damaged optic nerves could make me permanently blind.

I gave him four whole years of pure, unconditional love.

He forgot that San Siro Estate was where we first met. It was where we fell in love.

Two years ago during a mafia ambush, gunmen cornered Matteo at that very estate. I threw myself in front of him without hesitation. A bullet shattered my skull, lodging fragments against my optic nerve and plunging me into absolute darkness for six months.

I thought my sacrifice earned me a lifetime of love.

Turns out, it just gave him leverage to crush my dignity.

I didn't burst in to make a scene. I pulled my hand back and walked away down the cold red carpet, step by step.

Rain started pouring down outside. I sat in my car, hands gripping the steering wheel so tight they shook.

The fog on the windshield felt like a giant net, pulling me back into the suffocating darkness of my childhood trauma. But I stared straight ahead, forcing my body to stop trembling.

Having a panic attack over a man who doesn't love me? Not worth it.

That night, Matteo claimed he had an urgent high-level mafia meeting and didn't come home.

At 2:00 AM, my phone buzzed with a social media notification.

It was a picture Lucas posted from the mafia VIP party.

Right in the center, Camilla was leaning drunk into Matteo's arms. Matteo held her waist, his eyes dripping with affection.

In the comments, a high-ranking mob boss teased: "Matteo, moving the wedding to a yacht? Will Sienna actually agree to that?"

Matteo replied directly:

[Like she'd dare to care? If she doesn't want to marry me, plenty of women are dying to take the Underboss's wife spot.]

Looking at those words, I suddenly laughed out loud.

The last trace of warmth in my heart froze solid.

I hit the like button.

Since you put it that way, I don't want you anymore either.