Farewell, My Don

Inside the ballroom, a few women in gowns came over with their glasses raised.

"Sarah, Don Matthew treats you so well. I heard he went to three auctions in Milan just to get that ring."

"And remember when you had that fever? He canceled a negotiation with the Colombo family on the spot and had his private doctor come stay with you all night."

"He even transferred that penthouse on Fifth Avenue to you, didn't he? Closed on Valentine's Day. Talk about perfect timing."

I forced a smile. If I hadn't heard what I'd heard, I would have believed I was the luckiest woman in the world.

They chatted for a while and drifted off. I turned and walked back to the sofa.

That was when Matthew came back.

Ruth followed close behind, walking in with him.

Now I could see clearly. His shirt was wrinkled, the collar pulled up just enough to cover the hickeys on his neck.

But his men kept asking in Sicilian about his little escapade.

"Ha! So, Don? How was it with Ruth? Fucking intense, right? You're a madman."

Matthew looked at me, then walked over and sat beside me. He laughed.

"Couldn't get enough."

Then he leaned in and kissed me on the lips, still smiling.

His men burst out laughing. Ruth laughed along too, her eyes glinting with barely concealed triumph. She raised her glass and purred in Sicilian:

"Don, why don't you just marry me? I'm clearly the woman who fits you best."

Matthew didn't look at her. His fingers traced along the back of my neck. He let out a low chuckle.

"Marry you? What do you have to compare to her?"

"My Donna will only ever be Sarah. She's the only one I love."

Ruth's smile faltered for a second, then snapped back into place. She bit the rim of her glass, her eyes cold as they fixed on me over the rim. At Matthew's signal, she slipped away.

I pretended I hadn't understood a word. Lowered my head and sipped my wine.

Matthew's hand slid from my neck to my shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze.

"Sarah, I'm really sorry. We're just used to using Sicilian when we talk business. One of these days, I'll teach you."

I looked up at him and managed a smile.

"Sure."

He kissed my forehead, satisfied.

Then they went back to Sicilian.

"Don, are you really going to keep Ruth as your canary forever?"

"No. She's just a good fuck. My Donna will always be Sarah. Once Sarah and I are married, I'll cut her off completely."

He said it while twirling a strand of my hair between his fingers.

I slowly set my glass down. Got up and went to the restroom.

The moment the door closed behind me, I pulled out my phone and replied to my mentor: [I accept the research position in France.]

The reply popped up on the screen: [Aren't you engaged? Does your fiancé know about this?]

At the word "fiancé," my knuckles went white around the phone.

I typed back: [I don't have a fiancé anymore. He betrayed me. So Professor, please apply for the highest level of security clearance for me and erase all public records of my existence.]

My mentor fell silent. After a long pause, he replied: [I can do that. We leave in seven days. Take care of yourself.]

I stared at those words for a long moment. Then I locked the screen.

The bathroom mirror reflected my face. I pressed a hand to my stomach, and the tears came, streaming down my cheeks.

Sorry, baby.

I'd known Matthew for five years. I'd seen the cold, ruthless look in his eyes when he took down rival families. I'd also seen his lashes lower at three in the morning when he stayed up caring for me when I was sick. I used to believe that the man's brutality and his tenderness were both meant for me.

Turns out I was wrong.

He only wore tenderness as a mask. And I had fallen too deep for the performance.

Seven days. In seven days, I would walk off his stage for good.