I Left the Mafia Don Who Made Me His Stand-In

"Well, well, Don Amato's leaving? He's not even taking you with him?"

As soon as the private dining room door closed, someone laughed.

I stood there holding my phone.

Ten minutes ago, Victor had been sitting beside me.

The waiter brought out the cake I'd ordered ahead of time, with "Happy birthday, Ivy" written in the frosting.

But before the candles were even lit, he took a call.

I couldn't hear what the caller said, but his expression changed instantly.

"Diana's having stomach pains. I'm going to pick her up."

Without thinking, I caught the cuff of his tailored suit.

"But you promised you'd spend tonight with me."

Victor looked down at my hand and frowned.

"Ivy, don't be difficult at a time like this."

Then he left, surrounded by his bodyguards.

Without a moment's hesitation.

Now every rich kid and socialite at the table was looking at me.

A woman in heavy makeup laughed. "Diana? You mean Don Amato's first love? I heard she just got back from Europe."

Angela, who was sitting across from me, smirked.

"The real thing is back, so of course the stand-in has to step aside.

"Ivy, don't be sad. Five years as a mafia Don's kept woman? You've made a killing."

"Exactly. Never mind leaving me here. He could point a gun at my head and I'd ask if his hand was getting tired."

The table burst out laughing.

Heat crept up my face.

When I first came, they laughed at me for being poor.

Later, they laughed at me for being a stand-in for money.

As if no matter what I did with my life, I'd always be a joke.

Angela pushed her phone in front of me.

On the screen was a post Diana had just shared.

In the photo, Victor was crouched in front of her, buckling the strap of her high heel.

The caption read, "Some people, no matter how long we've been apart, still come running the moment I need them."

The photo had been taken two minutes ago.

Clearly trying to get a rise out of me, Angela watched my face and asked, "Ivy, aren't you mad?"

I didn't answer.

Just then, my phone buzzed.

Sister Mary had sent me a video.

Newly paved asphalt ran from the entrance of our neighborhood all the way to the abandoned factory.

Along both sides of the road, solar streetlights came on one after another. The kids chased a pickup truck, their laughter spilling through the screen.

At the end of the video, Sister Mary, her eyes red, made the sign of the cross at the camera.

"Ivy, we've got the deed!

"The bank can never seize St. Mary's or kick us out again!"

I watched it once, then again.

My eyes stung.

But not because of Victor.

Five years ago, when he first saw me, he said my profile looked like Diana's.

He asked me, "How much a month to stay with me?"

I didn't know any better, and I was so nervous I asked for $200,000.

But he laughed. "Too little.

"Two million. You come when I call, and you don't get any ideas."

All these years, I never wasted a cent of his money.

My first month's pay became the streetlights outside the orphanage.

The diamond bracelet he gave me became the church's new roof.

The sports car I'd never driven was sold and turned into the children's library.

And now we had permanent title to the orphanage, too.

I opened my notes.

Health insurance, neighborhood security, reinforcing unsafe buildings...

Every item had been checked off.

Five years.

I'd finally repaid the tuition the nuns and kids had scraped together for me a hundred times over.

Angela was still needling me.

"Why don't you call the Don? Beg him, and maybe he'll come back for you."

"No need."

I closed Sister Mary's video and calmly picked up my coat.

"He has someone more important to be with tonight."

Someone behind me snickered. "Who's she kidding with that gracious act? Her heart's probably in pieces."

I didn't stop walking.

They didn't know.

I'd just booked a one-way flight to a remote town outside Boston, leaving in three days.

At one in the morning, I got back to the Long Island estate alone.

The living room lights were on.

Victor sat on the couch, his shirt collar open, impatience all over his face.

When he saw me, he asked coldly, "Why didn't you answer your phone?"

I paused, halfway out of my coat.

Sure enough, I had three missed calls from him.

"It was too loud in the private room. I didn't hear it."

"You couldn't leave early?"

He said it as if it were obvious.

As if it were my fault he'd left me with a bunch of people waiting to laugh at me.

I looked down and changed my shoes.

"Next time I will."

Victor stared at me, and his face only grew darker.

"Ivy, isn't there something you want to ask me?"

I looked up.

His cuff had a smudge of pale foundation on it, and he smelled of an iris perfume that wasn't mine.

I thought for a moment.

"Is Ms. Laurent's stomach still hurting?"

He froze for a second.

Then he sneered. "You're awfully good at pretending to be generous."

I didn't explain.

Because I wasn't being generous.

I just didn't care anymore.