I Married His Rival, and the Mafia Don Lost His Mind

Corleone didn't come home until the afternoon.

Late-autumn sunlight streamed into the study. The room was deathly quiet.

The sound of a key turning came from the front door.

I looked up.

When Corleone walked in, I froze.

His eyes were bloodshot, his suit collar rumpled and creased. Exhaustion and irritation rolled off him in waves.

In ten years of power, he had always been composed and in control, handling everything with ease. Even during internal coups and gunshot wounds, he had never shown a trace of fatigue.

I had never seen him this drained.

When he saw me, the tension in his body eased.

He walked quickly to my side. Ten years of trust had made it instinct: being close to each other meant safety.

But this time, I caught a faint yet distinct trace of sweet perfume.

It wasn't mine.

My heart went cold. I raised my hand and pushed him away without a word.

Corleone didn't notice the distance. He held out a small black velvet box.

"For you. I picked it out for our tenth anniversary."

His voice was hoarse, heavy with fatigue.

Inside the box was a pair of teardrop diamond chip earrings.

The chips were brilliantly cut, the design delicate and elegant. Sunlight caught them, scattering flecks of light like ripples on water.

But I recognized them instantly.

They were the free gift that came with this year's wildly popular Pinnacle Jewels limited edition set.

The actual centerpiece of that set was a priceless, one-of-a-kind emerald necklace.

That necklace was the year's crowning haute couture piece. Only one existed in the entire world, never sold publicly, never available for custom orders.

Since its debut, countless elite families had thrown fortunes at it and still come up empty. It was a true status symbol, the kind of piece money alone couldn't buy.

But that one-of-a-kind necklace wasn't here.

When I didn't reach for them, Corleone gave a low chuckle and didn't push it. He set the earring box on the desk.

"Where were you last night?"

At my sudden question, Corleone paused, almost imperceptibly.

But he quickly turned around, rubbing the bridge of his nose, his face drawn with exhaustion.

"Something went wrong with the overseas partnership. It's complicated. The other group controls the trade network that stretches across half of Europe, along with all its warehouses. If things go south, countless men on the ground lose their livelihoods."

"I rushed over to negotiate through the night. Luckily Bianca was there to help stabilize things."

He looked at me, his voice thick with weariness and resignation.

"It all happened too fast. I'm sorry I left you like that."

He leaned in to kiss my forehead, the way he always did.

But that unfamiliar perfume hit me again, and my stomach turned. I tilted my head away.

He froze mid-motion.

Corleone forced a thin smile, a hint of bitterness at the corners of his mouth.

"Still upset? I'll clear my schedule tonight. I'll stay with you."

I kept my expression cold.

"Don't bother."

He frowned.

"You might have somewhere better to be tonight. I wouldn't want to keep you."

Corleone's face darkened completely, his eyes sharp with confusion and anger.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

I pulled out my phone, opened Bianca's post from that morning, and held it in front of his face.

Corleone's gaze dropped to the screen. He stiffened, then his brows knitted tightly, a flash of cold fury crossing his eyes.

I knew Corleone better than anyone.

For ten years, he had been ruthless and decisive. He tolerated nothing, and he never allowed anyone or anything to threaten what we had.

Six months ago, a young maid at the estate, nursing an innocent crush, had secretly kept a pen he'd thrown away.

When Corleone found out, he showed no mercy.

He had the girl dragged out in front of everyone, accused her of trying to cozy up to the Don and undermine our marriage, and ordered her permanently banished.

The girl sobbed and trembled, begging for forgiveness.

But he looked down at her with cold indifference, without a shred of sympathy.

That night, after holding me close, he kissed my brow and spoke with quiet conviction.

"Tella, you are the only Donna I will ever have. Anyone who dares to threaten your place will get no mercy from me."

Now Bianca had publicly posted something this suggestive. It was a blatant provocation.

But after a few minutes, Corleone calmed down, unexpectedly.

"That's all?" He looked away, his tone dismissive and rushed. "She doesn't know how things work in our circles. She's just being reckless. Once the overseas situation is fully under control, I'll set her straight. You'll get your answer."

"Set her straight?"

I lowered my eyes, my fingers tracing the pearl bracelet on my wrist.

"I've been publicly humiliated, and all you can say is wait until things settle down?"

My question left Corleone speechless. Days of pressure had drained him dry.

He closed his eyes, his voice hollow with exhaustion.

"Tella, I'm exhausted."

"I know I've let you down, but the bigger picture comes first right now. You understand me better than anyone. I'll make it up to you later, twice over. Just let this go for now. It's beneath you as the Donna to keep dwelling on it."

I didn't respond.

Corleone pinched the bridge of his nose and turned toward the bathroom.

The moment his fingers touched the bathroom door handle, my voice rang out from behind him, clear and unwavering.

"Corleone, I'm getting married."