My Best Friend's Inheritance

"The underboss wants you to come clean up."

When I received the call from Gaspare Volpe's subordinate, I was watching the housekeeper tidy up the mess from his party the night before.

In the third year of our marriage, Gaspare had dismissed all the household staff and made me handle every chore myself.

"Alright."

I agreed without hesitation, skillfully disguising my preparations to leave. Before heading out, I reminded the housekeeper to take the garbage with her.

Agreeing to do it was one thing. Actually doing it was another.

Every time Gaspare finished with a lover, he would call me to clean up the room. I wondered which one it would be today. Lily? Or Celeste, who had come last month?

My favorite was still Sandra. She only ever made a mess on the bed, never the entire room.

When I opened the door, I found an unfamiliar face staring back at me.

This woman had features that bore a passing resemblance to my best friend, Vera Toscano. I could not help but smile.

Gaspare's little performance of undying devotion had been running for years without end. So much for Vera being his one true love.

Less than three years after the Toscano family reclaimed Vera as their daughter, she and Gaspare got engaged.

He was notorious throughout Damerelli as a playboy. His bed partners never lasted longer than two weeks, and he offered them nothing beyond that. No feelings, no responsibility. He would sleep with them, toss them a check, and then move on to the next.

Vera was the only woman who had broken his "two-week curse." She was also the only woman he had ever truly cared for.

When they fought, he would patiently coax her. He prepared thoughtful gifts for their anniversaries and remembered everything she loved. Even when she caught a simple cold, he would personally buy medicine and take care of her.

Everyone praised him for turning over a new leaf. They said Vera was blessed.

The two fell in love and got engaged. Every mafia family in the state bore witness to their grand engagement ceremony. Their love was passionate and intense, making them the model couple everyone admired.

Unfortunately, less than a year after their engagement, Vera died in a car accident.

From that moment on, she became Gaspare's unattainable ideal.

Gaspare drowned his sorrows in alcohol, and women began cycling through his life again. The difference was that every woman now bore some resemblance to Vera.

The playboy remained a playboy, but this time, no one called him frivolous or unfaithful anymore.

I looked at Gaspare lying bare in bed, his body covered in telltale marks. The air reeked of filth mixed with perfume, which made me nauseous.

That being said, I had long grown accustomed to such scenes.

In the beginning, he would hold his lovers in bed and leisurely mock me. He wanted to see my anger, my hurt, or hear me sob and accuse him.

However, I showed no emotion. I simply said flatly, "Please get up for a moment."

I efficiently stripped the water-stained sheets and tossed them into the trash. Perhaps finding me boring, he no longer even bothered to open his eyes.

A message from overseas appeared on my phone.

"Offshore network fully secured."

With my back to Gaspare, I typed out a response. "Await Vittorio's signal."

The moment I finished replying, Gaspare grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward the walk-in closet.

I hid my phone without changing my expression.

"I've got a meeting tonight with the Commission's newly appointed arbiter. You're coming with me."

Following his gaze, I looked at the rows of revealing, low-cut designer dresses hanging in the closet. Disgusting memories and revulsion surged through me all at once.

The first time I attended one of his "business dinners," Gaspare had shoved me into the arms of a "business partner." When that man's hand slipped under my skirt, I cried and begged Gaspare for help. He only laughed carelessly and mocked me.

"What's the big deal? He's just copping a feel. It's not like he's doing you."

That was when I learned that being Gaspare's girlfriend required a certain level of "generosity."

It was also when I became certain that Vera's death had been no accident.

Gaspare tossed a dress so short it might as well have been lingerie at me. Fully dressed himself, he watched me change with the satisfied look of someone appraising merchandise.

In the beginning, I would feel shy, resist, and find his gaze revolting. Now, all I felt was surging hatred.

He groped my chest, then removed my earrings. He was cautious, never allowing me to wear unnecessary accessories to his "parties." After all, hidden cameras could be concealed anywhere these days.

"Be smart about this. Keep him happy. If we secure the East District port trade tonight, I'll give you a few days off."

He stood there impeccably dressed, his gaze cold and indifferent. His tone was casual, as if he were merely discussing the weather.

I bit my lip and said nothing.

Gaspare brought me to that familiar villa once more.

The moment the door opened, the smell of cigars mixed with various liquors hit me in the face. It was not unpleasant, but I still felt my stomach turn.

The upstairs room was particularly lively.

The so-called newly appointed arbiter, Vittorio Rossi, sat in the center like a star surrounded by admirers, holding a wine glass and smiling at me warmly.

Gaspare brought me before him and gave my rear a light smack, signaling for me to step forward.

"Enjoy yourself, sir."