Paid $5 Million To Leave the Mafia Don

At the party celebrating Lucius’s new title as Don of the Falcone family, he walked in with a bombshell on his arm.

Every eye in the room snapped to me.

After all, it was no secret I’d been chasing Lucius for three years.

Even he had started to soften up, a huge change from the outright disgust he’d shown me at the beginning.

I knew they were all taking bets on whether I’d be the next official girlfriend.

"Everyone, this is Tina. My new date," Lucius announced.

The woman, Tina, clung to his arm, the diamond necklace on her chest practically blinding. She saw me and covered her mouth with a giggle. "You must be Eleanor. Lucius has told me all about you."

Told her about me? I could guess what kind of things he’d said.

I just took a calm sip of my champagne. I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing me crumble. I’d heard worse over the last three years.

I just considered it part of the job.

Right on cue, my phone vibrated in my pocket.

I glanced down at the screen: [Bank Transfer Received: $5,000,000.00]

The money was in.

My salary for the last three years, down to the penny.

I looked up and smiled at Lucius.

For the first time in three years, it was a real smile.

"Congratulations to you both, Lucius."

Lucius just stared, stunned.

This wasn't in his script. I was supposed to cry, to beg, to make a fool of myself. Then he could play the hero and let me stay, keeping me around as his favorite plaything.

I set my champagne flute on a passing waiter’s tray and walked away.

The whispers behind me grew louder.

"Did she just say 'congratulations'?!"

"She's probably just hiding in a corner to cry."

"I don't know, she looked way too calm. Almost like she'd been waiting to get dumped."

"Eleanor has been obsessed with the Don for years. We all saw it. There's no way she's not heartbroken. She's just putting on a brave face."

"I bet you a grand she comes crawling back within three days, begging him not to leave her."

The last thing I heard was Lucius’s arrogant voice. "If she comes back and begs, I might consider forgiving her for being so rude tonight."

But I blocked all of that out.

If my father hadn't signed away two million dollars at a casino—a debt that put not just his life, but mine, on the line—I never would have taken Mrs. Falcone's deal.

She paid me to stay by Lucius's side. My job was to be her eyes on him, to make sure he didn't go too far off the rails. And at the same time, I had to be his glorified nanny, taking care of his life and cleaning up his messes.

The first thing I did was wire two million dollars to the biggest underground casino in New York.

Then, I called the owner.

"This is Eleanor Vance. The two million your father owed you just hit your account," I said. "That’s the last dollar I’ll ever pay for him. From this second on, that old gambling addict’s life is not my problem. If he borrows from you again, you can chop him up and dump him in the Hudson for all I care. Don't come looking for me."

I hung up before he could answer.

That bloodsucking parasite I was forced to call a father had pushed me to the brink, forcing me to sign that deal that sold my life away.

This money severed the last of our family ties.

I was finally free.

I walked into my closet, ignoring the mountain of designer bags and jewelry Lucius had tossed my way like scraps for a dog.

I only took one thing: my acceptance letter to the école Nationale Supérieure des Beaux-Arts in Paris.

For three years, I had spent my nights secretly painting. This was my key. My escape.

I bought a ticket for the next flight out. Just as I was about to board, a text from Lucius came through.

[Are you done with your tantrum? My patience has a limit. I'll forgive your disrespect last night, but don't force me to send my men to drag you back.]

He was so sure I couldn't live without him. That I was still his little maid, his lapdog, always at his beck and call.

I laughed out loud.

Drag me back? Good luck finding me in Paris.

I didn't reply. I just popped the back off my phone, pulled out the SIM card that held three years of humiliation, and snapped it in half.

Crack.

I tossed the pieces into a nearby trash can.

The old, pathetic Eleanor was thrown out with them, buried forever in the New York night.

Three Years Later

A high-end gallery on the Champs-élysées, Paris.

My painting, Breaking Free, had just sold at Sotheby's for a staggering eight million euros. Reporters were swarming, desperate for an interview.

I had zero interest in their prying questions. I let my agent handle the circus.

My agent smiled brightly for the cameras and made the announcement.

"And now, as the art world's newest and most celebrated international painter, Ms. E.V. has been invited to hold her next solo exhibition in New York City."