Chapter 1

The family's award ceremony was in full swing.

Matteo Santoro smiled as he picked up where Elena Conti left off, his voice smooth and confident.

"Elena's been the mastermind behind our family's growth and success. Over the past decade, every major deal, each worth millions, was her doing. She's taken our family's reputation to heights we've never seen before, and you've all seen it with your own eyes.

"I'm giving Elena the same power as an Underboss. She'll be right there in the thick of it, making the big calls with us!

"She'll get all the perks of an Underboss. From here on out, she's not just a subordinate. She's family, a sister to us all."

The room went dead quiet as he finished.

Seconds later, the place burst into cheers and applause.

Matteo gave Elena a reassuring pat on the shoulder as her eyes brimmed with tears.

In that moment, I knew Matteo was out of my reach.

With a few simple sentences, he had wiped away my decade of silent dedication to the family.

My hard-earned achievements were just feathers in Elena's cap, her promotion, her raise, her newfound power.

I let out a soft, bitter laugh, barely audible.

I stepped out of the meeting room, pulled out my phone, and dialed a number I had not touched in ages, but knew by heart.

The moment it was picked up, I asked without emotion, "Is the Consigliere spot still open?"

A low chuckle answered, "Always has been, just for you!"

Sensing my quiet, Anthony Greco's voice softened, tinged with concern, "How've you been all these years?

"I remember asking you to join me on this journey, but you turned me down. I invited you into the fold, and again, you said no. After a decade, the wait is over!

"Isabella Moretti, welcome aboard!"

Anthony's voice was tinged with urgency. "When can you make it?"

"Five days from now. I've got some loose ends to tie up, but I'll be there in five days," I replied with conviction.

"Alright. I'll see you in five days."

I hung up and immediately called to cancel the elaborate plans for the anniversary celebration.

I left the house, drove to the attorney's office, drafted the divorce papers, and returned home.

Opening the door, I found Matteo brooding on the couch, his suit jacket carelessly draped over the armrest, a cigar burning down to his fingers, seemingly unnoticed.

I strode past him as he asked with a hint of annoyance, "No dinner? The house is a mess. Where have you been?"

My eyes caught the ash strewn across the coffee table, a stark contrast to the untouched ashtray.

It took me back to our early days when he had said, "Isabella, I prefer a world just for us with no one else around."

So, in our sprawling home, there were no maids, I was the sole keeper of our castle.

He never acknowledged my efforts, his cigar ash never found its way to the ashtray, as if it were merely for show.

I had once reveled in his words, "Isabella, I don't care for restaurant meals, only yours," and would joyfully prepare his favorite dishes.

Back in my family's home, I was the pampered Principessa, cherished without condition, my hands never soiled by work.

I had watched those cooking videos over and over for Matteo, mastering each step until my dishes did not just match the screen. They outdid it. However, Matteo had a sensitive stomach, so every morning, I would whip up a nutritious breakfast, my heart swelling with happiness as I cooked.

By noon, I would race home to make lunch, packing it neatly in a container to drop off at his desk.

If his evenings were free, he would come home to a house filled with the delicious smells of dinner. I was drunk on that homey aroma, convinced it was the scent of love-drawn happiness.

"Go cook, I'm hungry." Matteo's sharp words snapped me out of my reverie. "Throw in a few extra meat dishes today, and don't skimp on the desserts. Elena loves your sweets. I'll take them, we've got some last-minute family meetings tonight."

His words made me laugh. "Sorry, no dinner tonight. I'm beat!"

Matteo's brow creased at my uncharacteristically defiant reply. He stood and approached me with concern.

"Something wrong? Are you feeling okay?

"I got you a gift.

"Here, let me put it on you."