The Curse of Amelia Lockwood

I walked out of the Conti estate into the biting cold, but to my surprise, Dante Conti followed me.

"You're going out dressed like that? Don't catch a cold, then blame it on me."

He shrugged off his coat, reaching out to drape it over my shoulders. I stepped aside.

"That's no longer your concern, Don Conti."

His hand froze in midair. A flicker of surprise crossed his eyes, quickly replaced by mockery.

"Still playing games with me? I didn't finish what I was saying earlier—here."

He pressed a token engraved with the character "Conti" into my hand. Its surface was icy cold.

"Take this. It's your privilege token. If you ever regret leaving, you can come back to me."

Dante looked down at me, the gaze of a man bestowing charity upon a stray cat.

I clenched the token, once treasured above all else, feeling the sharp edge press painfully into my palm.

When we first married, I struggled with the Mafia's rules and was often harassed by his subordinates. Back then, he wanted to give me the world. Every little flutter of my heart was etched in his mind. He had the token specially made, saying that it represented the Don's authority, and that any request I made with it, he would grant.

But as I devoted myself to him—meticulously managing the Conti family's holdings, keeping everything in perfect order—his affection for me gradually waned.

Over the past two years, I tried everything to win him back, to rekindle what we had, but it was all in vain. Desperate, I even used the token to ask him for something simple: to come home and have a meal with me on our anniversary. He hadn't spent a single anniversary with me for two consecutive years.

Yet even that small request, he refused. One phone call was enough for him to leave me alone at home. When I confronted him in anger, he didn't explain—he just took the token back. I became the biggest joke of the Conti family.

And now, divorced, he gave it back.

It was laughable.

The car engine had barely started when my phone exploded with messages from the family's internal chat.

[Madre, there's a problem with this quarter's whitewashed accounts. When will you review them?]

[Madre, the young master needs a personal bodyguard. Who should we assign?]

[Madre, there's a clash with the rival family tonight. How should we allocate resources?]

…

I closed my tired eyes, my fingers flying over the screen. Once I finished, I sent the final message: [I'm divorced from Dante. From now on, Conti family matters are no longer my concern.]

Then I left the group. Finally, peace.

Almost immediately, a message from Enzo Romano, the family steward who had been the only source of warmth in the Conti household, came through.

[Madre, even if you're upset with the boss, you can't divorce so casually! It'll hurt the young master. Don Conti still cares about you. Just apologize like before and smooth things over—he'll take you back.]

He thought I was throwing another tantrum—that if I bent like I used to, Dante and I could reconcile.

But he didn't know. This time was different. My heart was frozen solid; it could never be warmed again.

[We really are divorced, Enzo. From now on, I leave Nico in your care.]

There was a long pause before he finally wrote: [Madre, I've watched you two all along. You and Don Conti were once so in love… how did it come to this?]

I smiled bitterly.

That's right. How did it come to this?