The Don's Secret Wife No More

For the ninety-eighth time, Matteo missed our wedding rehearsal.

This time, it was to celebrate taking over the Moretti family's arms territory.

His mistress, Cecilia, threw him a lavish party.

Three hours in, my guy Tony, who was inside, sent me the first encrypted message.

In the video, Matteo stood in the middle of a private club, champagne flute in his hand.

All the family Capos were circling him and Cecilia like they were royalty.

Amid the cheers, Matteo downed his champagne, pulled Cecilia into his arms, and kissed her in front of everyone.

His hands cupped her face as he kissed her, deep and hard, like he wanted to devour her.

For what felt like an eternity.

Someone in the crowd whistled. Others clapped.

Cecilia’s cheeks were flushed, her hands clutching Matteo’s suit jacket.

Then Matteo swept her up and carried her toward a private room in the back.

Before the door even closed, you could hear Cecilia moaning.

“God, you look beautiful tonight. I can’t wait to have you.”

“It’s been a week, Matteo… I need you.”

The smack of a hand on an ass, a cry of pleasure, and the slam of the door all at once.

The crowd outside the door just laughed.

“Looks like the Boss is gonna have an heir soon.”

“It’s no secret he’s addicted to her body. We all know where this is going. She’ll be Mrs. Falcone.”

”Alright, leave them to it. Let’s get back to our drinks.”

Mrs. Falcone. They called her Mrs. Falcone.

I’d been his secret wife for five years, and no one knew I was the real Mrs. Falcone.

They all thought that bitch was the only one.

I shut off the video. My stomach churned and I ran to the bathroom, dry-heaving over the toilet.

Nothing came up. I hadn’t eaten properly in three days.

I had no more tears to cry. This thing between us had to end.

At 3 a.m., I got word the party was over. I stood at the gates of the Falcone estate, waiting for him with the papers I’d prepared.

The armored car pulled up slowly, its body gleaming under the moonlight.

Matteo got out of the driver's side, his suit jacket slung over his arm, the top three buttons of his white shirt undone.

His hair was a mess. His lips were swollen.

In the passenger seat, Cecilia was curled up on the leather, tell-tale stains high on the inside of her thighs, visible on the silk of her dress.

She was passed out drunk, a satisfied smile on her face.

“She had too much to drink,” Matteo said casually when he saw me.

“Should I call one of the maids for her?” I asked.

“No. I’m just dropping something off. I’ll take her to her apartment after.”

Such a considerate man. Too bad he was my husband.

I remembered a night two years ago.

A rival family attacked us at a gala. A bullet flew toward Matteo, and I dove in front of him without a second thought.

It tore through my shoulder, my blood soaking my white gown.

After I was rescued, Matteo frowned at me with pure disgust and said, “Your blood is too filthy. I can’t let it ruin my leather seats. Find your own way home.”

That day, he left me alone outside the estate. I walked for three hours before I finally got home.

But tonight, a drunk Cecilia got to lie peacefully in his passenger seat. He didn’t seem to mind the stench of alcohol at all.

Turns out, all his rules were only made for me.

“Are you still coming to the wedding tomorrow?”

Matteo hesitated for a moment, then said reluctantly,“Postpone it. Cecilia drank too much tonight and has a headache. She needs me to take care of her.”

“Postpone it until when?”

“Next month. Or the month after.” He stopped and turned to face me. “What’s the difference?”

None at all. Because there’s no wedding to postpone anymore.

I pulled the folded papers from my purse.

"Please sign this document."

Matteo took the file without even looking at it.

He pulled out a pen and scribbled his name on the signature lines.

“Done,” he said, handing the papers back. “I’ll have the chef make you white truffle risotto tomorrow. To make it up to you.”

And with that, he got back in his car and drove away.

…

The next time Matteo came home, it was noon the following day.

He stood in front of the full-length mirror, Take off the shirt stained with Cecilia's perfume.

Suddenly, he stopped what he was doing.

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes meeting mine in the reflection.

“What did you have me sign yesterday?”

I looked up, a flicker of emotion in my eyes before they went dead calm again.

“You didn’t ask then. You’re asking now?”

“Just a thought. Besides, you’re my wife. What, am I supposed to be scared you’ll ruin me?” Matteo laughed, a cruel confidence in his smile.

I lowered my eyes to hide the sarcasm.

“Aren’t you afraid I had you sign over the Falcone family assets? Or maybe… our divorce papers?”

Matteo’s heart clenched.

He seemed a little flustered and displeased..

“Are you kidding me?”

He strode over to me and grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him.

“Natalia,” he said, His voice was low and dangerous. "If you dare leave me..."

“What would you do?” I asked.

Matteo looked at me, tenderness and madness intertwined in his eyes.

“I will break your pretty wings with my own hands and trap you by my side. I will never let you leave me.”

His thumb caressed my cheek, a touch that was both gentle and possessive.

“Because you’re mine, Natalia.”

“I can't leave you.If I really have to choose one, I'd rather it be the asset transfer papers.”

I smiled and nodded.

I knew he meant it. That twisted devotion of his was real, too.

And that’s why my little “joke”… was also real.

What he just signed was not the asset transfer documents at all.

They were about the dissolution of our alliance.

And our divorce.

After five years, my marriage to Matteo is finally coming to an end.