The Don’s Sick Game Ends Tonight

The ring hit the tablecloth.

Dead silence.

The color drained from Victor’s arrogant, cold face.

At the end of the long table, the old Don and his wife exchanged a look.

Panic flashed in their eyes.

Six years.

We played this exact game at the Russo estate for six whole years.

Victor would tear me apart with his vicious words.

He never needed to coax me back.

I would just check his secret burner account.

Then I’d crawl right back to make peace.

As long as I gave in.

As long as I acted obsessed and desperate for him.

The Don and I would "make up."

Over time, the whole Family accepted this sick cycle.

The old Don's wife stood up quickly.

She forced a smile to smooth things over, "Camilla, you must be exhausted from the hospital. But you can't use your marriage to throw a tantrum. Come. Sit by Mama."

The old Don glared at me, dead serious, "Put the ring back on. The Family does not tolerate cheap jokes at dinner."

I smirked.

I didn't take her hand.

I looked right past them.

My eyes landed on Valerie.

She was glued to Victor's side.

I scoffed, "A Family dinner? Since when is Valerie a Russo? And why is she sitting in the Donna's chair?"

The old Don and his wife choked.

They froze.

Victor shot up.

His jaw ticked, "Camilla, you are an ungrateful bitch."

He sneered.

He crushed his cigar into the ashtray, "Threatening me with divorce? Without the Russo name protecting you, what the hell are you? You want to leave? Get out right now."

Every word was a knife.

In the past, my eyes would go red.

I'd beg him to tell me why he was doing this.

But I just stood there.

Quiet.

Because my phone was buzzing in my pocket.

Vibrating hard against my leg.

I knew.

His secret burner account was updating.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Victor.

He had his back to the room.

One hand gripped his chair.

The other typed frantically on his phone.

His shoulders shook.

I pulled out my phone.

I unlocked it.

[Why is she asking for a divorce?]

[Is she leaving me? No. Impossible. This is a sick joke, right?]

[Please don't go.]

[If I get mad... If I act ruthless... she'll get scared. She'll run over and hug me.]

I survived this twisted game for ten years.

This was my husband.

As a top trauma surgeon, I knew Victor was sick.

Severe PTSD broke him.

He didn't know how to love.

He was desperate for affection.

But he acted like a cornered beast.

He had to tear me down.

He paraded other women around to make me jealous.

It was his sick way to prove I still loved him.

Countless nights, I survived his cold treatment.

I’d read that pathetic [Don't go, I need you] online.

I swallowed the pain.

I thought my patience could cure him.

For six years, he gave the Family his absolute best.

He was the perfect, terrifying Don.

But to me?

Always cold.

Always cruel.

The old Donna would always say, "Camilla, Victor's sick. He never means what he says. You're his whole world!"

Because of his burner account, I believed her.

Until Valerie showed up this past year.

Last month, he rented out an underground casino in Vegas for her birthday.

Last week, he won an auction for a necklace I'd wanted for months.

He paid a fortune.

I thought it was my anniversary surprise.

Today, it was glaring at me from Valerie's neck.

I stared at the diamonds.

Then I looked at Victor's icy mask.

His hands were shoved in his pockets.

But his fists were clenched tight.

He was shaking.

He was waiting.

Waiting for me to act like a crazy, jealous wife.

Waiting for me to rip Valerie's hair out.

But he’d be waiting forever.

I didn't even have the energy to hate him anymore.

I turned around.

I grabbed my purse.

I walked to the door.

Victor's voice cracked behind me. Panic bled through his tone, "Camilla! Don't you dare walk out that door!"

I didn't stop.

I finally woke up.

Love cannot survive without tenderness.