The Price of Betrayal

Today is my birthday dinner.

Vincent booked out the entire top-floor dome restaurant, the most luxurious spot in Manhattan.

Under the gaze of all our guests, he lavishly bought a private Caribbean island worth hundreds of millions at an auction, presenting the deed and a tiara studded with hundreds of crushed diamonds right in front of me.

The surrounding tycoons, socialites, and mafia higher-ups were all filled with envy.

"Mia, you're truly the luckiest woman in New York. The Don would even give his life for you, let alone these material things."

"Our Mia is beautiful and incredibly resourceful. She and the Don are a match made in heaven!"

A match made in heaven?

A bitter smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. If I hadn't found that phone, I would have thought so too.

Growing up on the streets of Brooklyn, used to gang shootouts and betrayals, I never trusted men's words, much less believed there could be true love in the Mafia.

Even with countless suited young mobsters courting me, I never wavered.

Until I met Vincent.

Unlike the roughness and explosive tempers of other mobsters, Vincent's love was like a gentle, deadly web.

He knew I severely lacked a sense of security, so he took the initiative to bring me into his inner circle.

He introduced me to all his trusted men, and even handed over the reins to some of the Family's legitimate businesses for me to manage.

He understood my pride, never interfered with my work, and would even wash the stench of blood off his hands after a shootout to personally cook me a steaming plate of spaghetti.

But I wasn't hooked so easily.

What truly made me fall for him, though, was that time in Sicily.

We were ambushed by a rival Family, trapped inside a leaking bulletproof car. Outside was a relentless hail of bullets.

Vincent had already lost a lot of blood, but he forcibly shielded me under his body, using his back to block the shrapnel from the explosion.

We were trapped in the rubble for twenty-four hours.

He saved the last sip of fresh water for me, leaning close to my ear and whispering, "Mia, as long as I have a breath left, the Grim Reaper won't take you away."

How could that not be deep love?

At that moment, I fell for him completely.

On our wedding day, I grabbed his suit tie and seriously warned him, "Vincent, you know my bottom line. If you betray me, I will never look back."

Vincent kissed the back of my hand and swore to the Virgin Mary, "That day will absolutely never come."

Yet, half a month ago, I accidentally discovered an encrypted burner phone hidden in a secret compartment of his armored SUV.

Inside were dozens of explicit photos and countless graphic, flirtatious texts.

The other person was his hot chief secretary, Chloe.

The fairy tale was shattered by reality.

I put the phone back exactly as I found it. That very day, I had my lawyer draft the divorce papers and signed my name, stroke by stroke.

My personality is just like my marksmanship: I mean what I say, one shot, one kill.

I will never look back.

Vincent handed me a slice of my favorite Black Forest cake.

He had just finished schmoozing with business partners and still carried the faint scent of cigars.

He gently wrapped his arm around my waist, his movements careful, as if I were some fragile porcelain.

Envious whispers started up around us again. I didn't say a word, just looked at him coldly.

"What's wrong? You don't look so good."

Sitting on the banquet sofa, he gently planted a kiss behind my ear and said with tender concern, "Have the Family affairs been too much lately, making you feel neglected?"

"I'll cancel all my meetings tomorrow and stay home to properly keep you company."

Keep me company?

I sneered inwardly, leaning against his chest completely expressionless.

"No need. Go handle the Family's business. Don't worry about me."

Watching Vincent walk away, I made a silent decision.

In one week, I will be gone.

Since you didn't cherish what you had, then get ready to taste the absolute agony of losing it.