Chapter 3

The door flew open right as the words left my mouth.

My mother, Lucia Bellini, walked in.

She wore an expensive mink coat. An attendant trailed behind her carrying a box of gourmet pastries. The sharp smell of gun oil in the armory made her wrinkle her nose in disgust.

"Look at you, Camilla. What a pathetic mess."

She clicked across the floor in her stilettos and dropped the pastries onto an iron rack. She reached out to grab my arm. "Matteo called home. He just returned, and you threw your ring into an ice bucket in front of every boss in America! You humiliated the new Don. How is he supposed to save face?"

My hands stilled. I looked up at her. "What did he tell you?"

"I know all about it! The child is just blood he was forced to leave behind in Sicily!" Lucia sounded frantic. She pulled a neatly folded document from her handbag. "Sign this consent form. Accept the girl, and Matteo promises to double our monthly allowance. You stay the Don's Donna. Nobody can replace you!"

"Double?" I looked at her with dull realization. "So you already knew the child existed."

Lucia froze.

Her eyes darted away. "What are you talking about..."

"Two years ago, you took me to Europe for medical treatment. You took my phone. You kept me away from everyone for a month." I stepped toward her, my voice shaking with cold rage. "You told me you were worried about my health. When did you really find out about his mistress?"

Forced back by my steps, Lucia retreated half a step and hit the rusted iron rack. "Fine! Yes! I knew two years ago! A wounded smuggler ran his mouth on the boat. He said Matteo's baby girl just turned one! What was I supposed to do?!"

She screamed in my face, "The Bellini family has nothing left! We live on Matteo's scraps! Was I supposed to confront him? Was I supposed to start a war so his enemies could gun down our entire family in the streets?!"

A heavy blow slammed against my ribs. Every breath felt like jagged glass.

"Then tell me," I looked deep into her eyes, "three years ago, Matteo went dark overseas for four straight months. You handed me a letter. You said it got held up on the military line."

Lucia's face went chalk-white. Her lips trembled violently.

"That letter... was fake too, right?"

"It wasn't fake!" she shrieked. "The handwriting was real! The Castiglione family hired the best forger in New York! They copied his old letters word for word!"

So that was the truth.

I held that letter and cried through the night, terrified he was bleeding out on a battlefield.

The next morning, I secretly mortgaged every remaining asset under my name. I shipped three freighters of reinforced armor plating through a hurricane straight to the Mediterranean.

I risked my life to secure his empire. I guarded his supply lines with blood.

All while my own mother plotted with his family, feeding me lies for three whole years.

I picked up the consent form from the table. Right in front of her, I signed my name without hesitation.

"Go tell Matteo I signed it."

"Whatever arrangements you make for raising that child, don't ask me. You have my full backing."

"That's my girl," Lucia smiled, visibly relieved. "Plenty of men in the Mafia keep mistresses on the side. Matteo brought her home and begged for your blessing. That already makes him one of the good ones."

"His money stays with you, which means his heart stays with you. Stop acting out. Settle down and live your life."

I stared at the greed written all over her face. Seven years ago, before the Bellinis lost their empire, she sent me off in my bridal gown. She held my hand back then and told me that if I ever became unhappy, I had to walk away and get a divorce.

Time had moved too fast. In the blink of an eye, I couldn't even recognize the mother I once loved most.

"What are you talking about?"

A low voice echoed from the doorway.

Matteo stood against the light.

Seeing him, Lucia's face melted into a fawning smile. "Matteo, perfect timing... Camilla signed the consent form for you. She still loves you."

"Signora Lucia, go back to the main house," Matteo said evenly, but his voice left no room for argument. "This stays between Camilla and me."

Lucia gave me a helpless look, clicked her heels, and hurried out.

Silence settled over the rusted armory. Just the two of us.

Matteo shut the door behind him, taking long strides toward me. He looked at the signed document on the table, saying nothing. He took off his wool coat and draped it over my thin shoulders.

His voice softened. He reached out to touch my hair. "Your mother was only worried you would actually divorce me and end up miserable. Camilla, what's done is done. Let's just look forward."

I looked at him, my eyes aching and dry.

Matteo and I grew up together. When our families arranged our union, the Bellinis were still at the top of the food chain. I didn't marry him for money. I married him because his eyes held no one but me.

Back when he was still an underboss running himself ragged every day, he still called me on a secure line every night just to read me bedtime stories.

He promised he would never lie to me.

Then came seven long years.

Everyone knew the ugly truth. Only I bled for his empire like a fool, clinging to some childish idea of love.

Matteo seemed completely blind to it. He kept talking.

"I gave you every promise you asked for. You remain the Donna. You refused the assets, but I won't hand them to anyone else either. They will always be yours." He read my blank expression, caught something in my eyes, and reached out to pull me into his arms. "I know you're still hurt. But I fought in the dirt for seven years, and I gave you everything I could. Move back to the master suite. I had Gianna stay somewhere else tonight just so I could come here for you. I just need you to know: you are the only Donna I will ever recognize. That will never change."

Sickness rolled through my stomach. I didn't even have the strength left to push his arms away.

"The Commission's separation papers arrive tomorrow morning." I turned my back to him. "I just want a divorce, Matteo."

Matteo glared at my back. His breathing grew heavy and sharp. He stood there in the dark, then let out a cold, humorless chuckle.

"Divorce? In this world, people don't get divorced. They become widows."

He turned and slammed the door shut.

The night deepened.

The old bullet wounds from past shootouts flared with blinding agony. The fever struck without warning.

Within thirty minutes, my temperature soared. Black spots swam across my vision. My body shook with violent chills.

Bridget kicked the door open. When she saw my gray face, she reached for her gun in sheer panic. "No! Ma'am, your wounds are infected! You are burning up! I am going to the main house to drag that doctor down here at gunpoint!"

I used my last ounce of strength to clamp my fingers around her wrist.

"Don't," I bit my lip until blood coated my tongue, "do not beg him."

Bridget's eyes flooded with tears. "You will die in here!"

"I'm fine," I gasped violently, "it won't kill me."