Chapter 3

I was torn about whether to tell my parents about the divorce right away.

It wasn't just our business.

The De Lucas and the Vitales had coexisted in this city for decades.

Marriage was the tie between them, and the face they showed the world.

Divorce meant that tie would break, and a lot of people would have to pick sides.

What made me hesitate even more was my father.

His health had been declining for years, his heart was bad, and the doctor had said he couldn't take any more shocks.

At first I thought I'd wait a little longer.

A few days later, though, Luca suddenly called.

He usually texted me, because he knew I'd reply quickly and he found it convenient.

Last night, I'd deleted him from my contacts.

I picked up, and Luca's voice was the same as ever.

"Isabella, your mom just called. She said she made a lot of food and invited us over for dinner tonight. I know your dad isn't in good health. Maybe we should wait until he's a bit better before telling them about the divorce. What time should we head over? Also, next Sunday is your dad's birthday. I think I should go with you. I've been meaning to talk to him about those South American mining deals."

Hearing Luca's suggestion, I realized it was time to tell my parents.

He was still calculating, still treating my father as a resource.

I answered, "No need."

Luca pressed on. "There's no point putting on a brave face. Your parents' health matters."

I shot back calmly. "If you really cared, you wouldn't have cheated, wouldn't have ended it this way. Dad may be weak, but his mind is clear. He'd want me to walk away from a toxic relationship."

"Luca."

"Hm?"

"Stop calling. If you want to see Matteo, follow the agreement. Once a week."

Luca's soothing tone vanished. "Isabella, Matteo is my son. He's my family—"

"But you threw away the family he had, didn't you?"

I heard Luca hang up hard.

I ended the call and took slow, deep breaths to steady myself.

I decided to go to the penthouse in New York.

Luca had bought it a few years into our marriage, and now it stood as a monument to our failed marriage and my compensation.

Top floor, floor-to-ceiling windows, a view of the whole river.

I had every piece of furniture moved out.

The bed, the sofa, the dining table—everything Luca liked, everything he'd picked, everything he'd sat on—all replaced.

New furniture arrived the same day, in stock, installed in one day.

When it was done, I stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, watching the traffic below like a string of silent lights, and finally let myself cry.

I told myself I had to do this.

Then I left the apartment and went back to the De Luca house.

When my mother saw me come alone, she assumed Luca was busy with work.

I said nothing, then nervously called out, "Mom."

She sensed my mood immediately, put down what she was doing, and gently pulled me into her arms.

I said nothing, but a mother's intuition felt my pain and unease.

I fought to stay composed and told her everything.

Mom handed me a tissue to wipe my tears.

She said softly, "It's okay. Divorce is common now. You don't need to worry about the family. No mafia family would welcome a traitor, and my daughter certainly doesn't need to put up with one."

She held my hand, her eyes a little wet.

"Isabella, I have only one thing to ask of you. Be happy, no matter who's by your side."

I nodded through my tears. "Okay."

After dinner, my parents talked in their room for a long time.

When they came out, Dad handed me a ring engraved with the family crest, the one I'd worn since childhood and only taken off before I got married.

He said today was a new beginning, worth celebrating.

"I hope my precious daughter is happy forever."

After leaving my parents' house, I sat in the car and cried for a long time.

Before coming, I'd been afraid of letting them down.

They lived a quiet life and rarely argued.

When I married Luca, even though some questioned it—the unfavored son of the Vitale family, not good enough for the De Luca daughter—they respected my decision.

Now that Luca had become Don, people envied their foresight, yet they quietly supported my choice to divorce.

I wiped my tears and checked the calendar.

Twenty-eight days until the divorce was finalized.