How Does 'Erasing The Donna' End?

Five years into my marriage to Dante Moretti, the Don of the Chicago Outfit, the entire underworld knew he loved me more than life itself. He’d had a violin—for me—tattooed right next to his family crest, a symbol of loyalty that could never be erased. Until I got the photo from his mistress. A cocktail waitress, sprawled naked in his arms, her skin marred by the dark bruises of rough sex. She had scrawled her name right next to the violin he’d gotten for me. And my husband had let her. "Dante says only being inside me makes him feel like a man anymore. You can’t even get him hard anymore, can you, sweet Alessia? Maybe it’s time to step aside." I didn't reply. I just made a single call. “I need a new identity. And a plane ticket out.”

On the day of my prenatal checkup, I found out my husband Don had booked me a termination surgery instead of a postpartum care package. I thought he had placed the wrong order and was about to tease him, but Vincenzo spoke flatly. "I didn't book it wrong. I need to come clean with you about something." "I've been keeping another woman. She's a good girl. She doesn't want a title or to take your place as Donna." "But she got pregnant recently. I've already made her suffer enough. I can't let her child suffer too. I have to give the child the Moretti family name." I froze on the exam table, my voice shaking uncontrollably. "Then why did you abort my child?" He wiped the ultrasound gel off my belly and smiled. "I just want you to adopt Giuliana's child. I'm having yours terminated because I'm afraid you'll play favorites and treat her kid differently." He handed me the consent form, calm and composed. "I promise you will always be Donna. No one will ever take your place." I gave him a long, hard look, then was wheeled into the operating room. "Never mind." "Vincenzo Moretti, you're going to regret this every single day for the rest of your life." He didn't know it, but I was the only woman in the world who could ever give him a child.

For one year, I believed Matteo De Luca had truly fallen in love with me. Our marriage began as an alliance, but he held me every night, kissed me before council meetings, and fastened the De Luca Donna brooch at my throat as if I already belonged beside him. Then his first love, Vanessa Ashford, came back. Within days, our official ceremony was postponed, her access was added to the Donna wing, and Matteo stopped wearing the family signet he once used to claim me in public. He said it was council business. But council business did not leave amber perfume on his skin. It did not sit beside him on a private jet to Palm Beach. And it certainly did not smile from the Donna’s chair while his friends watched me lose my place. The final humiliation came at a private dinner, when someone asked whether I was Matteo’s wife. He looked at me, then said calmly, “Elena and I have an arrangement.” That night, I stopped waiting to be chosen. Matteo could keep his first love, his title, and the home he let her enter. I packed my passport, my Florence contract, and the prenatal report he had never seen. Then I left New York with his child.

In my fourth year of becoming the wife to Matteo Costa, the Don of the Costa family, as know as La Rosa Nera, I no longer insist on making our relationship public. He has once told me that he will publicly announce my identity as Donna on our wedding anniversary this year. But ever since Vera Barbieri returns to the country, Matteo never brings this up again. He puts all his attention on Vera and always places all her needs first. He even abandons me on the highway because of a single phone call from Vera while my mother is on her deathbed. My mother never gets to see me one last time before she dies. At this moment, I finally give up on him. I prepare the divorce agreement and book a ticket to leave Nevoli. The day after tomorrow, I will leave this place and leave Matteo to his childhood sweetheart.

I had been married to Alexander for three years. Everyone feared his ruthlessness, but he had always been incredibly gentle with me. But ever since Elena took a bullet for him during a shootout six months ago, everything changed. He always said she got hurt saving him, so I had to be accommodating. At the family’s most prestigious gala, my husband—the Don, Alexander—arrived with his secretary, Elena, on his arm. Pinned to her chest was the ruby brooch that symbolized the position of the Donna of the family. "Elena took a bullet for me. She liked the brooch, so I let her borrow it for a while. Regardless, you are the only donna here. Try to show some class." I didn't argue with him. I just removed my wedding ring and pulled out the divorce papers: "Since she likes it so much, she can have it. Including this seat next to you. I'm giving that up, too." Alexander signed without hesitation, a cold smile on his face. "What kind of manipulative trick are you playing now? You're an orphan, separated from your family, you won't survive three days in Sicily. I'll wait for you to come back begging me." I took out an encrypted satellite phone I hadn't used in three years. Alexander didn't know that I was actually the youngest daughter of the oldest Mafia family in Europe. But my family and Alexander’s had always been enemies. To marry him, I had changed my name and even severed ties with my father and brothers. The call connected. I took a deep breath and whispered, "Papa, I regret it. Send someone to pick me up in two weeks."

"I agree to the divorce," I said as I dialed my mother-in-law's number. "Matteo Bellandi will never agree to divorce me, so you need to arrange a new identity for me. I need to disappear completely. He must never find me." Despite six years of marriage, I never conceived a child. In the Mafia world, how many men remarried for the sake of an heir? Yet Matteo always stood firmly at my side. To have a child, we tried everything—ninety-nine rounds of IVF that resulted in ninety-eight failures. The final pregnancy ended in fetal demise. Matteo held me and said, "Whether we have a child or not, I will always love you." Everyone said he was deeply devoted and that I was fortunate. Even I believed it. I believed it was my body that was defective. I believed I was the one holding him back. Until that day, when I went to the hospital for a follow-up exam. I saw him with my own eyes, pushing a mobile hospital bed into a VIP suite. On the bed lay a young woman named Sienna Vale, who had just given birth, holding a pair of twins—a boy and a girl. The congratulations inside the room were sharp and piercing. They praised his good fortune and Sienna's superior genes. They said the children were born to inherit the Bellandi empire. They mocked my education and my background and said I could not produce a "high-quality" heir. "Who do you think you are, daring to speak about her? My wife is not someone you get to judge. If I hear one more word of disrespect toward my Donna, you'd better weigh the consequences yourself," Matteo rebuked them coldly, preserving my dignity as Donna. In that moment, I finally understood that the marriage I had been so proud of was nothing more than a joke in everyone else's eyes. If that was the case, I would end this love story everyone envied with my own hands.