Does The Godfather'S Seven Years Itch Affect The Plot?

The second day after I was transferred back to Los Angeles, I ran into someone I used to know on a street corner. She stepped right in front of me, eyes going wide. “Mia? Mia Rossi? Why would you come back now? Dante's marrying Camille at the cathedral in a week.” Dante was my first love, and also the youngest heir to a mafia dynasty on this side of the Atlantic. He'd made me a promise once: that he'd make the entire Moretti family kneel and welcome me in. We had a deal: the day he officially took over as Don would be the day he married me. But his family had other plans. They arranged a match for him: Camille, a princess from one of Sicily's five great families. Pure bloodline, the genuine article. At first, Dante swore up and down she meant nothing to him. Less than nothing. Then I started noticing how he looked at her. Softer every time. Like he was falling. One night, riding home after a shift at the bar, Camille's car came out of nowhere and took me down. The gas tank caught, and half the block reeked of burning rubber and scorched metal. I was pinned under the wreckage, blood seeping from the back of my skull down my neck, warm at first, then cold. Dante was the first one there. He beat the ambulance. The first thing he did was walk past me. He crouched down, lifted Camille out of the passenger seat, and didn't look at me once, just dropped a few words over his shoulder: “I already called an ambulance. Hang tight. Camille's had too much to drink. I need to get her home.” That was the moment I was done with him. Completely, finally done. While he was gone, I discharged myself. I bought the farthest plane ticket I could find that same night and left without looking back. Five years passed. “Mia, you have no idea.” The woman grabbed my wrist, dropping her voice. “Dante spent years turning half of Europe upside down looking for you. You came back at the right time. He still keeps a seat for you every month on his birthday. Camille's too proud for a lot of things,

On our seventh wedding anniversary, I was straddling my Mafia husband, Lucian, kissing him deeply. My fingers fumbled in the pocket of my expensive silk dress, searching for the pregnancy test I'd hidden there. I wanted to save the news of my unexpected pregnancy for the end of the evening. Lucian's right-hand man, Marco, asked with a suggestive smile in Italian: "Don, your new little canary, Sophia. How does she taste?" Lucian's mocking laughter vibrated through my chest, sending a chill down my spine. He replied, also in Italian: "Like an unripe peach. Fresh and tender." His hand was still caressing my waist, but his gaze was distant. "Just keep this between us. If my Donna finds out, I'm a dead man." His men chuckled knowingly, raising their glasses and swearing their silence. The warmth in my blood turned to ice, inch by inch. The one thing they didn’t know was that my grandmother was from Sicily, so I understood every word. I forced myself to remain calm, keeping the perfect smile of a Donna fixed in place, but the hand holding my champagne flute trembled. Instead of making a scene, I opened my phone, found the invitation I had received a few days ago for a private international medical research project, and tapped "Accept." In three days, I would disappear from Lucian's world completely.

Three years ago, Capo Marco Rossi received an order from the Godfather. He was to leave and expand the Family territory. Before he left, he issued me a command the way someone would fasten a collar onto a pet. "Until I return, you will remain at the Godfather's estate. Remember your identity. Keep your legs closed." He gripped my chin, his voice carrying that kind of condescending gentleness that felt almost like charity. "When I come back, I'll give you a proper status." For my younger brother's medical expenses, I had no choice but to obey. Three years later, he returned with the wealth he seized from the West Coast Gambino Family, and there was a woman by his side. In front of the rose bushes at the Godfather's estate, he looked down at me from above, as if inspecting a dust-covered old possession. "Mia Moretti is carrying my child. I must take responsibility as a father. You've always been sensible. Endure this for now. Continue being my mistress." I lowered my head, my hand lightly stroking my still-flat abdomen. "Is that so?" I raised my head, a provocative smile on my face. "I have no objection. If the Godfather says it's acceptable, then it's acceptable."

Everyone in New York knew I was the Godfather’s heart. Gavin Whitestone’s heart. He loved me for ten years. He’d fly into a rage if I so much as got a paper cut. But he’s the one who gave me these three scars. The first time, he pulled every doctor to treat Sofia, the girl who took a bullet for him, and ignored the shrapnel tearing into my side. The second time, he was drugged and fucking Sofia in his bed. When I walked in on them, he shoved me aside, desperately carrying her to the hospital. The third time, he took my father's last gift to me—a revolver—and gave it to a pregnant Sofia, just to make her smile. He told me, “It’s all for the baby. Once the baby is born, we’ll go back to how we were.” But this time, I didn't forgive him. I threw away every gift he ever gave me and vanished without a trace. And that’s when the untouchable Godfather finally broke.

There's an unwritten rule in the Chicago Outfit. The Don never keeps a mistress for more than a hundred days. When the hundred days are up, the women he’s finished with always take the money and leave quietly. Once, someone asked him, unwilling to accept it: “Why?” Santino Falcone smiled softly.“Because I love my wife.” Everyone knew that his wife of seven years was his weak spot. But this new mistress wouldn’t behave.Emboldened by his favor, she sent me a taunting text message. “Arabella, isn’t your husband cute when he’s asleep in my arms?I’ve got plenty more photos. I can send them to you if you want.” “I’m his one true love. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll step down and give me your place as his wife.” I didn’t argue with her.Instead, I generously gave her my wedding ring. Because what she didn't know was that I had gotten my memory back. I was never the orphan Santino saved. I am the long-lost princess of New York’s most powerful family, missing for seven years. In three days, my brother Matteo’s armored motorcade will arrive in Chicago to take me home.

On my son’s birthday, my husband, the godfather of the Vitale family, once again went to spend the day with his widowed sister-in-law’s child. Dante Vitale came home after midnight with a limited edition racing set in his hand. “Wake Luca up,” he said. “I’ll celebrate with him now.” I only shook my head. There was no need. I used to care because I had been with Dante for ten years, yet I had never officially become the Donna of the Vitale family. Every time our wedding came close, it was interrupted by another emergency from Lucia, his widowed sister-in-law. I did not want my son to stand in this family without a proper place. Everyone knew he was Dante’s child, yet no one truly treated him as a Vitale heir. Now I suddenly stopped caring. Because he had missed our son’s birthday for the sixth time. And because Luca’s birthday wish today was simple. He did not ask for a toy. He did not ask for another chance. He only looked at me and whispered, “Mommy, I don’t want Daddy to come anymore.” That was when I finally understood. Waiting for a man who always chose someone else would only hurt my child more. Seven days later, I would take Luca to Sicily. This time, we would never come back.