Female II Papa Came Home
I've been married to my Mafia Boss husband for 15 years. When we first got married, he couldn't even afford a ring, but I didn't care; I loved him.
I hid my identity. I secretly used my family's influence to help him build his empire from scratch, and I even bore him two children.
His adopted sister always mocked me, calling me an old-fashioned housewife and saying I wasn't good enough for him.
To avoid embarrassing him, I always endured it.
Until our 15th anniversary, because both me and his adopted sister wore red dresses, he told me to stay in the kitchen: "Sofia's right. That red doesn't suit you. Don't come out until the banquet actually ends. Stay in the kitchen. I don't need the Dons from New York seeing you and getting the wrong impression."
I was completely heartbroken and didn't argue anymore.
I dialed a number I hadn't made in 15 years:
"Principessa?"
"It's me," I said, my voice steady. "Tell those old fossils on the Council... Isabella Corleone is coming home."