Don Carlo was a dyed-in-the-wool conservative who despised violence. Me? I grew up with gunfire and bullets as my lullabies. The only reason he’d handed me divorce papers in the first place was because I’d dragged him along when we jumped from a shipping container down at the docks. But that was before I came across photos of him at the shooting range—with his female subordinate. An assassin. I had my people dig deeper. Hundreds of photos came back. Every single one of them featured the same woman: Valentina. On our anniversary, he said he was too swamped to come home and celebrate. Because Valentina’s mission had gone sideways that day, and he was busy comforting her. On Christmas, I asked him to make time to visit my parents with me. He begged off, saying he had urgent family matters to attend to. Because he felt bad for Valentina—alone in a foreign country with no one to spend the holidays with. I flipped through the photos, my fingers going numb. One intimate shot after another. There she was, leaning against his shoulder while eating cake. There he was, cleaning her gun for her. There they were, sitting side by side on the steps, sharing a cigarette. Then a hesitant voice cut through beside me. “Madam, Don Carlo might still be busy in there—today’s Valentina’s mission debriefing. Perhaps… you could wait a little longer?” I rose to my feet. “No need. Tell Don Carlo he’d better get ready to sign divorce papers.” Back at the apartment, I went straight to the master bedroom on the second floor and started packing. I set the signed divorce agreement on the nightstand—and looked up into a pair of jet-black eyes. Carlo’s gaze dropped to the two suitcases beside me, and his brow furrowed. “I had a debriefing with the men at noon. I had to be there. Couldn’t get away. And now you’re upset again?” I didn’t answer. I grabbed my suitcases and headed for the door. But he held them in place. “Isabella. Say something.” I stayed silent. He looked at me calmly, like I was a child throwing a tantrum. “When are you going to break that infuriating habit of going mute every time you get angry?” When I couldn’t tug the suitcases free, I let out a breath, straightened up, and said, “I want a divorce.” “On what grounds?” “You cheated on me. Isn’t that enough?” I brushed his hand aside and started for the door with my luggage. But he stopped me again. “Isabella, can we not do this? There’s only you. No one else.” “Oh, really?” I pulled out the stack of photos. “Then who’s this?” In the photos, they stood side by side at the shooting range, his hand over hers as he corrected her grip. Crystal clear. “You told me you were afraid of heights and hated guns. So how come that fear magically disappears when you’re with her?” “Tell me why.” I kept my voice as steady as I could. “Isabella. You had me investigated?” No apology. No admission. No explanation. Just an accusation. “Shouldn’t you start by explaining this?” He tugged at his tie, agitated, and let out a long breath. “Her name’s Valentina. She’s one of my soldiers. The kid’s last mission went sideways, she’s been in a bad place mentally, so I took her to the range.” “That’s all.” “Carlo. Do you even believe that yourself?” One photo could be written off. But a hundred of them? How was he going to talk his way out of that? He fell silent. I grabbed my suitcases again. He spoke. “Where are you going?” “To my parents’. For a while.” He said nothing. I’d reached the door when he finally said, “Give me some time. I’ll sort this out as soon as I can.” I didn’t look back. I walked out. When I got home, I didn’t tell my parents about the divorce. I just made up an excuse—said he’d been buried in work and I didn’t want to stay alone, so I’d come back to stay a while. Luckily, they didn’t press. The next day, I went to the family warehouse to take inventory as usual. But there was someone waiting at the entrance. Valentina. She looked exactly like she did in the photos. All in black. A little nervous. I walked past her and unlocked the door. She stopped me. “You must be Isabella.” I didn’t answer. She pressed on. “I need to talk to you about something. Can we?” She wore an innocent look. In the end, I let her in. She sat across from me, fidgeting, and started going on about Don Carlo. “Did he send you?” I asked. She lifted her chin, stubborn. “No. I came on my own.” “Leave. This is between him and me. I’ve got nothing to say to you.” I stood up to get back to work. She shot up too. “Miss Isabella, believe me or not—there’s nothing going on between Don Carlo and me. I was just upset that day and begged him to take me to the range. It was all a misunderstanding.” “A misunderstanding?” I laughed. I pulled the stack of photos from the drawer and slapped them onto the table. “Are all these hundred-odd photos a misunderstanding too?” Valentina went speechless. I brushed past her hand. “If you’re here to be an assassin, then be an assassin. Don’t try sleazy backdoor tricks to climb the ladder.” Her face turned pale, her eyes glistening like she’d burst into tears any second. She spun around and ran out.
It wasn’t long before I got a call from Don Carlo—calling me out for bullying Valentina. I was so furious I laughed, and went straight to his office. “Don Carlo, she came to me. And I’d love to know how she knew the location of my warehouse.” “Also—since you’ve got the time to come over and lay into me, why not just sign the divorce papers and go run off to your little girlfriend?” He was quiet. Several seconds passed before he spoke. “Isabella, you’re not thinking straight right now. I’ll come by tonight and we’ll talk.” He turned and left. And that night, he did. The warehouse door swung open, and he stood in the doorway. I was seated at my desk, going over the family ledgers. I didn’t even look up, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “What? Here to fight for your little girl’s honor?” He didn’t answer. Finally, he let out a sigh—helpless. “You are my wife, Isabella.” I ignored him. He went on. “I’m heading to Sicily this week for the elders’ meeting. I’ll be gone a week. When I get back, we’ll sort this out.” My hand paused on the ledger. He continued. “Since you don’t like Valentina, I’ll minimize contact with her from now on. I’m handing off all her missions to other capos. I won’t be directly involved anymore.” I kept flipping pages, saying nothing. He lingered at the door for a long time, then finally left. The next morning, a family messenger brought word that he’d set sail. For the next seven days, he sent me updates like clockwork. Sometimes it was about what was happening in his meetings. Sometimes it was a photo of his meal. Even though I never replied once. After seven days, he returned. The day he came back, he brought me a gift. A dagger, its hilt inlaid with a sapphire—exquisitely made. He took it out of the box and placed it gently in my palm. It fit perfectly in my grip. “Like it?” he asked. I didn’t answer, stubbornly turning my head away. He didn’t get upset. His tone was gentle. “I messed up this time. As long as you don’t divorce me, you can throw any tantrum you want, Isabella.” “As for moving back—stay here as long as you like. I’ll come see you every day.” With that, he left. That night, lying in bed, I studied the dagger in my hand. I decided to give him one more chance. Tomorrow was his birthday. I’d surprise him. The next afternoon, carrying the tiramisu I’d slaved over all morning, I returned to our apartment. I pushed open the door—and saw Valentina sitting at the dining table, urging Don Carlo to make a wish. Candlelight flickered across his face. He closed his eyes. When he opened them, he saw me. I threw down the tiramisu and turned to walk out. “Isabella—” He caught up, grabbing my hand. “Isabella, let me explain. I didn’t expect you to come back. Valentina just came by to wish me a happy birthday.” “Didn’t expect me back? If I hadn’t shown up, what else would you two be doing behind my back?” He started to explain. Then, from inside, the sound of a glass shattering on the floor. Followed by Valentina’s startled cry. Don Carlo instinctively turned to check—then remembered me, and turned back. “Isabella, wait here. I’ll be right back.” I said nothing. I watched his back disappear, turned, and walked away.
The next day, he showed up outside my parents’ building, pleading. Luckily, my parents had left for Sicily two days earlier. They didn’t know. Which meant I could ignore him freely. He stood there for three full days. He sent word through someone, saying that day had truly been a misunderstanding—Valentina had come to him on her own. He couldn’t exactly turn her away. He said he’d transferred Valentina to another capo. That he’d never contact her again. He begged me for one more chance. I didn’t respond. On the fourth day, he didn’t show. He had business. I finally had a moment to myself, and went to the warehouse. I pushed open the door—and was met with chaos. Total devastation. Nearly half the family supplies—the ledgers I’d kept for years—were destroyed. Some torn to shreds. Some knocked to the ground. Everything in ruin. The lock hadn’t been forced. I checked the security logs. It turned out Valentina had used a key to get in and wreck the place. And there were only two keys to the warehouse: mine, and Don Carlo’s. I went straight to confront Valentina. Face to face. Her eyes were red, her hands clenched into fists, her expression pitiful. “Miss Isabella, I know you’ve been misunderstanding everything about Don Carlo and me, and you’re taking it out on me—even making him reassign me.” “But I already explained to you. There’s really nothing between Don Carlo and me.” “Why are you doing this to me?” “Don’t you think this is too much? Controlling Don Carlo every step of the way—do you really think that makes him happy?” “Or is it because of what happened to you in high school, Miss Isabella, that you’ve turned out this twisted?” “What did you say?” Instantly, the members of Valentina’s crew turned to stare at me. Whispers broke out. “Wait—really? She was assaulted back in high school?” “No wonder she’s so messed up. Guess that explains it. Poor Don Carlo—running the family and dealing with a broken wife.” “Picking on a young girl like that. Real classy.” I felt like I’d been dropped into an icy abyss. My grip on her wrist tightened. “Who told you that?” She didn’t answer. But I already knew. After all, the only person who knew and would tell her was Don Carlo. She leaned in, her lips curling upward—a world away from the fragile act she’d been putting on. “Don Carlo, of course. And that dagger he brought back from Sicily for you? I picked it out.” What…? I stood frozen. So Don Carlo had never actually cut ties with Valentina. Not only had he spent those seven days in Sicily—while messaging me every day—actually with her… The gift he gave me was chosen by her too. “The one who doesn’t deserve Don Carlo is you, Isabella.” Her eyes were venomous. Before I could react, a force shoved me aside. I stumbled, nearly falling. Don Carlo pushed through the crowd, shielding Valentina behind him. “Isabella, what exactly are you doing?” “I already did what you asked—transferred Valentina to another capo, cut contact. Why are you still going after her again and again?” Me, going after her? I laughed. I started to speak—but Don Carlo took Valentina’s hand and walked out of the warehouse without looking back. The others filed out too. Only a few scattered figures lingered nearby. Whispering. I left like a ghost.
Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/202607303vo48MRXbI 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni903930”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix
Leave a Reply