On his deathbed, in front of everyone present, Don Vittorio left his final will: Whichever of his sons reached his bedside first would inherit the ring bearing the family crest, and would become the next Don of the Corleone family. His second son, Damian, was all the way out in Sicily. My husband, Luca, was only ten minutes from the hospital. It should have been a foregone conclusion. But I called him until my phone nearly burned out, and Luca simply switched his off. All because his first love, Sofia, was in a bad mood that night and wanted him to watch a fireworks show set off solely for her. In my last life, I’d gone half-mad. I rounded up the family bodyguards, charged onto the pier, and dragged him off that yacht and back to the hospital by force. He made it in time, took the ring, and was crowned the new Don. But Sofia, left alone in the river wind for half an hour, caught a nasty cold and ran a high fever. She wept and cursed him for not caring about her, said she was through with him for good. Luca’s face never showed a thing. But in his third month of total power, he tied heavy stones to my body with his own hands and threw me into the Atlantic. “If it weren’t for you — you greedy bitch with nothing in your head but family interests — Sofia wouldn’t have gotten sick. The Don’s seat was always going to be mine. Who asked you to meddle?” After my rebirth, I came back to this exact moment — to Enzo, the consigliere, urgently pressing me to make the call. I glanced down at Instagram. Luca had just posted an update. A silhouette photo from the deck of a yacht, captioned: *Even if the sky falls, I’ll watch these fireworks with my princess to the end.* Expressionless, I tapped the like button. Then, calmly, I opened the DM window with my brother-in-law, Damian: *Damian. Want to make a deal?* … “Mrs. Corleone, what are you waiting for? Call Master Luca, now!” Beside me, the consigliere, Old Enzo, was so frantic he was nearly hopping in place, his graying beard trembling. “The Don has left his will. Whoever walks into this room first, before he passes, and takes the ring from his hand — that man becomes the new head of the Corleone family.” “Ten minutes by car. If Master Luca leaves right this second, the family is his!” I forced down the hatred boiling up in me, the kind that threatened to swallow me whole. In front of the consigliere, the priest, the doctor, and the representatives of the Five Families, I dialed Luca’s number. The phone rang for a long, long time. Long enough that Enzo’s forehead beaded with cold sweat, and the priest began murmuring prayers under his breath. Then, finally, it picked up. The deafening crackle of fireworks burst out of the receiver, along with Luca’s deeply irritated voice: “Vera, are you fucking done? How many times do I have to tell you — Sofia’s in a bad mood tonight, and I’m watching the fireworks with her!” I crushed down the urge to laugh in his face, my voice as flat as if I were reading off a balance sheet: “Your father’s been in a serious car accident. He’s in the hospital, in critical condition. He said—” Before I could even mention the will, a tearful, choking cough cut me off from the other end. “Luca… are you going to leave me again…?” Sofia must have taken the phone. Her voice was soft, laced with just the right amount of hurt. “Vera, my heart’s really not in a good place tonight. That’s the only reason I begged Luca to come keep me company.” “You really don’t need to make up lies like this to force him back. Do I have to get down on my knees and beg you before you’ll let him stay with me a little longer?” Luca’s voice instantly shifted, soft enough to drip honey: “Sofia, don’t be scared. I’m not going anywhere. Nowhere.” Then he turned back to the receiver, and his tone went as cold as Arctic ice: “You hear that? Sofia’s already fragile, and now she’s upset, and you’re still calling to push her over the edge. Are you trying to drive her to her death? Is that what you want?” Beside me, Enzo’s temple veins were bulging. He snatched the phone right out of my hand: “Master Luca, this is Enzo! Mrs. Corleone is not lying — the old Don really has been in an accident. He’s at Mount Sinai right now.” “Please, you must be here within thirty minutes. The Don has left his final will—” “Well, well, if it isn’t Mr. Enzo himself?” A lazy, mocking male voice cut in from the other end. Luca’s personal assistant — and Sofia’s younger brother — Marco. Marco’s tone was insufferable. “Vera, you really went all out tonight, huh? You even got the consigliere to play the part? Pity. You miscalculated one little thing.” “Luca, listen — I’ve got a friend working the ER at Mount Sinai tonight. The whole place is dead quiet. There’s no Don, no accident, none of it exists!” “Vera’s just jealous. She paid people to put on this little show to trick you home!” That was all it took. Luca exploded with fury. “Vera Marino! You’d stoop low enough to use my father’s life in your sick little games? You make me sick.” The line cut off without mercy. Enzo stood frozen, the dead phone clutched in his hand, his lips trembling. “How… how could Master Luca be this much of a fool?!”
The words had barely left Enzo’s mouth when the hospital room door slammed open. “Vera Marino, you jinx!” Rossana — Luca’s mother, the so-called *future* matriarch of the Corleone estate. She came rushing in, eyes bloodshot, hand already raised to strike me across the face. This time, I was ready. I gave a cold smile and stepped back. Rossana put too much force behind the swing, hit nothing but air, and stumbled forward, sprawling across the chair behind her. Half her carefully arranged updo came loose, snagged on her pearl tassels. She didn’t even feel the pain. She jabbed a finger at my nose, screaming. “Where is Luca? I asked you, where is Luca!” “How did I ever pick a useless wife like you for him? If Luca doesn’t make it back, if the family falls to that little bastard, I’ll skin you alive!” Behind her came a pack of distant relatives who’d been mooching off the Corleone coffers for years. Every one of them had drunk her wine at the Long Island estate, worn the gold chains she’d doled out. Now they all swarmed around me, spitting as they shouted. “Useless! Can’t even get her own man to come home! If Master Luca doesn’t inherit the Don’s seat, we’ll have your hide!” “That’s the Marinos for you. They marry off nothing but garbage!” I watched their ugly faces with cold eyes. I knew exactly what they were afraid of. Rossana wasn’t the real matriarch. She had started out as one of Vittorio’s mistresses. When the actual Donna was pregnant, Rossana rushed to give birth to Luca first. Twenty years ago, when the Donna was about to deliver, Rossana deliberately showed up with infant Luca in her arms to provoke her. The shock sent the Donna into early labor — she hemorrhaged and died on the operating table at Mount Sinai. The motherless second son, Damian, became the enemy of Rossana and Luca from the moment he could understand words. At best, he was publicly humiliated at family dinners. At worst, he was locked in the wine cellar and beaten with belts. Eventually, under the pretext of “toughening him up,” they shipped Damian off to the Sicilian countryside, sealing him out of the Corleone family’s core power. As for Vittorio — he had let Rossana live in the Long Island estate, but he never thought her fit for the role. In all those years, he had never once acknowledged her status in front of anyone else. Which meant: the moment Vittorio died, if Luca failed to claim that ring, Rossana wouldn’t even hold the title of “Corleone widow.” By the family’s own rules, she’d be thrown out without ceremony. Now, eyes blood-red with panic, she lunged forward and grabbed my wrist. “Are you deaf? Call that little hanger-on next to Luca! Tell him to bring my son back this instant!” I looked at her coldly, said nothing, and obediently dialed Marco’s number. This time, it picked up fast. The background was still all laughter and cheers, the boom of fireworks bursting overhead, and Sofia’s deliberately amplified, soft, girlish giggles. “Vera, are you fucking serious right now?” Marco’s lazy, smarmy tone shoved its way through. “Can’t you give your man a little personal space? Stop clinging to Luca like some pitiful, nagging old housewife.” He warmed to his own performance, even taking on a lecturing tone. “You want my honest opinion? If you were my wife, I’d beat you ten times a day, just to knock some sense into you.” “A woman should stay home, iron the shirts, boil the pasta. Stop sticking her nose in a man’s real business!” His arrogance was so brazen that the whole room went still. Enzo’s graying eyebrows knotted into a furious tangle. The priest instinctively crossed himself. But I stayed perfectly calm. I slowed my voice deliberately, hammering down each word. “Marco. I don’t care whether you believe me.” “The Don is dying.” “He has left his will. Whichever son — Luca or Damian — reaches his bedside first to take the family ring, that son inherits the Corleone family.” On the other end, a strange silence fell. Only the faint sputtering of distant fireworks remained. Marco’s tone shifted, suddenly uncertain. “You… you serious?” Rossana caught his words like a lifeline. She rushed to the phone, weeping with relief. “It’s true! It’s true! Marco, get Luca back, I’m begging you, this is the whole Corleone family at stake!” “Oh… well, if it’s true, I’ll go report it to Luca right now.” Marco answered, smooth as silk. Rossana let out a long breath, patting her chest, muttering: “Thank God… as long as Luca comes back…” The next second, the phone erupted with the most unrestrained, mocking laughter. Marco was howling, gasping for breath, as if he’d just heard the most ridiculous joke in the world. “Oh my *God*, Vera, you really are good at pretending, aren’t you? I already called your bluff and you’re still putting on the whole show with your little troupe of actors?” He let out a smug snort. “Let me tell you something. Luca just made his position very clear.” “Even if God Himself came down from heaven tonight, He couldn’t interrupt the private world of him and my sister!” “Your sob-story act is so last season.” “Be smart. Get the hell out.” “Luca’s going to file for divorce. For the rest of your life, you can dream all you want, but you’ll never set foot in the Corleone house again. As for you and the rest of your Marino people — start packing. You’re heading back to Sicily to beg, you idiots!” The line went dead a second time, without ceremony. The wild joy on Rossana’s face froze, then turned a deathly white. My eyes reddened, and I made a show of looking devastated. Inside, I was as cold as river silt. I had been married into the Corleone family for three years. To keep Luca’s position in the family stable, I had pulled more all-nighters than I could count, balancing his books, smoothing things over with the heads of the Five Families, cleaning up the messes that nearly turned into bloodbaths. Those shipments at the Brooklyn docks, the ones the Feds were watching — I’m the one who arranged for them to be moved overnight. The witness in Queens, the one about to flip on Luca — my Marino people made him disappear. And in return, Luca had taken family money and funneled it to Sofia. A penthouse in Manhattan. A private island in the Mediterranean. A yacht docked at Port Monaco. He’d even said it to my face, with a clear conscience: “Vera, you’re already the *Mrs. Corleone*. Sofia has nothing. What’s wrong with me giving her a little compensation?” And Rossana, back then, had chimed in airily: “What man doesn’t stray? Women in families like ours — we turn a blind eye and let it go. So long as Luca still comes home to the Long Island house, who cares how many he keeps on the side?” Yes. Luca Corleone believed his *true love* came before everything. Family. Code. His dying father. None of it mattered next to his *true love*. Fine. Then he could lose all of it — half a century of Corleone empire built across New York. He could lose every bit.
A sudden chaos of heavy footsteps came pounding down the hallway. A handful of mid-tier capos — men who had all bet everything on Luca — burst into the hospital room. Carlo was at the front. He was one of Luca’s most important money men, and his eyes were red with panic. “Where is Master Luca? Why isn’t he here yet?!” Rossana whipped her finger toward me. “It’s her! It’s all this useless Vera’s fault! She couldn’t even get Luca to come back!” Carlo’s composure shattered. He snatched up a thick stack of family ledgers from the table and hurled them at me. “Vera Marino, what the *fuck* do you do all day?!” “Every one of us has staked our lives, our entire fortunes, on Master Luca.” “If he misses this ring tonight, every drop of blood we shed, every brother we buried, every enemy we made — it all goes down with him!” “You stupid, worthless woman!” I said nothing. I let the papers scatter at my feet. You bet on the wrong man, gentlemen. But that — I couldn’t say. Not yet. Before Carlo could finish his cursing, the cardiac monitor by the bedside let out a sharp, urgent alarm. Every heart in the room seized. The attending physician lifted his head from his stethoscope and let out a heavy sigh. “Gentlemen… Mr. Corleone has, at most, twenty minutes left. I suggest you act quickly.” Twenty minutes. Truthfully, if Luca would just glance at his phone, take one call — From the East River pier to Mount Sinai on the Upper East Side, ten minutes was more than enough. A flicker of hope rose in Rossana again. With shaking hands, she picked up the phone again, her voice ravaged to a hoarse whisper. “Luca… baby… this time, you *have* to pick up Mommy’s call…” Meanwhile, on the East River. The forty-million-dollar private yacht was gliding gently beneath the Manhattan skyline. Brilliant fireworks bloomed across the night sky, one after another, lighting up the entire city. On the open-air deck of the yacht’s top level — Sofia was nestled against Luca’s chest. Her slender fingers pointed at the phone that wouldn’t stop vibrating. “The ringtone is so loud, my head hurts… Luca, could you turn it off, or, better yet, throw it into the river for me?” She lowered her lashes, looking more pitiful by the second. “For these thirteen minutes and fourteen seconds of fireworks, your entire world needs to be just me. Can you do that for me?” Luca paused for a moment. The words from the call earlier flashed across his mind: *Your father’s been in a serious car accident.* But when he looked up and saw Sofia, her eyes slightly red from the river wind, those eyes brimming with dependence on him — every last doubt evaporated. Just Vera Marino, picking another fight out of jealousy. His father was as strong as a lion. There was no way he was actually dying. “Okay.” Luca bent and kissed her forehead, his voice tender enough to bleed honey. “As long as my princess is happy, even if the sky falls, I’ll be right here.” He raised his arm. Without a moment’s hesitation, he hurled the vibrating phone over the railing and into the black water of the East River. A faint *plop*. Swallowed completely by the roar of the fireworks.
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