Chapter 1
1192words
Through the one-way glass, I watched the raucous crowd below.
Alcohol. Money. Desire.
This was the Moretti Family business.
On the bar's television, a mob boss interview was playing.
The host, an industry insider, knew exactly which questions crossed the line.
"Mr. Moretti, I understand you acquired the 'Tears of Sicily' at the London auction?"
The camera cut away.
Alessandro lounged on a leather sofa, his tailored three-piece suit impeccable.
A handgun rested casually on the coffee table.
This was a Godfather's privilege—flaunting power before the cameras.
"Yes." He lit a cigar with practiced ease.
"Why? That blue diamond's price far exceeded its value as a collectible."
"My wife has a fondness for blue."
He said it dismissively, as if three million dollars were pocket change.
"It seems you truly cherish your wife, Mr. Moretti."
"Naturally." Alessandro flashed a perfect smile at the camera.
"Marriage may be business, but Irina is my wife. That will never change."
In front of the television, a few soldiers were talking among themselves.
"Damn, the Boss really treats his wife like a queen."
"Well, she's Petrova royalty. The peace between our families hangs on that marriage."
"I heard she was some hotshot art student before giving it all up for him."
"For the Boss? Hell, who wouldn't?"
I grabbed my whiskey and downed it in one burning gulp.
Was it worth it?
I honestly didn't know.
My phone buzzed against the table.
A photo message.
From an unknown number.
The photo showed a hand wearing that blue diamond ring.
But it wasn't my hand.
The nails were painted with tacky red polish, the wrist dabbed with cheap perfume.
The caption read simply:
"Thanks for Daddy's gift❤"
My grip tightened until the glass shattered.
Blood mingled with whiskey on my trembling fingers.
The door burst open.
"Madam! Are you hurt?"
It was our family butler.
I rose with practiced composure. "Get me a car. I'm going to Jewelry Street."
"But the Boss specifically said—"
"I am the lady of this house."
My voice barely rose above a whisper, but the butler instantly bowed his head.
"Right away, madam."
***
At the far end of Jewelry Street stood a nondescript shop.
No sign hung outside—only those who mattered knew it existed.
This was the Moretti Family's personal jeweler.
The old man spotted me and jumped to his feet. "Madam! What brings you here?"
I slipped off my ring and placed it on the glass counter.
The blue stone caught the dim light, casting eerie shadows across the shop.
"I want to sell it."
The old man's hands trembled. "Madam, this is your wedding ring—"
"I'm well aware what it is."
"But the Boss will—"
"He'll understand."
I showed him the photo on my phone.
His face drained of color.
"Christ…" he muttered. "How could the Boss…"
"Will you help me?"
The old man stared at the ring for a long moment.
"What about the money?"
"Donate it to St. Mary's Orphanage. Anonymously."
The orphanage that took in children orphaned by mob violence.
The old man nodded grimly. "Consider it done."
I turned to leave.
"Madam," he called after me. "Are you… sure about this?"
"About what?"
"Leaving."
I froze mid-step.
"Don't get me wrong," he said. "I'm just a businessman. But I've seen this story play out too many times."
"A woman sells her wedding ring for only two reasons."
"Either she's desperate for cash…"
"Or her heart has died."
"And you, madam, are clearly not hurting for money."
I said nothing.
Rain began to fall as I stepped outside.
A black Maserati idled at the curb.
Alessandro sat behind the wheel, phone pressed to his ear.
Seeing me, he ended his call and stepped out.
"Baby, I'm sorry. Got caught in an unexpected meeting."
He moved to embrace me.
Then I caught it.
That cheap, sickly-sweet perfume.
The same scent from the photo.
"Where were you?" I asked quietly.
"At the club." His lie came smoothly. "Reviewing the books."
Another lie.
"Where's your ring?"
His eyes darted to my bare finger.
"Being cleaned," I replied evenly. "Got blood on it."
"Blood?" His brow furrowed. "Are you hurt?"
He grabbed my hand, noticing the bandage.
"Who did this to you?"
His voice dropped dangerously, the Godfather emerging.
"Just my own carelessness."
"Irina—"
"Really." I met his gaze steadily. "A glass shattered."
He studied my face for a moment before releasing my hand.
"Be more careful."
"I will."
He opened the passenger door.
"Get in. Mother called about her birthday celebration this weekend."
"You need to be there."
Not "we."
But "you."
I slid into the car.
An old Italian love song played on the stereo.
It grated on my nerves.
My phone buzzed again.
An email this time.
Sender: Zurich Art Restoration Workshop
Subject: Job Offer - Final Notice
I opened it.
"Miss Petrova:
We notice you haven't responded to our offer.
As one of Europe's premier restoration experts, we eagerly await your decision.
Please confirm within 48 hours.
Given your unique circumstances, we can provide complete identity protection and legal asylum.
We await your favorable reply."
Special circumstances.
They knew exactly who I'd married.
And what it would cost to leave him.
"What's that?" Alessandro asked.
"Just spam."
I locked my phone.
He didn't press further.
The car glided toward the estate.
The rain intensified.
Through the rain-streaked window, my mind drifted back three years.
It had been raining then, too.
Alessandro on one knee, that blue diamond glittering in his palm.
"Marry me, Irina."
"I'll give you everything you desire."
"Freedom. Respect. Love."
I'd looked at my father.
He'd nodded once.
An order, not permission.
So I'd said yes.
How ironic it all seemed now.
Freedom?
I couldn't leave the estate without permission.
Respect?
His mistress flaunted my ring in public.
Love?
I'd forgotten what that even meant.
The car stopped at the estate entrance.
The butler rushed out with an umbrella.
"Boss, Madam, dinner awaits."
"I'm not hungry," I said.
"Irina—"
"I'm exhausted. I need to rest."
I walked straight to our bedroom.
Behind me, Alessandro murmured to the butler.
I caught his words: "Keep her dinner warm. She'll be hungry later."
Like I was a petulant child.
The bedroom door closed behind me.
I turned the lock.
At the closet, I pushed aside the clothes on the bottom shelf.
A hidden safe.
The combination: my mother's death date.
It opened with a soft click.
Inside lay a passport, a bank card, and a key.
My father's secret gifts before my wedding day.
"If you ever need to come home," he'd said.
"Use these."
"A Petrova daughter always has an escape route."
I removed the passport.
Beneath it lay a document.
"Alliance Termination Agreement."
A clause from our families' original marriage contract.
If either party violated the terms, the other could unilaterally withdraw.
I just needed evidence.
And that photograph was my evidence.
I placed the document in an elegant gift box.
Wrapped it beautifully with a silk ribbon.
Next week was Alessandro's birthday.
This would be my gift to him.
