My Foolish Husband's Regret Comes Late

Serena's POV

I sat alone at a banquet table meant for twenty. The polished mahogany surface reflected my solitary silhouette. The restaurant manager, who had been bowing and scraping before me just an hour ago, now wore a contemptuous sneer. He arrogantly informed me that my accounts had been frozen. He gave me exactly ten minutes to come up with a "compensation fee" of three hundred thousand dollars, or else he would have his men "escort" me to the back alley.

A waiter slammed the leather bill folder onto the table, the sharp smack echoing harshly in the vast, empty restaurant. I stared at the astronomical figure on the receipt, feeling a wave of disorientation.

This was supposed to be my birthday dinner.

Three years ago, I married the boss of the Greco crime family, Cassio Greco. Tonight, he brought me to this famous mob-affiliated French restaurant, ordered a lavish spread of dishes and vintage wine, and promised me that his inner circle would arrive shortly. Then, he pressed a cold kiss to my cheek, made an excuse about taking a phone call, and walked out the front doors.

I waited for three hours. The candles burned out, and the restaurant emptied. Not a single person showed up.

I reached into my designer bag for my black card, only to find the cold surface of my compact mirror.

An astringent sourness rose in my throat, and a numbing sensation spread from my fingertips through my entire body.

Cassio had taken the card from my bag before we even left the penthouse, claiming he would handle all the expenses.

I picked up my phone and dialed his number. It went straight to voicemail. Seconds later, the screen flickered and went completely dark—the battery was dead.

The restaurant manager marched over to my table, his previous subservient demeanor entirely gone. With his arms crossed, he looked down at me condescendingly, his eyes failing to hide his hostility as he demanded to know if I had an alternative payment method.

I told him my husband would be back any minute.

The manager let out a dry, abrasive laugh. He reminded me that the mafia never allows debts to be delayed, regardless of whose wife it is.

Then, a flicker of cruelty flashed in his eyes as he deliberately brought up what happened to Lola last month.

Lola was Cassio's secretary, but within the syndicate, it was an open secret that she was his mistress.

Last month, I discovered that she had been abusing a credit card the family had given me, buying piles of luxury bags and jewelry, all while spreading rumors that I was nothing but a useless trophy wife.

To strike back at her blatant disrespect, I froze the illicit accounts she used for her spending sprees, which left her unable to pay off a massive debt she had racked up at an underground casino.

She was briefly detained and taught a lesson by the family's enforcers, and it was Cassio who eventually bailed her out.

When I confronted Cassio about it, he brushed my actions off as the "jealousy of an aging woman," completely dismissing the insult she had dealt to our marriage vows.

Now, looking at the predatory smile on the manager's face, a dark certainty settled in my heart.

This was all Cassio's meticulously planned revenge, all for the sake of his mistress.

As if summoned by my very thoughts, the air across the restaurant suddenly shifted. The heavy oak doors creaked loudly on their hinges, and the distant clatter of cutlery abruptly ceased.

Cassio strolled into the restaurant, his arm wrapped tightly around Lola's waist, pulling her flush against his side.

A trailing entourage of armed goons and drunk, corrupt businessmen followed them in, their faces flushed with alcohol and the eager anticipation of a good show.

Cassio stopped a few paces away from me, his gaze sweeping over me with utter disdain.

He deliberately projected his voice, letting it echo theatrically into every corner of the room: "Since you love punishing people who can't pay their bills so much, it's only right you experience that exact humiliation for yourself."

The onlookers began to whisper. "Gold-digging bitch," "Slept her way to the top," and "Now she's finally getting tossed out."

My husband had personally designed this brutal public execution, tearing my dignity to shreds.

Cassio pulled out a chair, seating Lola at the table next to mine as if attending to a queen, loudly promising that he would avenge her. Lola slowly pressed her lips to Cassio's in a deeply possessive kiss.

Then, she turned to me, her eyes brimming with smug malice: "What right does a useless, ordinary woman like you have to freeze my accounts?"

Before I could answer, Lola grabbed a bottle of reserve red wine from the ice bucket and hurled it viciously at my feet.

The glass shattered. The dark red liquid splashed over my calves, staining my white silk dress like fresh blood.

"You are nothing!" Lola shrieked. "You have no money, no power! Cassio pays for me, but you have absolutely nothing!"

Cassio sneered, taking his time to light a cigar. He told me that if I could come up with the cash, I could pay the bill and get the hell out. The crowd erupted into roaring laughter. One of his associates pointed at me and shouted that without Cassio's protection, I was nothing but a lamb waiting to be slaughtered in this city.