Serena's POV
Cassio raised a hand, and the grating laughter in the room instantly died down.
His voice rang out loud and clear in the sudden silence, carrying an unquestionable authority as he issued a public decree.
"Anyone who dares to help her tonight makes an enemy of the entire Greco family."
A few legitimate business partners who had been secretly shooting me looks of pity immediately shrank back into their chairs, their eyes darting away, terrified of drawing the mafia's wrath.
Low murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd, and I could clearly hear some bold whispers noting that the boss obviously favored his young, beautiful mistress over his own wife.
That was the moment my heart shattered.
I stood up, the wine-soaked dress clinging to me like a freezing shroud. I grabbed the lapels of Cassio's tailored suit, consumed by fury: "You orchestrated this entire humiliation just to elevate your mistress?"
Cassio stared at my hands gripping him with pure disgust. Instead of answering, he raised his hand and slapped me across the face with brutal force.
The sheer impact threw me back into my chair. The metallic taste of blood instantly bloomed in my mouth as he finally spat out a single, cold word: "Yes."
I sat there in a daze, the stinging in my cheek the only thing grounding me to reality.
In a trance, my mind drifted back to our wedding three years ago. He had sworn before God and the family that he would protect me with his life. Now it was clear that the dignity of a mafia wife was nothing but a laughable lie.
I married Cassio out of pure love, not for wealth. The deepest irony was that it was precisely because I secretly used my hidden network to clear his path that his once-insignificant family was pushed to the apex of the city.
Yet, Cassio felt no gratitude. He casually pulled a linen napkin and slowly wiped the hand he had just used to strike me, as if he had touched something filthy. Watching his movements, I finally realized that these three years of marriage were an absolute scam.
He scoffed, tossing the soiled napkin onto my lap. He leaned down, his breath, heavy with the scent of whiskey, fanning across my face.
"If you can't pay," he said, his voice lethal, "I'll have the manager strip your clothes off. My men will throw you out into the street and let the whole city see what happens to you."
The vicious threat drew a chorus of laughter. The men in the crowd raked their sickening gazes over my body. They muttered among themselves that Serena Greco was finished—I had officially been stripped of the title of the Don's wife.
Over by the mahogany bar, a few greasy, middle-aged capos lazily swirled their drinks, openly evaluating my chest and legs, their eyes flashing with the excited anticipation of watching me be publicly humiliated.
I could even hear them crudely making bets on who would get the privilege of dragging me out the door.
I looked up at Cassio. The man I thought I knew was gone, replaced by an absolute demon.
The card slot in my purse was empty—he had taken it back at the penthouse.
The flashing low-battery warning was no accident either.
The conspiracy of this public execution finally pieced itself together in my mind. He had even calculated the delay in my ability to call for help, savoring every second of my torment.
The manager took a step closer, slipping a gleaming brass knuckle over his fingers. He smiled obsequiously at Cassio: "Boss, should I start tearing her clothes off now?"
