After breakfast, I headed to campus for my graduation ceremony, my emotions caught somewhere between pride and an ache I couldn't quite ignore.
That day marked the end of my journey at the Rhode Island School of Design, four years of hard work, sleepless nights, and unwavering dedication finally coming to a close. Soon, I would leave for Italy and begin chasing the future I had dreamed about for so long.
Yet as I stood among the graduates with my diploma in hand, loneliness found me anyway.
Everywhere I looked, families were celebrating. Parents wrapped their children in proud embraces, couples posed for photographs, and laughter echoed across the campus lawn. It was a day meant to be shared with the people who loved you most.
And I was completely alone.
No black sedan waiting at the curb. No Valente soldiers standing nearby. No sign that anyone from the family had even remembered I existed.
It was as if the name I carried meant nothing to the man who had given it to me.
I forced myself to smile.
"Well, this is nothing new," I murmured under my breath. "No reason to be upset just because Dante didn't come."
I took a slow breath and lifted my chin.
After all, being alone had become a habit.
Fortunately, my professor sought me out afterward and congratulated me personally. He seemed genuinely pleased that I had accepted his patronage offer and insisted on taking me to lunch to celebrate.
"Italy is going to change your life, Seraphina," he said with an enthusiastic smile. "I can't wait to see the artist you'll become."
I smiled back.
"Thank you, Professor."
His confidence in me filled me with hope, and for a little while, I almost forgot everything else.
But on the drive home, uncertainty crept back in.
As the car passed the courthouse, my eyes lingered on the building through the window.
The thought of divorce weighed heavily on my mind.
For a moment, I almost asked the driver to pull over.
The man driving was one of the Family's soldiers, silent and disciplined like all Valente associates. He probably wouldn't ask questions. He might not even understand what I intended to do.
Still, someone would eventually find out.
Someone always did.
Then I thought of Vittoria.
How would she feel if I went through with it?
The thought stopped me.
With a quiet sigh, I decided to wait a little longer.
Almost as if fate had been listening, my phone rang.
Vittoria's name appeared on the screen.
"Seraphina, dear!" she greeted warmly. "Congratulations on your graduation. How about we celebrate with a little shopping?"
A genuine smile tugged at my lips.
"That sounds lovely."
I asked the driver to change directions and return to the compound to pick her up.
When I arrived, she was already waiting near the front steps, impeccably dressed as always. One hand rested lightly against the pearls at her throat, adjusting them in a gesture so familiar it instantly softened something inside me.
Whatever resentment I felt toward Dante, I could never direct toward her.
Despite everything, Vittoria had always treated me with kindness.
When I was with her, I almost felt as though I still had a family.
We spent hours moving from boutique to boutique, chatting comfortably and browsing through luxury storefronts. Vittoria carried herself the same way she carried herself everywhere—with quiet authority.
Store associates hurried to greet her.
Managers emerged from their offices the moment they recognized her.
Espresso appeared before she even requested it.
This was what it meant to be the wife of Providence's most powerful Don.
And for a few brief hours, I found myself sheltered beneath that influence.
While Vittoria examined a designer handbag, I casually checked my phone.
A notification immediately caught my attention.
Camille had posted something new.
She was attending New York Fashion Week.
And standing beside her, smiling for the cameras, was Dante.
Their arms were linked.
They looked exactly like a couple.
The caption beneath the photo read:
*So happy to be here again this year, especially with someone you love.*
My chest tightened painfully.
So that was why he couldn't attend my graduation.
Vittoria must have noticed something in my expression because she turned toward me immediately.
"Seraphina, dear, is everything alright?"
Concern filled her eyes.
I forced a smile and locked my phone screen.
"I'm fine. Did you find something you like, Mom?"
"I did." She smiled warmly before handing me a shopping bag. "And I bought one for you too. I hope you like it."
Emotion tightened my throat.
"Of course I do. Thank you... for everything."
When I returned home that evening, the compound felt emptier than ever.
Dante didn't come back that night.
Or the night after.
The guards changed shifts. The housekeeper continued preparing meals. The Valente household operated with the same efficiency it always had.
Life continued.
As if its heir had never left.
As if his absence meant nothing.
I tried to ignore the unease growing inside me, but it refused to go away.
A few days later, Camille posted again.
This time she was in Paris for Fashion Week.
And once again, Dante was right beside her.
Every photograph showed the same thing.
The same admiration.
The same pride.
The same affection he had never shown me.
The more I looked, the more my stomach twisted.
Against my better judgment, I clicked through every story she uploaded.
One showed Dante attending her birthday celebration at her parents' home.
Another showed him kissing her cheek while keeping an arm wrapped securely around her waist.
Something inside me finally snapped.
"Why don't you just move in together already?" I muttered bitterly.
The anger surprised even me.
But it refused to fade.
The thought kept gnawing at me until I couldn't ignore it anymore.
Suddenly, I grabbed my bag and stood.
My heart pounded.
My decision was finally clear.
I told the driver to take me to the courthouse.
This time, I wouldn't hesitate.
Inside the courthouse, I signed the divorce papers with a steady hand.
My signature looked firm.
Certain.
Final.
As I put down the pen, my thumb pressed against the familiar callus on my middle finger, worn smooth from years of holding a paintbrush.
The small ache grounded me.
No more waiting.
No more wondering.
No more hoping for something that would never come.
I was taking my life back.
---
A few days later, Dante finally returned from Paris.
That evening, I prepared dinner for us.
It was the first meal we had shared in weeks.
I sat calmly at the long dining table, the divorce papers folded neatly beside my plate.
The room had always been too large for two people.
The chandelier cast golden light across the polished mahogany table, illuminating the same room that hosted Family dinners and important meetings. Usually it was filled with captains, advisers, and their wives.
Tonight, it was only us.
And somehow, that silence felt heavier than any crowded gathering.
As soon as Dante sat down, I slid the documents across the table.
He glanced at them briefly.
Then pushed them right back.
"Leave them in my study," he said casually. "I'll look at them later."
I stared at him.
He wasn't even curious.
"You're not going to read them?" I asked quietly.
After everything, that was all I deserved?
Dante sighed and reached for his phone.
"Seraphina, can we not do this right now? I just got back. I'm tired."
"Dante," I pressed, struggling to keep my voice steady, "do you even notice anything anymore? I stopped waiting on you. I stopped acting like the perfect wife. I stopped doing everything you expected me to do."
My throat tightened.
"You barely noticed."
He waved a hand dismissively.
"Just because you're throwing a tantrum doesn't mean I have to drop everything. If you're finished, I'd like to eat my dinner in peace."
For a long moment, I simply stared at him.
And finally, I understood.
He sat there exactly as he sat everywhere else in this city—like everything belonged to him and nothing deserved his attention unless he chose to give it.
The light caught the signet ring on his hand.
He wasn't nervous.
Wasn't conflicted.
Wasn't restraining himself.
Because I hadn't mattered enough to provoke any reaction at all.
Slowly, I stood.
The divorce papers felt heavier in my hands than they should have.
Yet strangely, I felt lighter.
"Alright, Dante."
My voice came out almost as a whisper.
"I'll leave them in your study."
I paused briefly.
"But this time... I'm done waiting for you."
Then I turned and walked away.
Inside his study, I placed the papers neatly on his desk.
As I did, my attention drifted to a stack of receipts and financial statements scattered nearby.
The room smelled faintly of leather and cold espresso.
This was where Dante handled the Family's real business.
Ledgers.
Invoices.
Financial records.
Money flowing through countless accounts before eventually landing somewhere clean.
Almost absentmindedly, I glanced through them.
Then my heart sank.
Since Camille's return, Dante's monthly spending had increased dramatically—nearly twenty percent higher than usual.
Each line item felt like another small wound.
Then I found it.
A property purchase.
A new safe house.
I didn't need anyone to tell me who it was for.
On impulse, I grabbed a sticky note from the desk and scribbled a short message across it.
**Make sure you sign it!**
Then I placed it directly on top of the divorce papers.
