The Madre Strikes Back

The Underboss, Gio Rocco, told me that during yesterday's hit by a rival clan, my husband, Don Domenico De Luca, and his secretary were caught together in a compromising situation.

When our men broke in, the secretary had barely managed to put her clothes back on.

I don't want to believe it, but when I enter the conference room and see the delicate, helpless woman in Domenico's arms, it suddenly seems laughable.

Anger surges through me, and I storm up to Domenico. He instinctively steps in front of the woman, shielding her.

I press my gun against his forehead.

"Domenico, let's get a divorce," I say coldly.

Valentina's Point of View

My husband, Don Domenico De Luca, and his secretary, Lorita Moretti, were caught in bed together, yet he had the nerve to call me paranoid. That was when I decided I was done with that ipocrita.

The trigger clicked with a sharp snap, and the bullet tore past Domenico's ear. Only then did he grasp the gravity of the situation.

Lorita let out a sharp scream and shoved me aside.

"Sei pazza? How can you fire a gun at Don De Luca?" she demanded, glaring at me with outrage. "Even if you're the Madre, you don't get to pull a gun on him for no reason. You're challenging the Don's authority."

I looked at her and couldn't help but laugh.

I raised my hand, ready to slap her, but Domenico, who had been silent until now, caught my wrist. "Basta, Valentina Rossi! Stop causing a scene. We were only discussing work."

His gaze turned cold when he looked at me. "You can't throw a tantrum whenever you please."

Then he shoved me forcefully, sending me stumbling into the table's sharp corner. Blood trailed down my forehead, blurring my vision.

Through the haze of red, I saw Domenico freeze. Panic flickered across his face as he stepped forward, wanting to check my wound.

But Lorita got to me first. Her nails dug into my arm as she pretended to steady me. Instinctively, I shoved her off.

She let herself fall right into Domenico's arms again. Tears streamed down her face as she choked out, "I only wanted to help you up. Valentina, how can you not trust Don De Luca? We were only talking about work. Please don't fight with him because of me. This is all my fault. I'll leave the famiglia right away."

She made a show of turning to leave, and Domenico's concerned gaze immediately snapped to her. He grabbed her tightly and refused to let her go.

"Valentina, as the Madre, you can't spend your days being jealous and suspicious. I've explained this a thousand times. Lorita is just my secretary."

Domenico seemed to forget that I was bleeding. He scooped up the crying Lorita and headed for the door.

I let out a cold laugh. "Talking about work? Does it have to be in bed?"

Domenico didn't respond. Still holding her in his arms, he rushed past me, saying only a curt, "Stop causing trouble."

When I first got the news, I thought Domenico had been set up by the Constanzo family. I even wondered if someone within our own ranks had tried to set him up and shake the famiglia's foundation.

Never in my worst nightmares did I expect it would be her—Lorita Moretti.

Ever since Domenico met her at the Bianchis' gala a year ago, he started bringing her up without even realizing it.

As a bastard child surviving between factions, she reminded him of the hardships he experienced before he fought his way to the top.

He believed saving her would be the most glorious chapter of his reign as the Don. The thought set his blood on fire and made him feel truly alive.

Every time he mentioned her, I felt powerless. We had fought countless times because of Lorita, but Domenico swore she was only a sorellina to him. He said he only wanted to save a young woman drowning in the darkness.

Yet I had never imagined that Lorita would not only remain at his side but also become his secretary—and end up in his bed, supposedly to discuss work.

The blood loss made my body grow cold. I lifted my hand to wipe the blood obscuring my vision when a handkerchief appeared beside me.

Domenico's deep voice sounded behind me. "Use it."

He came back.

I didn't take the handkerchief, nor did I accept the hand he offered in support.

Pressing my hand against my wound, I turned to walk out, leaving him with only one sentence. "We're getting divorced."