Silvia Romano.
After handing my husband, Rafael, the Don of the Morano Family—my father’s legacy—I found myself pushed out of my own Mafia Family.
Rafael and our kids trapped me in the house with endless chores, cut me out of all major Morano decisions, and treated me like their maid.
I finally wake-up from my 20-years nightmare when my children helped Rafael steal the symbolic Morano ruler’s ring—my father’s heirloom—to give to Consigliere Annastasia Monroe, Rafael’s first love. That ring made Anna become Rafael’s new wife and my children’s stepmother.
So I called in a 15-year-old favor from Don Antonio of the Bianchi Family—the Moranos’ sworn rivals.
“Is the Bianchi Consigliere position still open?”
His laugh was just like I remembered, warm, welcoming.
“Of course, Silvia! I’ve always kept that chair warm for you!”
Then, I sold off the Morano hotel and headquarters—the same place where Rafael and Anna celebrated their wedding with my children—left divorce papers on the kitchen counter, and stepped into my new role as Bianchi Consigliere. I started building my own power base within the organization.
Six months later? Rafael and my kids crashed my engagement party to Don Antonio... begging me to come back.
**
“What if we tried to patch things up with the Giorgino Alliance?” I suggested.
Rafael had just announced they were cutting ties with the Morano clan this month. They were our biggest alliance, handled our highest-volume deals. They were Morano's lifeline to the government, and now they were walking away, following the stream of members who’d bled out over the last five years.
Rafael shot me down. Hard.
“Patch things up?” Rafael’s voice boomed.
“You know exactly how crucial they are to Morano. I thought—“
“What exactly are you thinking, Silvia?” Rafael cut in. “You think Morano’s still the same outfit it was twenty years ago?”
The question hit me like a punch.
He narrowed his eyes, looking right through me. It was clear he didn’t see me as worth his time, let alone a threat.
“You don’t know a damn thing, Silvia!” he spat. “You’re just the Don’s wife! Your job is running this house and raising the kids. Period!”
“But you promised you’d consider me your personal consigliere, Don Rafael!” I shot back.
Rafael’s face went blank for a second, then one corner of his mouth twisted into a sneer.
“My personal consigliere?”
I held my ground, but unease churned in my gut. The way he looked at me… it wasn’t a husband looking at his wife. There was no love, just a flash of anger I couldn’t place. My chest tightened, emotion threatening to drown out reason.
I almost slammed my fist on the table. But I remembered every favor Rafael had ever done as Don. I forced my gaze down, bowed my head for a beat, then looked up with a thin smile, taking a deep breath.
All the while, he watched me with that sharp, judging stare. He clicked his tongue and shook his head.
“No wonder you’re thinking so far out of your depth!”
“W-What do you mean?”
Rafael gave a cold little smile. “You’ve been rotting under my armpit for too long, Silvia Morano!” he roared right in my face. “No wonder you can’t read the organization or the streets anymore!”
His words stole my breath, piercing straight to the heart. A strange tremor of denial shot through me. My lips felt glued shut; my whole body froze.
I never imagined Rafael could be so cruel. ‘Rotting under his armpit’ like I had no place, no rights, no ability in this organization. Like I was just ‘the Don's wife,’ some trophy displayed in the house to prop up Rafael’s position after he took over from my father, Don Oliver.
“Enough, Silvia.” He patted my shoulder twice. Condescending. Dismissive. His face said it all, I was nothing.
“Get back to your real job – taking care of me and the kids. Besides, I already gave you your little piece, the ledger and the household accounts.”
I forced that thin smile again and nodded slowly.
“Dad’s right, Mom. You don’t belong in the Morano family anymore!”
My pride and joy, my eldest son Michael Morano, walked down the stairs and threw the words at me like stones.
“You’re weak, Mom! The brutal mafia world? It’s not for you. Stick to the kitchen and making our meals,” he stated flatly.
I was speechless. I might have found words for Rafael. But Michael? My heart refused to fight my own son. I loved him too much, even as his words and actions kept cutting me down. I felt invisible, while Rafael just let his son tear into his mother.
“You know. Mom is Don Oliver’s daughter. So—“
“So what?” Michael cut in. “You think that gives you the right to second-guess Dad, who’s been running Morano, while you hide behind a filthy apron reeking of smoke?”
The pain and disappointment were a physical weight, sealing my mouth shut. Tears welled up and spilled over. I didn’t try to stop them. Maybe they’d finally see how much they hurt me.
That hope died when I heard Michael and Milan snickering.
“See? Mom cries over a few words! How could she ever be a real boss?” Michael scoffed.
“God, Mom’s nothing like Consiglier Anna! She’s cool, in control, someone you can count on. She’s the real Consiglier!”
That woman’s name echoed through our home again.
Rafael turned away, refusing to look at me. He shoved his chair back and slammed his fist on the dining table. I flinched, closing my eyes against his rising fury.
“Admit it—you’ve lost that edge, Silvia!” he snarled.
Tears streamed down my face with every insult. My heart felt like it was breaking. His yelling made my ears ring. My fists clenched so tight my nails dug deep into my palms, drawing blood.
Pain. Agony.
I couldn’t loosen my grip. Couldn’t stop the monster inside from waking up. I pressed my lips together, biting back the sobs, refusing to let Rafael hear them.
As if he hadn’t ripped me open enough, Rafael stepped close again. He bent down, his lips near my ear, his voice a venomous whisper.
“Listen, Silvia… Don Oliver’s blood does run in your veins. But blood alone doesn’t make you worthy of being Don Morano. It sure as hell doesn’t mean you can handle the responsibility.”
My eyes flew wide open. I lifted my head, meeting his gaze. My vision blurred with fresh tears as I stared into his cold, sharp eyes.
The final, brutal truth slammed home. Those cruel, cutting words… they were undeniably his.
