Ginevra took my husband's hand and slowly guided it toward the ribbon tied around her waist.
Her intentions couldn't have been more obvious.
I felt like I was drowning.
No matter how desperately I gasped for air, I couldn't seem to breathe.
I watched them disappear inside together, wrapped up in each other as though the rest of the world no longer existed.
And then I ran.
Like a coward.
Straight back to the estate.
That night, I didn't sleep.
I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, my eyes burning until the first pale light of dawn crept through the curtains.
Only then did Domenico finally call.
"Babe, are you awake?"
His voice sounded warm.
Familiar.
As though nothing had happened.
"Business ran late last night. I didn't want to wake you, so I stayed at the club."
"How about I pick you up today?"
"We'll go shopping."
"Anything you want is on me."
I closed my eyes.
How could a man move so effortlessly between two women?
How could he spend the night with another woman...
And still speak to me with the same tenderness he always had?
As if every word were sincere.
As if he still loved me.
I splashed cold water on my face and forced myself to regain control.
By the time I came downstairs, he was already waiting outside.
The black sedan sat at the front entrance.
The driver held the rear door open.
A soldier stood nearby with his hands folded respectfully in front of him.
The moment Domenico saw me, concern filled his face.
The sight of my exhaustion seemed to genuinely pain him.
"Babe, why do you look so tired?"
"Didn't you sleep?"
His brows knitted together.
Then he immediately changed his mind.
"You know what?"
"Forget shopping."
"I'll just have everything delivered here."
"You can stay home, relax, and take your time choosing whatever you like."
I bit down lightly on my lip.
For once, I refused his thoughtful offer.
This was the last gift he would ever give me.
And I wanted to see exactly what kind of surprise he had prepared.
At the boutique on Via Condotti, one of the Moretti Family's most prestigious legitimate businesses, Domenico settled me onto a velvet sofa before immediately beginning to fuss over me.
He disappeared and returned with a milkshake.
Then tea.
Then coffee.
Then juice.
Every drink he brought was something I used to love.
But today, I couldn't bring myself to take a single sip.
When he noticed, he didn't get irritated.
Instead, he blamed himself.
"It's my fault."
"I shouldn't have stayed out so late last night."
"You hate being alone when it's cold."
"And I left you by yourself."
His expression was full of guilt.
"Punish me if you want, babe."
"I deserve it."
Before I could react, he grabbed my hand and tried to press it against his cheek.
As though he wanted me to slap him.
As though that would somehow make things right.
But I gently pulled away.
"I'm fine."
"I just don't feel like drinking."
Tomasso had been watching from the doorway the entire time.
Leaning casually against the frame with his arms crossed, he finally laughed.
"Damn, Don Moretti."
"I've never seen anyone spoil his wife the way you do."
"No wonder you run the entire Eastern Seaboard."
He offered Domenico a cigarette.
But Domenico simply smiled and shook his head.
"I don't smoke."
"My wife hates the smell."
"It bothers her."
Tomasso awkwardly withdrew the cigarette.
"Fair enough."
"I'll have the shoes brought over."
No matter who was watching.
No matter what people thought.
Domenico never cared when it came to making me happy.
The employees looked at us with obvious envy.
Some sighed dreamily.
Others exchanged knowing smiles.
To them, we looked like characters straight out of a romance novel.
A handsome husband with prematurely silvered hair.
A wife he adored beyond reason.
None of them knew who he truly was.
They saw a devoted husband.
Not the Don of the Moretti Family.
Soon, the shoes arrived.
Box after box.
Pair after pair.
Without hesitation, Domenico rolled up his sleeves and knelt in front of me.
Personally.
Patiently.
He helped me try on every single pair.
One by one.
Each time he looked up at me, his eyes softened.
"You look beautiful."
Then another pair.
"Perfect."
Then another.
"Honestly, should we just buy them all?"
His smile widened.
"You could wear a different pair every hour."
Just then, his phone rang.
He glanced at the screen.
And something changed.
It was subtle.
Almost imperceptible.
But I noticed it.
His expression shifted.
His thumb brushed briefly along the edge of his jaw beneath his ear—a tiny habit he had whenever he was caught off guard.
Without explanation, he stood up and walked outside to answer the call.
Minutes passed.
Then more.
Too many.
Yet he never returned.
Eventually, I stood.
Slipped back into my original shoes.
And quietly followed him outside.
The moment he saw me, he instinctively tilted his phone away and covered part of the screen with his hand.
"Babe?"
"What are you doing out here?"
"It's cold."
"Go back inside."
"Try on some more shoes."
"I'll be right back."
I shook my head.
"It's fine."
"You're busy."
"And I'm not feeling well."
"I'm heading home."
I left before he had a chance to stop me.
But the second I turned the corner, I stopped.
Hidden between the boutique and the neighboring storefront, I pressed myself against the cold stone wall and watched through the glass.
A few minutes later, Domenico ended the call.
He handed the shoes to one of the employees.
Then instructed them to deliver everything directly to the photography studio.
My heart sank.
The photography studio.
Not the estate.
Not our home.
Then, right there in front of everyone, Ginevra appeared.
And my husband wrapped his arms around her.
Before I could process what I was seeing, he kissed her.
Not a brief kiss.
Not an accidental one.
A real kiss.
Deep.
Passionate.
Possessive.
Five long minutes.
Five endless minutes.
I stood frozen.
Unable to look away.
Unable to move.
When they finally separated, Domenico even reached down and playfully squeezed her ass.
The employees nearby didn't react.
Not even slightly.
No surprise.
No discomfort.
No shock.
Nothing.
As if this was completely normal.
As if they'd seen it countless times before.
And suddenly, I understood.
I was the only one who didn't know.
Every soldier.
Every associate.
Every employee on the Moretti payroll.
Every shop girl and receptionist.
They had all known about my husband's affair long before I did.
The Donna of the Moretti Family had been the last person to find out.
My wedding ring dug painfully into my palm.
Only then did I realize I had been twisting it unconsciously.
Slowly, I stopped.
The photoshoot began shortly afterward.
And Domenico stayed.
Watching his mistress the entire time.
His eyes never left her.
Beside him, Tomasso cracked his knuckles one by one.
Pinky.
Ring finger.
Middle finger.
Index.
Thumb.
Then he smirked knowingly.
"Damn."
"She looks incredible."
He glanced at Domenico.
"Where the hell did you find a gem like that?"
