When the Don's Pride Crumbled at My Feet

Alessandra’s POV

To marry his first love, my fiancé exposed my father’s identity as an undercover agent, leading to him being tortured and hanged for a full day and night. They cut off his legs, gouged out his eyes and finally threw him into a metal cage before setting him on fire—alive.

I went mad with grief and swore revenge on my fiancé. That was when Vincenzo Costa, the Godfather of Sicily, returned from overseas with a grand procession. Using his influence, he hired the best legal team to seek justice for my father and promised to clear his name.

I believed him.

After the funeral, I broke off my engagement with Raffaele and married the man who had stood by me through my darkest hour.

Five years later, I accidentally overheard a conversation that shattered my whole world.

“Alessandra always looks like she wants to rip me apart every time she sees me,” Raffaele said, his tone smug.

“But,” Raffaele’s voice darkened, “what do you think would happen if that foolish woman found out that the one who sold out her father was the man she sleeps next to every night?”

My hand froze on the door handle.

“You’re ruthless, Vincenzo,” Raffaele’s voice dripped with venom. “You really do deserve that title.”

He kept going, a twisted satisfaction in his tone.

“Alessandra treated you like a brother when you were kids. And when you grew up, she gave herself to you completely. Do you think she’d ever suspect that the man she loves—the man she sleeps with every night—is the same man who handed her father over to be slaughtered?”

——

My hand trembled on the door handle as Raffaele’s mocking voice cut through the heavy air.

“You said she massages you, takes care of you, worships you. Hell, if she could cut open her chest and give you her heart, she would. But don’t you think she’d skin you alive if she knew what you did to her father?”

“Enough,” Vincenzo’s voice was cold, razor-sharp.

Raffaele chuckled. “Oh? So the ruthless Godfather of Sicily has a heart after all?”

He scoffed. “You pushed the man who raised you—the man you called uncle—straight to his death to please Bianca.”

The sound of a wine bottle shattering made me flinch. Vincenzo’s voice, low and dangerous, followed.

“Stay out of it.”

The sound of a bottle smashing against the table made me flinch.

“What I did to Alessandra and Uncle Ruso is a debt I’ll carry to my grave. But I had to do it. I had to do it so Bianca could survive. If you so much as lay a finger on her, I’ll make your life worse than death.”

“Oh, the great Godfather really loves B, huh?” Raffaele’s tone was mocking.

“How touching,” Raffaele scoffed. “But do you think Bianca cares about you? You’re nothing but a bloodstained devil to her.”

“You’d better keep playing nice with Alessandra,” Raffaele went on. “Because to her, you’re her savior. Too bad she has no idea you’re her worst nightmare.” 

The sharp sound of glass shattering rang through the air.

My whole body shook with rage as I stumbled toward the rooftop bar. I normally couldn’t tolerate alcohol, but I downed my entire glass of whiskey in one go. It burned my throat, making me choke and spill tears down my cheeks.

The conversation I had just overheard echoed in my mind.

So the one who betrayed my father wasn’t Raffaele.

It was Vincenzo—the man who fought for justice for my father. The charred, mutilated corpse I saw that day… was because of him.

No wonder he looked so calm at the funeral, staring at my father’s remains with that cold expression. I was so stupid to think he was just overwhelmed by grief and anger. Turns out, the man I’ve been sharing my bed with for years—the man I trusted—was the executioner all along.

All those years of warmth and tenderness were just a cover—a calculated act to ease his guilt and keep me blind.

I was a fool.

Hatred boiled in my chest. My hand clenched around the crystal glass just as Vincenzo suddenly appeared behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and pressing his face into the curve of my neck . 

“Sandra, where have you been?” His voice was heavy with alcohol. “I missed you… Let’s go home.”

For years, every time he was drunk, he’d pull me into his arms and tell me he loved me over and over