You Chose Her, Now Watch Me Leave

For five years, I was married to the most feared Mafia Don in New York.

But my husband's heart only had room for one woman: my fragile, manipulative half-sister, Siena.

He constantly used his absolute authority to protect her, even forgetting my deadly genetic allergy just to cater to her meals.

The ultimate betrayal came during a hostage exchange with a rogue faction at the freezing East Docks.

The kidnapper pressed a gun to Siena's head and demanded a one-for-one trade. The Mafia Queen for the sweet civilian.

My husband and my son didn't hesitate for a single second.

"Walk forward, Tessa," Cassio commanded, his voice devoid of any hesitation.

"Go save my aunt!" my young son screamed from the car.

I was shoved toward the ruthless mobsters and dragged onto their idling smuggling boat.

When I looked back, Cassio was hurriedly wrapping his warm coat around Siena's shivering shoulders. He didn't look at me. Not even once.

In that freezing rain, I finally realized my absolute worthlessness. I was never a wife or a mother; I was just a disposable bargaining chip.

Memories of a past life suddenly flooded my mind—a life where I withered away in a cage, dying alone while Cassio stood over my hospital bed and whispered his final words.

"I wish I had met Siena first."

I looked down at the freezing, black ocean churning below the edge of the boat.

An underground extractor had already prepared my new identity in Switzerland.

With a sudden jerk, I ripped my arm out of the mobster's grip and stepped backward off the edge of the boat.

This time, I chose to live for myself.

Chapter 1

Tessa Rossi POV

As I brought the rim of a champagne flute to my lips, its facets catching the light, I marked the fifth year of my anniversary with the most feared mafia Don in New York. In my clutch, a burner phone vibrated with a message from the underground extractor.

"Are you still hesitating? Your extraction route is primed and ready. Your husband just slaughtered an entire rival faction because they looked at your sister the wrong way. Give us the green light, or you will never escape his cage."

Cassio Falcone was a man who commanded the underworld with a single, still look. He had dismantled the Russian syndicate piece by piece and constructed an empire on blood and unquestioning loyalty.

He was danger sheathed in custom Italian suits. He was my husband.

The elite mafia charity gala buzzed around us in the penthouse ballroom. Above, a constellation of crystal chandeliers cast a wavering light on the chiseled faces of made men and their jeweled wives.

The Consigliere stepped up to my side, his voice a low murmur against the chamber music so the surrounding guests could not hear.

"Cassio just ordered a hit on the South Side faction," he murmured.

A minor slight had been made against Siena. My illegitimate half-sister.

I felt the weight of a hundred gazes on the silk of my dress. They were whispering. They always whispered.

They talked about the blood feud between the Mafia Queen and the fragile civilian sister. They talked about how unbending I used to be, long before Cassio clipped my wings.

"Do you want to head down to the Red Light District to intervene?" the Consigliere asked, offering a path to halt the bloodshed.

I looked at the sea of faces watching my slightest gesture, and I chose to suppress the news.

"Let the Don do what he wants," I instructed, my voice flat.

I finished hosting the gala with a fixed smile that made the muscles in my jaw ache.

Hours later, the penthouse was at last empty. Cassio walked through the heavy double doors.

His knuckles were a lattice of deep bruises, and his starched white shirt was stained with someone else's blood.

He poured himself a drink and drained the glass before turning his gaze to me. He explained his overreaction with a placid face.

"Siena's silhouette in the crossfire reminded me of you," he claimed, his voice smooth. "I was protecting your reputation."

I stared at his dark, impassive eyes. I recalled the dozens of times he had invoked his unchallenged authority as Don to protect her.

He always used the exact same excuse.

"She looks like you. She is blood. I am protecting the family."

The chill of the marble countertop seeped through the glass into my fingertips. The base of the tumbler clicked against the stone, and in that brief quiet, a thought took shape:

"Perhaps we should move Siena into the heavily guarded Falcone estate," I suggested.

Cassio paused, an unguarded flicker of surprise in his eyes. He readily agreed, praising my uncharacteristic mercy.

The sound of small, running feet echoed from the tiled hallway. Leo, our young heir, ran into the room and caught on his father's creased trousers.

"I miss Aunt Siena!" he said excitedly. "I want to see her."

Cassio's phone rang. The caller ID showed the syndicate-run hospital; Siena had woken up from her minor panic attack.

Cassio picked up Leo without a moment's pause.

"We are going to the hospital," he announced. He looked over at me. "Are you coming?"

I refused. "Go without me."

I turned to the estate staff standing by the door and instructed them to cancel our anniversary dinner preparations.

Cassio frowned, but he did not argue. He turned and walked out the door with our son.

The heavy oak doors clicked shut, and the silence in the penthouse grew vast and hollow.

I walked out to the wind-swept terrace and looked down at the estate swimming pool, a rectangle of menacingly lit water in the dark. The sight of it sent a phantom pressure against my lungs.

Two days ago, Leo had pushed me into that same pool in a fit of childish rage—all because Siena had told him I was a monster.

I had sunk like a stone to the bottom. The near-drowning experience had triggered something impossible.

Memories of a past life had flooded my brain. A life where I stayed. A life where Cassio constantly shielded Siena until she staged a suicide jump and blamed me.

A life where I withered away into a hollow shell of deep depression.

I remembered lying on my deathbed in that past life. I remembered Cassio standing over me, his eyes impossibly cold.

His final whisper had unmade me.

"I wish I had met Siena first."

The cold wind struck my face, pulling me back to the present.

I felt no anger. I felt no love. My heart was a dense, cold weight in my chest.

I pulled out my burner phone and, with a steady thumb, typed a single message to the underground agency.

"Confirmed. Schedule the fake death for fourteen days from now."

But before I locked the phone, a memory surfaced unbidden. It was from our second anniversary—a night when Cassio had dismissed his guards, cooked a simple pasta himself, and danced with me in the kitchen to a song on the radio. He had looked at me then, really looked at me, and said, "You're the only peace I have, Tessa." The next morning, Siena called crying about a nightmare, and he rushed to her side without a word to me. That look, that brief glimpse of the man I married, had kept me going for three more years. Now, it only confirmed what I already knew: the man I loved existed only in fragments, and those fragments were never enough.