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My mafia husband and I had once been closer than anyone could imagine. We used to change the sheets almost every morning. And somehow, it still wasn't enough for him. After nine years of marriage, he'd spent eight and a half of them keeping a mistress on the side. I'd never made a scene over it. Not once. The first rule of the Valenti family code was simple: when your husband played around behind your back, you didn't scream, confront the press, or put your feelings above his reputation and interests. So when Matteo Moretti and Chloe Rossi finished their little tryst, I pushed open the door, picked up the clothes scattered across the floor, and smoothed out the sheets they'd left in a mess. "Don Matteo, I'll clean everything up. No point leaving evidence around to ruin your night." His men froze outside the room before barely suppressed laughter broke out. Several turned away, their shoulders shaking. "The Don really broke her," one muttered. "Blair finally learned her place. She'll even clean up after him now." Matteo's cold, unreadable gaze settled on me, a lit c!gar between his fingers. He gave a mocking laugh. "Look at you, playing the obedient wife." His voice dripped with contempt. "You learned to behave pretty d4mn fast. So tell me. What are you plotting this time?" PLOT? The only thing I wanted was to leave. So I did. I bought a ticket. When I was about to board the ocean liner, my phone rang. A delivery driver. "Hello, your divorce papers have been delivered." I gave him an address. "Please deliver them there. Thank you." Consider it my wedding gift to Matteo. He'd be thrilled when he saw them. My mafia husband and I had once been closer than anyone could imagine. We used to change the sheets almost every morning. And somehow, it still wasn't enough for him. So after nine years of marriage, he had spent the last eight and a half keeping a mistress on the side. I had never made a scene over it. Not once. The first rule of the Valenti
