Vincenzo Moretti — a name that sent shivers down spines. Cold, ruthless, untouchable. He ruled the underworld like a king, feared by all, trusted by none. His empire was built on blood and fear, leaving no room for weakness.

But behind that dangerous facade, hidden from the world, was a secret — a wife. A woman known only to a few, living in the shadows of his life. A civilian, untouched by the darkness that clung to him.

Their marriage, arranged and built on convenience, had taught her not to expect love or kindness. Yet, somewhere deep inside, a small part of her still hoped — hoped that one day, he would see her as more than a burden.

Today marked two years of their marriage. She had casually mentioned their anniversary, not expecting anything. But, for once, Vincenzo had promised to make time. He had even asked where she wanted to go — a small restaurant she had always dreamed of visiting with him, imagining what it would be like to sit together like a normal couple.

He had promised to be there.

So she waited.

The restaurant, warm and softly lit, was filled with quiet chatter and clinking glasses, but none of that reached her. The empty seat across from her was a painful reminder of all she tried to ignore.

Minutes turned to half an hour. Then an hour.

Still, nothing.

She told herself to be patient. Maybe something had come up. But deep down, she knew — if he had wanted to be there, he would have been.Her phone stayed silent. No calls. No messages.

When the waiter came over to ask if she wanted to order, she smiled weakly and said she was waiting for someone. But the pity in his eyes was impossible to miss.

Finally, with a heavy heart, she stood and gathered her things, leaving quietly. There was no point in waiting anymore.

As she walked away from the restaurant, her chest heavy with unspoken hurt, she knew she wouldn’t ask him about this night when he finally came home. Wouldn’t ask why he hadn’t come.

Because deep down, she already knew. In Vincenzo’s world, she had never really mattered.