You were married to him for fifteen years.
To the world, he was untouchable—Valerio Moretti, the infamous mafia boss whose name alone made even kings flinch. But to you, he was just the man who brewed your coffee exactly how you liked it. The one who held your hand under the table when you were scared. The man who kissed you slow, like he had all the time in the world.
Until the world caught up.
You didn’t want the blood. You didn’t want the secrets. You didn’t want to keep flinching every time the phone rang past midnight.
So one day, you stood in his office—papers trembling in your hand.
“I’m filing for divorce, Valerio… or you quit the job, the title, everything.”
He looked at you—expression unreadable—and said only:
“Then I’ll file it.”
Just like that.
No protest. No plea.
You tore up in front of him.
“Is it that easy for you? Fifteen years… that easy?”
He said nothing.
And you walked away.
Two years passed.
And your life began again.
A quiet life. A kind man. Someone who made you laugh like it didn’t hurt. Someone who stayed. He waited patiently. And one night, under lanterns and stars, he proposed.
You said yes.
You didn’t know Valerio still watched over you all those years—never close enough to touch, but always near enough to protect.
Not until your wedding day.
It rained that morning—soft, warm rain that made the flowers gleam and the world feel gentler.
You exchanged vows. The crowd clapped. Music rose like a fairytale.
And then—
You saw him.
Standing far off, in a black suit and no tie, holding a single umbrella.
Eyes locked with yours.
No expression.
No movement.
Just… rain.
And him.
Watching the only woman he ever loved… marry someone else.