Chapter 2After Seven Years as the Don's Mistress, I'm Done

On my way home that night, I saw a new post on Domenica’s Instagram.

It was a photograph.

She stood in a warm, beautifully furnished living room holding a cake. Raffaele was looking at her, an easy smile on his lips.

The caption read:

[Moved into our new home today. Here’s to waking up next to Raffaele every day for years to come.]

Several members of the family had already left their congratulations beneath it.

Raffaele had replied with one word.

[Always.]

I stared at the words “our new home” until bitterness filled my mouth.

As expected, Raffaele wasn’t home when I arrived.

I lay in bed, my thoughts drifting in circles until sometime after midnight.

At three in the morning, a nightmare jolted me awake. Out of habit, I reached for the warmth beside me, only to find cold sheets.

I sat there blankly for a moment before calling Raffaele.

“Where are you?”

His voice was thick and unfocused, as though I had woken him.

“What? I’m home.”

Barefoot on the cold floor, I slowly curled my fingers around the phone.

“Which home, Raffaele?”

Ten minutes later, he came through the door carrying the chill of the night with him.

He found me standing in the dark, guilt flickering in his eyes.

“You know the Valenti Family has been watching Domenica lately. I’ve been busy getting her moved somewhere safe, and I was so exhausted I fell asleep in the study.”

“Were you waiting long?”

“Where did she move?”

I asked casually, though I already knew.

Raffaele hesitated.

“The estate is the safest place for her right now. I gave her the east wing so she’d have her own space.”

A laugh slipped out of me.

Of all the places Raffaele could have put her, he had chosen to bring his new wife under the same roof as me.

Raffaele had ground what little dignity I had left into dust.

It had never occurred to him how much this might hurt me, or what people would think when they saw what he was doing.

I looked away, my chest so tight it hurt.

Raffaele seemed to notice. He stepped closer, his voice turning coaxing.

“Don’t be angry. Give me a little more time. Once I divorce her, I’ll straighten everything out.”

I lowered my eyes. All I felt was exhaustion.

The next morning, Raffaele had just finished breakfast with me when the doorbell rang.

I got up and opened the door.

The moment I saw who was standing outside, my body went rigid.

The elder Don and Donna Moretti stood on the other side.

The smile vanished from Mrs. Moretti’s face the instant she saw me. Her gaze swept over me with open displeasure.

“A mistress has the nerve to live in a Moretti property?”

My nails dug into my palm.

I wanted to tell her this was my home. That Raffaele and I had been together for seven years. That I had never been the one clinging to him.

But her palm struck my face before I could answer.

My head snapped sideways, my ears ringing.

Mrs. Moretti held her hand raised.

“I’ve put up with you long enough.”

“If no one ever taught you how a mistress is expected to behave, then I will teach you the rules of the Moretti Family.”

Raffaele heard the commotion and came out of the dining room.

The instant Raffaele saw the mark on my face, his pupils tightened. His gaze lingered on my swollen cheek before snapping to his mother.

“Mother, how could you hit her? Don’t you know she’s my—”

The words died on his lips. As if suddenly realizing what he had almost admitted, Raffaele fell silent.

Mrs. Moretti gave a cold laugh. “What is she? Nothing but a mistress trying to ruin someone else’s marriage.”

My hands clenched at my sides. Once again, Raffaele had chosen not to stand by me. This time, I would speak for myself.

“I have never lowered myself to destroy another woman’s marriage. The person who really—”

“Enough.”

Mr. Moretti rested both hands over the silver head of his cane, his expression unreadable.

“The Moretti Family has never opened its doors to a mistress, Raffaele.”

“Domenica is your brother’s widow. I will not allow her to be treated with anything less than respect.”

Raffaele looked at me, a flicker of pain crossing his eyes. But in the end, he still said, “I understand, Father. I’ll handle it.”

He had chosen to sacrifice me again.

“You’d better.” Mr. Moretti’s gaze shifted to my hand, then stopped.

Mrs. Moretti followed his gaze and immediately seized my wrist.

“Why are you wearing the Moretti Donna’s wedding ring?”

She looked sharply at Raffaele. “Did you give it to her?”