Done Playing My Mafia Husband’s Divorce Game

I've stood before a priest and sworn my vows to the same man seven times.

And for the seventh time, I've signed divorce papers in front of the family lawyer.

At our first wedding, the youngest Capo of the Throne family held my hand and promised, "From this day forward, my life is yours and yours alone."

But whenever his childhood sweetheart stirred up trouble and needed his protection, Carter's vow to me would conveniently become a sanctuary for her.

"Tessa's in trouble again, Maeve. For your own safety, we have to get a divorce for now."

The first time I was forced to divorce, I threatened him with the honor of our families' alliance, even vowing to expose his betrayal at a family gathering. His men dragged me out of the manor.

The third time I signed the papers, I humbled myself, sneaking into the family's private club just to catch a glimpse of him from afar.

By the sixth time, I had learned to quietly pack my few belongings in this house of lies, without putting up a fight.

My breakdowns and desperate, undignified attempts to save us were only ever met with Carter's reliable promise to remarry me, just before another round of the divorce game he played for Tessa's sake.

Until this time. After hearing Tessa was returning to New York from Italy, I didn't wait for Carter to speak.

I placed the signed divorce papers in his study myself.

Just like always, he casually set a date for our remarriage.

But he didn't know that day was the day I would disappear from his world forever.

My mafia husband married me seven times. And seven times, he made me sign divorce papers, all to protect his childhood sweetheart, who was always getting into trouble. He'd always say it was for my own safety, and just as he always did, he'd set a date for our remarriage.

He just didn't know that this time, when I handed him the divorce papers, there would be no remarriage.

"Tessa's back. Sign it, Carter."

I kept my expression carefully neutral as I slid the signed divorce papers across the vast mahogany desk and into his hand.

His long, well-defined fingers paused.

Carter looked up, a flicker of surprise in his eyes.

But he quickly regained his composure and expertly signed his name on the document.

This was the first time in all these years that I had beaten him to it, that I had been the one to initiate the divorce.

After signing, he took a sip of whiskey and casually assured me,

"The usual arrangement, Maeve."

"Give her a month to clean up her mess, and we'll get married again."

In the past, that empty promise wouldn't have been enough. I would have forced him to swear on a statue of the Holy Mother or sign a pact in blood just to feel secure.

But this time, my heart was a silent wasteland. I couldn't be bothered to