She Made Way for His Lover, but He Wants a Do-Over

Five years into marriage, Silvia Serra becomes both Dante Valenti's most lethal weapon and his most invisible presence.

She shields him from bullets. She crosses a freezing river for him. Her scars accumulate, and his response is an assumption that it is how things are meant to be.

In time, Dante grows repulsed by the violence clinging to her. He derides her lack of charm and gives his warmth to another woman instead.

He allows others to grind down her dignity, and with a new lover in his arms, he openly stains her name.

Silvia tolerates it so she can continue guarding him.

Everyone mocks her as if she's numb to it all, driven away again and again, but never truly gone.

Then comes the night of pounding rain. Cast aside without ceremony, Silvia erases every sign she was ever there and leaves with finality.

Dante treats it as nothing more than sulking, convinced she will return within three days.

Later, the once-untouchable Don was seen on his knees at Silvia's feet, stripped of all pride, begging her to turn back and look at him just once.

On the night marking five years of marriage, Dante Valenti, the Don of the Valenti family, once again became a target of his enemies.

Silvia Serra, acting as the Donna, stayed behind to secure his retreat. She eliminated the group of soldati alone and withdrew only after taking a wound.

The heavy smell of gunpowder and blood still hung in the air.

She opened the door to see Dante on the couch with his lover, Lucia Pellini. They were locked in a deep kiss, lips and tongues entwined in a way that left no room for doubt.

The cold violence surrounding Silvia disturbed the stillness of the room. Lucia immediately drew back into Dante's embrace. Her lips were wet, and she looked toward Silvia with a timid, shaken expression.

"Silvia, mi dispiace. My hypoglycemia hit. I couldn't swallow by myself. Dante was only helping me…"

Dante remained seated. As the Don of the family, he was accustomed to being in command. He rested a hand on the back of the couch and studied Silvia calmly.

"What happened to you?" he asked.

The wound on her right shoulder, split open by a folding knife, was so deep that bone was visible. Still, the husband she had spent years protecting seemed not to see it at all.

Silvia stepped into the living room, blood marking every step. "It couldn't be helped. They meant it this time. It wouldn't have ended without close-range fighting."

Dante finally noticed the injury. He stood and moved toward her, catching her before she lost her balance.

"You are seriously hurt?"

His voice always rose at the end when concern slipped through.

"Enrico will arrive in two minutes. Sit down and stay still."

As Silvia was about to sit, Lucia let out a sharp cry. "There's blood. There's so much blood! I'm frightened…"

Within a family defined by violence and death,