The Don's Ex-Wife Became a Legend

I had just suffered a miscarriage.

With trembling fingers, I called my husband, only to hear the sounds of a rowdy party on the other end.

"Don, this was supposed to be your anniversary gift for your wife," a voice teased amidst the cheers. "Giving it to Miss Lena instead—aren't you afraid your lady will throw a fit?"

Vincent's voice was deep and dismissive. "Lena's brother died saving my life. I owe her. As for Isabella... she's gentle. She'll understand."

He paused, his tone turning colder. "Besides, she came to me with those scandalous rumors surrounding her past. The resources the Corleone family has given her over the years are more than enough to compensate for these little grievances."

As blood stained the hem of my skirt, I silently pressed the end-call button. Tears fell uncontrollably.

He doesn't know yet—the baby is gone, and I am finally done with him.

When Vincent called me back, the news about Isabella Corleone's miscarriage had already been splashed across the New York Post for a whole night.

"What new stunt is this?" His tone was dismissive. "You've tried crying and throwing fits, so now you're using a baby to get my attention?"

I gripped the edge of the sink, saying nothing.

"I know you love me too much, that's why you're like this." He sighed, his voice softening slightly. "But no matter how upset you are, you shouldn't joke about a child."

He paused, then continued, "Photos of me and Lena at that event got out. She just signed on for a new reality show—her career can't afford any scandals. Just let her use your buzz to deflect attention for a bit. In a few days, I'll take you to Sicily."

Without waiting for my answer, he hung up.

I steadied myself against the sink. In the mirror, my heavily made-up face was still deathly pale, slowly twisting into a bitter smile.

On the trending list, the headline about Vincent and Lena entering a hotel together late at night vanished within minutes.

In its place: news about my miscarriage, my alleged promiscuity, and claims that Vincent and I had long been divorced. The hashtag #IsabellaGetOutOfHollywood shot straight to number one.

Hateful messages flooded my phone, one after another. My lips trembled uncontrollably.

I realized that this kind of public scandal would destroy any actress's career. And in five minutes, I had to walk the red carpet at the Corleone family charity gala.

Just thinking about it made my heart ache with bitterness.

Not only did I have to deal with a grueling filming schedule, but I also had to handle the endless parade of women around Vincent.

Vincent was the king of this city, the Don who controlled the underworld. He was ruthless, calculating, his hands stained with blood—yet he wasn't without honor.

All of New York knew Lena was a "poor soul"—her brother Thomas had taken a bullet for Vincent three years ago, dying in the streets of Sicily. Vincent carried that