The Don's Last Obsession

To get a divorce from Dante Conti, I volunteered to walk away with nothing—even our three-year-old son.

Seeing that I had deliberately changed back into the old clothes I wore before marriage, Dante froze for a moment, then sneered, "So? You don't even want Nico, the heir you fought so hard to give birth to?"

"Careful. Play your part too long, and you won't be able to recover the scene," he warned.

I pushed the signed agreement toward him.

"Don't worry. This isn't acting."

Dante shot me a puzzled look before signing his name. "So obedient? Fine. I'll be magnanimous and let you see Nico from time to time."

He set down the pen, his gaze appraising me. "And if you regret it… come to me now, and maybe—just maybe—we could remarry—"

I cut him off, standing and walking away without a word.

He had thought I married him for the Mafia's power, that's why I had given him an heir to inherit his family.

But once he knows I'm dead, there will be no more misunderstandings.

I walked out of the Conti estate into the biting cold, but to my surprise, Dante Conti followed me.

"You're going out dressed like that? Don't catch a cold, then blame it on me."

He shrugged off his coat, reaching out to drape it over my shoulders. I stepped aside.

"That's no longer your concern, Don Conti."

His hand froze in midair. A flicker of surprise crossed his eyes, quickly replaced by mockery.

"Still playing games with me? I didn't finish what I was saying earlier—here."

He pressed a token engraved with the character "Conti" into my hand. Its surface was icy cold.

"Take this. It's your privilege token. If you ever regret leaving, you can come back to me."

Dante looked down at me, the gaze of a man bestowing charity upon a stray cat.

I clenched the token, once treasured above all else, feeling the sharp edge press painfully into my palm.

When we first married, I struggled with the Mafia's rules and was often harassed by his subordinates. Back then, he wanted to give me the world. Every little flutter of my heart was etched in his mind. He had the token specially made, saying that it represented the Don's authority, and that any request I made with it, he would grant.

But as I devoted myself to him—meticulously managing the Conti family's holdings, keeping everything in perfect order—his affection for me gradually waned.

Over the past two years, I tried everything to win him back, to rekindle what we had, but it was all in vain. Desperate, I even used the token to ask him for something simple: to come home and have a meal with me on our anniversary. He hadn't spent a single anniversary with me for two consecutive years.

Yet even that small request, he refused. One phone call was enough for him to leave me alone at home. When I confronted him in anger, he