When the Don Wept for Her

The mafia coalition’s family banquet had reached its liveliest point.

Someone started stirring things up and steered the conversation toward the youngest Don of the Fumagalli family, Dante Fumagalli.

“Dante, before you came to power, all those old Dons from the major families were falling over themselves to push their daughters at you. Was there ever one you actually wanted?”

I stood half a step behind him, and my knuckles turned white around my wine glass.

Dante did not answer right away.

His gaze swept over me, cool and indifferent, before he turned toward Viviana Lombardi, who still held the crowd’s attention.

“I wanted her.”

Viviana spun around so fast that wine splashed from her glass onto her wrist. “Then why did you not come when I gave you that hotel key card all those years ago?”

The calm on Dante’s face finally cracked. He frowned. “Your key card? Was that not for Enzo Ricci?”

“How could it have been for Enzo?” Viviana’s eyes reddened. “He is my first cousin.”

One question led to another and the truth emerged.

That hotel key card had been handed to the wrong person by a Soldato. Because of that mistake, they had missed each other.

Viviana burst into tears on the spot. Regret shadowed Dante’s expression.

Just then, someone laughed softly.

“What a coincidence. Was the key card really delivered to the wrong person, or did someone make sure it ended up in the wrong hands?”

In an instant, every eye in the room turned to me.

Everyone remembered me. I was the woman who used to trail after Dante Fumagalli like a lovesick fool.

I turned to look at Dante and hoped he would say something for me. I hoped he would tell them we had been secretly married for five years and that he had been the one who pursued me back then. He said nothing.

He did not defend me. He did not deny anything. He stared ahead in silence as if none of this had anything to do with him.

In that moment, I pulled off the wedding ring I had worn for five years.

The mafia coalition’s family banquet had reached its liveliest point.

Someone started stirring things up and steered the conversation toward the youngest Don of the Fumagalli family, Dante Fumagalli.

“Dante, before you came to power, all those old Dons from the major families were falling over themselves to push their daughters at you. Was there ever one you actually wanted?”

I stood half a step behind him, and my knuckles turned white around my wine glass.

Dante did not answer right away.

His gaze swept over me, cool and indifferent, before he turned toward Viviana Lombardi, who still held the crowd’s attention.

“I wanted her.”

Viviana spun around so fast that wine splashed from her glass onto her wrist. “Then why did you not come when I gave you that hotel key card all those years ago?”

The calm on Dante’s face finally cracked.