You Replaced Me, so I Got an Upgrade

I've been with Giovanni Rossi for ten years. In fact, I'm the only lover he has.

During countless nights of passion, he promised me that he'd marry me as soon as he became the Don of his family.

But on the night he sits on the throne, he decides to cast me out for the sake of my replacement, Lisa Esposito.

"Selena, she's different from you. You can stay as my secret lover, but she needs an official title. Lisa has been living in a clean world. The love she has for me is pure as well. She's just like you when you were 19 years old."

After that, Giovanni gets down on one knee and puts on a pair of ballet flats onto Lisa's feet in a tender manner.

As I step out in the heavy downpour, I never look back.

What Giovanni doesn't know is that Vincenzo Bellini, the strongest Don of the mafia world, has been waiting for me for the past ten years with a crown in his hands.

The night Giovanni Rossi became the Don, he took me hard and without mercy.

By the time it was over, my legs were still trembling. Staring at my slip dress lying on the floor, one strap torn clean off, I asked, "Giovanni, is this the end of us?"

He leaned back against the headboard and lit a cigarette. The smoke blurred his eyes and the scar on his wrist, which he'd gotten from protecting me.

"Serena." He exhaled slowly and asked as calmly as if we were discussing the weather, "If I say it's over, will you make a scene?"

His words were light, yet they sent a chill down my spine.

I'd been with Giovanni for ten years. I knew the meaning behind every shift in his expression.

I took the cigarette from between his lips and inhaled deeply to steady my trembling voice. "Giovanni, do you still think I'm that young lady who didn't even know how to fire a gun?"

If I were still 19 years old, I'd have torn his world apart if he dared to abandon me. I'd force him to either kill me or go mad with me.

But I was 29 years old now.

The words died on my lips, leaving nothing but the soft rustle of falling ash.

Giovanni smiled. He brushed the smudged lipstick from the corner of my mouth with his thumb, then plucked the cigarette from my fingers and crushed it out.

"Let's end this here, Serena. Smoke less. Your lungs can't handle it. It's time you lived a normal life like other women."

He paused, then added, "Arvandor is a good place. I've arranged a house and gallery for you there. Haven't you always wanted to paint? Leave this place and start over."

I froze.

At 29, I was being broken up with and gifted a beautifully packaged exile.

In the mafia world, the one who cried first was the loser.

I fumbled for my