My Mafia Husband Only Fucks Virgins. So I Married The Don. Chapter 02
The Necklace
Sienna is curled up in the waiting room like a wounded kitten by the time Lorenzo walks in.
He blew off a meeting for this. Of course he did.
He crosses the marble floor in a suit that costs more than my father’s ventilator, bends down, and kisses her forehead like she’s the one wearing his ring.
“Does it hurt, baby?”
Sienna’s whole face changes. Her eyes fill on cue. She points a shaking finger at me.
“Lorenzo, she was so mean to me in the car. She wouldn’t even hold my hand.”
Lorenzo turns. His jaw does that thing.
“Sienna’s just a kid, Elena. Would it kill you to be nice?”
I laugh. Short. Dry.
“Sorry. Comforting your side pieces isn’t in my job description.”
He blinks. He wasn’t expecting that. In eight years, I’ve never talked back in public.
Sienna leans into his chest, but her eyes crawl straight to my throat.
The Cartier Panthère. Limited edition. Lorenzo hung it around my neck on our first anniversary, back when I still thought that meant something.
“Lorenzo,” she coos, tugging his sleeve. “That necklace is so pretty. I love it.”
Lorenzo doesn’t even look at her. He looks at me.
“Take it off. Give it to her.”
I don’t move.
He adjusts his cufflink. Slow. Bored.
“Elena. The Westside deal closes next month. Your father needs my signature. It’s a necklace. Don’t be dramatic.”
It’s a necklace.
He’s so sure I won’t fight back. In his head, I’m still the little girl he saved from the fire. A charity case wearing his diamonds. A leech living off his money.
I reach up. Unhook the clasp.
I drop it on the floor at Sienna’s feet.
“Take it. It’s nothing important.”
Then I let my eyes drift down to her.
“You seem to love picking up the things I don’t want anymore. Necklaces. Men. Same difference.”
Lorenzo’s face goes gray.
“Watch your fucking mouth, Elena. Say another word and I pull every dollar from the Ricci accounts this month.”
His eyes narrow to slits.
“Apologize to Sienna. Now.”
Eight years. He only knows one trick. Squeeze my family. Watch me fold.
He still thinks I’m the eighteen-year-old girl who signed her life away in a black dress at her father’s bedside.
I lift my chin. Look him dead in the eye.
“Then pull it.”
He freezes.
I don’t wait for the tantrum. I turn and walk to the reception desk. My appointment is in twenty minutes.
Behind me, his voice cracks. “Elena! Get back here! Why are you booking surgery? You think that’s gonna make me love you again?!”
I don’t look back.
—
I’m already on the table when my phone buzzes on the tray beside me.
Unsaved number. I know it anyway.
Dante Salvatore’s underboss.
Tonight. Eight PM. The Peninsula, second floor. Mr. Salvatore has already sent his good faith.
Under it, my banking app pings. A wire has landed. The amount has more zeros than my father’s last hospital bill.
I stare at the message for three seconds.
Then I lock the screen, hand the phone to the nurse, and nod at the doctor.
“Let’s begin.”
—
Hours later, I walk out of the clinic on my own two feet. There’s a dull, private ache low in my body. I ignore it.
At the estate, I go straight to the closet and pull out the red gown. Custom. Backless. The color of a warning shot.
Barefoot on the hardwood, I walk to the mirror.
The woman staring back isn’t Lorenzo’s wife anymore.
Her eyes are cold. Her mouth is set. There is nothing soft left in her face.
My phone rings.
I pick it up on the second ring, and I regret it instantly.
Wet, breathy noises. A woman moaning. Sienna, purring, “Lorenzo, be gentle, please…”
Then his voice. Lazy. Hoarse. Post-fuck arrogant.
“Elena. Stop with the little games. Playing hard to get isn’t cute on you.”
He pauses. I can hear him lighting a cigarette.
“Get your ass home. Apologize to Sienna. Be sweet. Maybe I’ll still send your father his check this month.”
Sienna moans louder in the background. On purpose.
I don’t say a word.
I hang up. Block the number. Delete the thread.
Then I zip up the red dress, slide on my heels, and pick up my clutch.
Tonight, I’m not Mrs. Moretti.
Tonight, I’m hunting.