I Married The Don 3 Years While He Kept His Mistress 7 Years Chapter 11
(Lorenzo’s POV)
Grandma Rosalia’s birthday dinner was in full swing.
Someone asked Lorenzo: “Where’s your little Donna? Didn’t she come?”
Lorenzo casually pulled his sleeve down to cover the bite mark on his forearm.
“She’s busy.”
But the second he said it, his eyes flicked to the clock on the wall.
9:40 PM.
Aurora had never missed Grandma’s birthday dinner. Not once.
The wine kept flowing, and aside from Grandma, no one noticed Lorenzo’s brief lapse of attention.
One of his cousins clinked a glass against his shoulder.
“Lorenzo, there’s no one quieter in the whole Greco family than Aurora. You’re a lucky man.”
Another older relative chuckled and chimed in.
“Young thing, isn’t she? That’s what you get for robbing the cradle.”
“As for how sweet that young thing is—well, only Lorenzo would know, right?”
The cousin nudged him again.
“Isn’t that right, Lorenzo?”
Lorenzo’s hand paused mid-reach for his glass.
Aurora’s face flashed through his mind—uninvited but vivid.
She really was quiet. Obedient.
He remembered the first time he’d seen her at the old house in Palermo.
She’d been gripping her dress so tight her knuckles went white, standing straight as a young tree.
She called him “Don Greco,” her voice soft and sweet.
Something shifted in his chest. He killed it before it showed on his face.
He just corrected her, cold and flat:
“Call me Uncle.”
Grandma had muttered something about the whole thing being a mess, but he never changed it.
And that was what she called him—right up until the day he married her.
Chiara had been with him for years.
Through all of it, she’d hinted. She’d nudged. She’d practically begged.
And Lorenzo never gave her anything. Not once.
Even he couldn’t explain why.
So. He married Aurora.
She was always shy, always hesitant.
The only time she came alive was in that shelter, surrounded by dogs and cats. Like she was a different person there.
He’d offered to let her bring some of them back to the estate. But she turned him down—because the old groundskeeper was allergic to cat fur.
Lorenzo said they could just hire someone else.
And Aurora had gotten that serious look on her face and told him the groundskeeper had been there for thirty years. At his age, she said, where would he even go?
Lorenzo hadn’t thought much about it at the time.
Because in his mind, Aurora needed him. She needed the Greco family.
She lived in his house. Wore the jewelry he gave her. Carried the bags he bought her.
Take all of that away, and a tiny shelter wouldn’t be enough to keep her afloat.
The thought settled something in him.
And besides—the shelter was gone now.
Aurora would come back soon. She had to.
He swirled his wine lazily and gave his cousin a shrug.
“Yeah. She’s young.”
The dinner stretched deep into the night.
After the last guest had left, Lorenzo stood alone in the empty hall.
Aurora’s face kept flickering through his mind—her eyes swollen and red, staring at him. That image wouldn’t leave him alone.
His chest hurt.
He thought, fine. He’d give her this one.
He called HR. One simple order—transfer Chiara to the Milan office. As far away as possible.
When it was done, he lay back in bed.
He imagined Aurora coming home tomorrow. He would tell her. And maybe she’d smile—that real smile he hadn’t seen in so long.
He closed his eyes.
He slept soundly.