I Married The Don 3 Years While He Kept His Mistress 7 Years Chapter 14
In all the years I’d known Lorenzo, I’d never seen him like this. So broken.
For the first time, he held onto me—almost begging, his voice hoarse.
“She was just a bed partner. Think of it as… a relationship I had before you. That’s all.”
“Is that really such an unforgivable sin?”
“Please. You have to believe me. I’ve always kept love and sex separate.”
I looked straight into his bloodshot eyes, and finally understood what Grandma had been trying to tell me.
Lorenzo did care about me. But he’d never lower himself. Never bend.
He wanted my love—all of it, burning and intense.
But he also wanted complete control. He wanted to own me and still call all the shots.
It took losing me for him to see how wrong he was.
But you can’t undo what’s done. And we could never go back.
In the face of his pleading, I shook my head, steady and final.
Chiara was leaning against the wall, arms crossed. She let out a laugh.
“How pathetic. Lorenzo Greco, what the hell did you think I was to you?”
She was laughing and crying at the same time.
“I’ve been with you since I was twenty-two. You never said you loved me—except in bed.”
“You’d tell me Aurora was boring. Inexperienced. Didn’t know how to please a man.”
“So I played along. In bed. In the car. In hotels. In your study…”
“I thought one day you’d see what I was worth. That you’d realize I was the one who fit you.”
“I pulled a few strings, and you fell for it every single time. Again and again, you chose me—right in front of her.”
“You should have divorced her. You should have married me! We should have had a child. A family! But you—you—”
She gritted her teeth and spat out the last word:
“Pathetic.”
I never expected it to go like this.
I pulled out my phone, ended the livestream, and said one last thing to the camera:
“That’s the truth. Sorry for using up the public’s time. You can follow my shelter account from now on.”
Thirty years of cold, unbreakable control—Lorenzo’s mask shattered in a single day.
Someone had recorded the livestream earlier that afternoon. It spread like fire through the family.
Within twenty-four hours, three of his business fronts got hit. Two shipments got seized at the docks.
Late that night, the Greco family’s old meeting hall was lit up like noon. Ashtrays overflowing with cigarette butts.
Grandma’s call came in the early hours of the morning.
Her voice was ice-cold. She asked a few cursory questions about how I was doing. Then she said:
“Family business—you had to air it out to the whole world? Aurora, is this how I taught you to handle things?”
I was quiet for a long time.
“Grandma. You agreed to the divorce because Chiara contacted you. She told you she was pregnant. Am I right?”
The line went still. Just the sound of her breathing.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“But that was the only way I knew how to protect myself.”
I hung up.
That night, the signed divorce papers arrived.
Lorenzo had changed the terms. What Grandma had set at two hundred thousand euros was now five hundred thousand.
On the attached note, he’d written two lines in his own hand:
[I’m sorry.]
[If I could turn back time, I would have learned how to love you properly.]