The Don’s Consigliere Charged Me By The Minute To Touch Him Chapter 01
$10,000 a Minute
My husband’s consigliere charged me $200 a minute to sleep with him — then she spent my dying mother’s surgery money on a handbag.
***
[Elena’s POV]
On Valentine’s Day, my husband’s consigliere walked into our bedroom mid-sex and told him his thirty-two minutes with me were up.
“Boss, intercourse time has reached thirty-two minutes and ten seconds. That’s two minutes past the approved window. Please stop immediately.”
Dante pulled out without a word.
He looked at me — sprawled across the sheets like a wrung-out rag — and his voice dipped into something almost soft. “Babe, Valentina is the only woman ever made consigliere in any family on the East Coast. I broke tradition for her because she’s that good. Every rule she sets is for my benefit. I know you’ll understand.”
I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just nodded.
He smiled and brushed my pale cheek with his thumb. “Good girl. Step out for a bit — Valentina and I need to handle some ‘overtime business.'”
The door closed.
Within seconds, sweet moans and hard groans started bleeding through the walls. Each one louder than the last.
I dug my nails into my palms and swallowed the nausea crawling up my throat.
Then my phone buzzed.
[Mrs. Moretti, a matching heart donor has been found for your mother. Surgery can proceed immediately. Please arrange the $500,000 fee as soon as possible.]
…
Two hours later, the master bedroom door swung open.
Valentina strolled out wearing Dante’s shirt. The collar hung wide, showing a neck covered in fresh marks.
She glanced at me, tapped at her phone with those manicured nails, then shoved the screen in my face.
“Donna Moretti, you kept the Don occupied for two minutes and ten seconds beyond the approved window. Compensation is required. At the Don’s rate of $10,000 per minute, please transfer $21,600. I’ve rounded down the change — consider it his Valentine’s Day gift to you.”
She smiled. “Transfer now, or should I dock it from next month’s allowance?”
I stood frozen.
No matter how many times this happened, it still knocked the air out of me.
Three years ago, Valentina Corso was brought in as Dante’s consigliere. The first woman to ever hold that title on the East Coast. He shattered a hundred years of tradition for her — said she was ‘irreplaceable.’
She took over his entire life. Schedule, finances, the family’s books — everything.
She preached fairness. Accountability. Structure.
Then she price-tagged every single thing in my home.
Every outfit I wore. Every piece of jewelry. Every meal I ate.
She even dictated when I could sleep with my own husband — and in what position.
Last month, she found a strand of my hair on Dante’s shirt.
She docked me $3,000.
Earlier this month, I wore my earrings thirty seconds past the approved time at a sit-down with another family.
She docked me $5,000.
Today, because my husband stayed in my bed two minutes and ten seconds too long —
Now she wanted $21,600.
I stared at her red cheek.
And suddenly, I almost laughed. “You’re so good with numbers, Valentina. So how much do you owe me for spending two hours with my husband in my bedroom?”
Her expression froze. She turned to Dante, who had just stepped out. “Boss, I gave up my personal time to work overtime — to help relieve the stress your wife left you with — and this is how she treats me? I can’t do this anymore. I’m done.”
Dante pulled her into his arms immediately. When he looked at me, his eyes were ice cold. “Elena, I didn’t keep you around to drag me down. Valentina is one of a kind. You — someone who can’t even feed yourself without my money — don’t get to compare. Apologize. Now.”
My throat closed up. Like someone had their hands around it, squeezing.
He’d forgotten. Forgotten who built the family alongside him from nothing. Forgotten who drank herself sick wining and dining connects to land him his first backer.
After the Moretti name became untouchable, he’d held my hands and promised — voice breaking — that he couldn’t stand watching me suffer anymore. That he’d shield me from everything.
And now? I’d stepped back, poured myself into taking care of him, and somehow became the useless wife who “dragged him down.”
Every storm I’d weathered in the past three years — he was the one who brought the rain.
Valentina lifted her chin and looked down at me. “Forget it, Boss. Your wife is clearly above someone like me — someone who actually earns her keep. My dignity won’t survive this kind of humiliation. I’ll have my resignation ready by morning.”
Dante’s face went cold. He was done with patience.
He pulled out his phone. When I saw the number he was dialing — my mother’s hospital — the blood drained from my face.
I lunged forward. “I’ll apologize.” I bit down on the inside of my cheek until I tasted iron. “I’m sorry, Valentina. I was out of line.”
She clicked her tongue. “I don’t feel your sincerity, Donna.”
I closed my eyes. My knees hit the floor.
“You work so hard. I was ungrateful.”
Valentina smiled, satisfied. She glanced out the window at the pouring rain, then spoke like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“The Don’s needs weren’t fully met. We’ll need another two hours of overtime. Go to the West Side Pharmacy and pick up two boxes of condoms. Strawberry-flavored, ultra-thin. He likes those.”
West Side. An hour and a half round trip.
Dante helped me to my feet. But all he said was — “Hurry back.”
I stepped out into the downpour. My phone buzzed.
A text from Dante.
[Keeping people happy is good for the family. It’s for our future. I knew my Donna would understand.]
Followed by a $200 transfer.
[Valentina doesn’t know about this account. Take it.]
I stared at my account balance — $490,200 — wiped my face, and walked into the rain.