Signing Away The Mafia Don

For five years, I nursed my crippled mafia boss husband back to health.

But the moment he reclaimed his throne, he brought home his childhood friend, Rosalie.

He gave her the master suite and ordered me to the kitchens to prepare food like a common maid.

Even my eight-year-old stepdaughter, whom I had raised since she was a toddler, started looking at me with absolute disgust.

"I wish you were my real mother, Aunt Rosalie. She dresses like a peasant and doesn't belong in our bloodline."

When Rosalie orchestrated a fake kidnapping to frame me, my own daughter looked Vincenzo in the eyes and lied to support the mistress.

Then, Rosalie faked a fainting spell at the top of the grand staircase.

Vincenzo rushed up to catch her, letting me tumble violently down the hard marble steps.

As I lay paralyzed in a pool of my own blood, miscarrying our unborn child, he carried her away without sparing me a single glance.

I didn't understand.

I had pulled him from the edge of death, washed his wasted body, and carved the wooden cane he used to walk.

Why was my five years of absolute devotion treated like disposable garbage?

When the doctor delivered the crushing news about my baby, the last ember of affection I held for him went cold.

I signed the annulment papers without asking for a single cent, and vanished from the city forever.