Part 3The Don's Hidden Heirs

I attended a spring charity gala hosted by the Palermo Chamber of Commerce.

Matteo had originally said he needed to review the dock's spring accounts at the family council that night, so I planned to handle the event alone.

But the moment my car pulled up to the opera house entrance, another armored Bentley flying the Moretti family's black eagle flag pulled up silently beside it.

The door opened. Matteo stepped out in a sharply tailored black tuxedo. He reached over and wrapped an arm around my waist with perfect ease, adjusting the cashmere wrap on my shoulders under a storm of camera flashes.

"I thought you couldn't get away tonight," I said, glancing at him.

"Accounts are nothing compared to you." He smiled softly, his tone so doting there wasn't a single crack in it. "If all of Palermo saw you attending alone, they'd think I mistreated my wife."

That night, he practically turned me into the most envied woman in all of Sicily.

The city's political and business elite and the heads of every family were there. Matteo held my hand the entire evening. When the mayor of Palermo raised a toast, he even took the strong drink for me publicly. "Elena has a cold constitution. She can't handle the chill. I'll drink for her."

The mayor's wife covered a smile. "Mr. Moretti really is the same as ever. Everyone in the city says you nearly tore apart half the family to marry her. Clearly not a word of it was exaggerated."

Matteo turned his head to look at me. His dark gray eyes were full of tenderness. "The only weakness in my life is Elena."

A chorus of knowing murmurs and compliments rose around us.

It wasn't until the intermission that a woman in a pale champagne gown glided up to the head table with a glass in her hand.

It was Sofia.

She was the widow of a cadet branch of the Castiglia family. On paper, she held a trustee title at an art foundation under the Moretti family name.

"Mrs. Moretti, I'm so envious of you."

Sofia smiled brightly, her eyes landing on the priceless sapphire necklace at my throat.

"When my husband was alive, he always piled nice things on me too. He said the most important thing for a woman wasn't showing her face in public. It was staying home and raising his bloodline well."

"Unfortunately, I wasn't blessed like you. Eight years, and your belly still hasn't moved, yet your husband treats you the same as ever. Anyone else would have quietly kept other arrangements by now."

The air around us froze instantly.

Everyone knew the accident eight years ago had removed one of my fallopian tubes.

"Barren" was the one forbidden word in the Moretti family.

Before I could even open my mouth, Matteo's eyes went cold beside me.

A sharp crack.

Matteo's whiskey glass slammed hard onto the stone counter. Liquor splattered everywhere.

"Sofia." His voice wasn't loud, but it was soaked with bloodthirsty menace. "You think just because you're a Castiglia, I won't cut out your tongue tonight?"

Sofia's face went white. She trembled slightly.

"Get out." Matteo didn't even lift his eyelids. His voice was cold as he ordered the bodyguards behind him. "Cancel all of the Castiglia family's dividends at the east docks. If I ever see this face at any Moretti-hosted event again, you can throw yourselves into the sea and feed the fish."

Two bodyguards in black stepped forward immediately and half-forced Sofia out of the banquet hall.

The room fell silent. Then a wave of hushed admiration for the Don's fierce protection of his wife followed.

Matteo turned back, covering the back of my hand with his cool palm. His voice was gentle again, as if he'd become a different person.

"Ignore that madwoman. Elena, with me here, no one can make you suffer."

I looked at him, a compliant smile in my eyes.

"I know."

Ten minutes later, Matteo excused himself to the restroom.

Almost the exact moment he left through the side door, my private phone buzzed with an anonymous email.

I opened it. A silent high-definition surveillance video.

In a garden corridor less than two hundred meters from the main banquet hall, Sofia, who had just been "severely dealt with," leaned against the wall, wiping her tears.

And the man who was supposed to be in the restroom, Matteo, was standing with his back to the camera, pulling Sofia into his arms and gently patting her back.

When Sofia tilted her head up, tears falling, he bent down and kissed the tears from the corners of her eyes with practiced ease.

The video was only a dozen seconds long.

It was the dignity he gave me in public, and the tenderness he gave another woman in private.

When Matteo returned, his suit was immaculate, his eyes still a bottomless well of warmth.

"Tired? If you're tired, let's go home."

"Okay." I put my phone away and looked up at him. From my clutch, I took out a dark gray velvet box sealed with wax.

It was heavy, about the size of my palm.

"What's this?" He looked surprised.

"Our anniversary is the day after tomorrow. I prepared this in advance."

I placed the box in his palm, my fingertip tracing the hard wax seal.

"Promise me, Matteo. After our anniversary dinner the night after tomorrow, you'll open it yourself."

Matteo held the box, looked down, and laughed. "So mysterious. Alright, I promise. That night, I won't go anywhere. I'll stay at the estate with you and open it in front of you."

He didn't know that on that night, the box would contain the evidence of my leaving him forever.