Episode 1
OLIVIA
I watch him with tears in my eyes as he kisses the back of another woman's hand. An Italian woman. Just the way he likes them.
His brown eyes shine with pride as he turns to the audience.
My heart clenches as I await what he has to say. I haven't prayed ever since that awful day I lost my parents. But right now, with my fingers crossed, I'm inwardly doing the cross sign and appealing to the holy heavens that he doesn't do what I think he's about to do.
I fear my poor heart will collapse if he does. He's hurt me enough to last a lifetime. He doesn't need to do this. It will kill me, literally.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” his crisp voice echoes with excitement. “I know y'all are wondering what this lovely party is about. You're aching to know just as I'm aching to tell you.”
Please Lord. Pleaseeee!
“This woman right next to me is Isabella Romano. Now we know that in our world, the maiden name of women doesn't matter. The only name that matters is the name of the man that takes them away from their family as his own.”
Please, Bruno. Don't say it. Don't do this to me. How much more do you have to break me to feel okay?
“So she's gonna be Isabella Romero in two weeks. She's gonna be my second wife!” He drops the bomb son f*****g brutally.
My heart caves so loudly that I can literally hear it. Anyone else could have, but the cheering was just as loud.
I bite my lips so hard to keep my sobs in check. Tears are already clouding my eyes, blurring my vision. My legs are shaking under the table. With every counting second, I'm becoming more of an obvious, wretched mess.
“And while that's great, we have even greater news.” He smirks, gently caressing her stomach while she caresses his hair in return. “My long-awaited heir is on his way.”
Now that made the audience go insane. The cheering and whistling didn't end. And while everyone else seemed lost in their joyful state, I was dabbing my eyes with a handkerchief. The tears are falling and I can't control them.
My heart's aching so bad. There's a voice in my head cussing me out for the umpteenth time. Reminding me how much of a fool I am.
I lived all my life rejecting men who genuinely liked me. As the only daughter of one of the richest American Mafia Lords, I had a whole country of men fawning over my attention. And that fact gave me such an ego.
And then everything went down the drain when my parents died in a mysterious car crash. It increased the number of men pining for my attention but this time I knew what they wanted — my father's position.
I may be an heiress but I'm not allowed to rule my family. I needed to get married and my husband would automatically become Don. Everyone knew this. So it escalated the number of suitors on my list.
Their intentions were so obvious that I didn't bother giving them the time of day. But then he came along.
Him. Bruno Romero. The man I once described as my knight in shiny armour.
He was everything I ever wanted. He had stability. He had charms. He had the power and most importantly, he treated me with so much affection and offered me so much solace. Back then, that was everything I sought. Everything I needed.
I fell madly in love with him and I was sure he could handle my family. After all, he's the underboss of the biggest Italian mob family in this century. And so I married him.
A few months into the marriage, I realized what a big mistake I had made. The man who won me over and the man I married are two different people.
The one who won me over was kindhearted, gentle, sweet, and incredibly nice. But the one I married has to be the most callous, racist, cheater, liar, and despicably greedy man ever.
I never knew he had a loathing for American girls until we got married. I think that's the main reason why he hates me. I might be the hottest snack out there but Bruno sees me as pure filth. He treats me like dirt. And he's treated me as such for the last two years.
But out of everything he has ever done to me, out of all the humiliation, this is the f*****g highest of them all.
“And I'd also love to thank my wife, Olivia, for being the most understanding woman out there,” he says, pointing at me with the most facetious smile ever.
Bastard!
He's not done embarrassing me. He's going all out. He's making sure I never recover from this humiliation.
Soon, the spotlight shines on me as expected and the cameras are flashing in my wet face. I try to cover my face with a handkerchief but that's only gonna make it quite obvious that I've been crying.
You'll rot in hell for this, Bruno!
And why are these tears clouding my vision even more?
The hypocritical and mockery cheering by the audience for me makes me feel even more like s**t.
“Ma'am,” a masculine voice calls out softly. It sounds familiar. Very familiar. But I can't look at him. “I'll take you to the restroom. Hold my hand.”
I quickly held his hand while we walked. My heart drops in relief when we enter a quiet hallway and the noise from the hall fades.
We get to the restroom and he stops at the door while I have my privacy. I stare at the mirror and let the tears fall freely.
My ego was squashed back there. My dignity too. There's definitely no recovering from this.
I gasp lightly as a hand stretches a handkerchief in front of me. I didn't hear anyone come in.
The diamond signature ring around the thumb makes my heart drum hard. I drag my gaze to his face and it's exactly who I thought it was.
The formidable Don Antonio Romero. Bruno's Father.
The bodyguard who'd helped me come here is his personal bodyguard. So that means…
“Dry those tears,” he says in that Italian accent that makes you wanna get on your knees and apologize for some nonexistent sin.
I stare defiantly at the handkerchief, feeling a weird sense of anger and mortification.
“So the son humiliates me to s**t in front of my whole social circle and his father crawls into the restroom to offer me a handkerchief? That's f*****g convenient.”
His jaw clenches as he retrieves the handkerchief, shoving it back into his breast pocket. The anger in his eyes gives me goosebumps but I'm not ready to cower in front of him.
“I'll cry as much as I want. But don't ever offer me your bloody handkerchief. You and your son can go to hell!” I say through clenched teeth and walk past me.
To my shock, he pulls me back roughly, locking me in his arms. I gasp at the force but even more as his lips graze my neck while he speaks in the most drenched, weak, husky voice.
“What the f**k do you want me to do, Olivia? Tell me. Tell me, baby. And I'll do it.”
