My Don Chose My Best Friend—So I Took His Empire

I knew my husband, Don Luciano Corsetti, was cheating on me. I just could never find out who she was. For years I'd planted trackers, combed through statements, tailed every woman who came within arm's reach of him. I swallowed a whole bottle of pills right in front of him, out of my mind, trying to force the bitch's name out of his mouth. But when I woke up, Luciano was at my bedside, worn down to nothing. He stared at me for a long moment when my eyes opened, then pulled me hard against his chest. "Gianna, there's no one else." "What do I have to do to make you believe me?" Everyone in the Corsetti family said I'd lost my mind. Once, Luciano's cousin caught me looking at some woman a beat too long and murmured, laughing, "Careful. The Donna's hunting for mistresses again." The family doctor told me to stop seeing ghosts everywhere and get some sleep. Even I started to wonder whether Luciano had ever cheated at all. Whether the woman I couldn't find was just something my mind had conjured up. Only my best friend, Viola Alfieri, held me — again and again — and said: "You're not crazy. I believe you." "If you want to divorce Luciano, you can come live with me. If you want to keep looking for her, I'll keep looking with you." "Whatever happens, I'll always be on your side." I was so grateful Viola stayed with me when I had no one else. I told her about the earring I'd found on Luciano's passenger seat — an earring that wasn't mine — and the hotel charges I'd dug out of his accounts. And then the earring vanished. And the charges turned out to be client expenses. Luciano tore into me in front of the family's men, and even Viola shook her head gently and sighed: "See, Gianna? You're doing it again." I dropped my head, wishing the floor would open up and take me. Then came the day Viola was hospitalized with stomach pain. I cooked and brought the food to her room. Outside the door, I heard Luciano's voice, raw with pain: "Viola, I can't keep pretending. I'm going to tell Gianna. It's you I love." Viola went hysterical and snatched up a fruit knife, pressing it to the side of her throat. "No! You can't tell her." "After my parents died, Gianna is the reason I'm still alive." "If she finds out her husband and her best friend have been sleeping together, how is she supposed to keep living?" Luciano's face changed. He rushed over, wrapped his arms around her, and said nothing more. Outside the door, I clamped both hands over my mouth so no sound could escape. The mistress I'd hunted for three years had been standing between me and my husband the entire time. There was never room for three people in one marriage. This time, I really was letting go. ... I hid in the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face, over and over. Only when the face in the mirror gave nothing away did I pick up the food container and walk out. Inside the room, Luciano was sitting beside Viola. Viola saw me and her eyes lit up. "Gianna, sweetheart, you're finally here." She took the thermos, sniffed it, and smiled, satisfied. "Mmm, that smells amazing." "Nobody takes care of me like you do!" Everything exactly as it had always been. In primary school, the first time I brought Viola home, I nagged my mother into teaching me to cook so I could make her something with my own hands. That was the first time in my life I ever cooked. Later, when her parents died in an accident and she couldn't eat anything, I sat with her and fed her one spoonful at a time. Somewhere along the way, taking care of her had become a habit I'd had since childhood. I looked at her slightly reddened eyes and tugged the corner of my mouth into something like a smile. "As long as you like it." Luciano came over, reaching for the bag on my shoulder. I turned aside without thinking, out of his reach. His hand hung there in midair. His brow creased. "What's wrong with you?" "Nothing." I set the bag on a chair and looked up at him. "Why are you here?" Luciano's eyes drifted toward the window. "I heard Viola was sick. Figured I'd stop by." The Godfather of the Corsetti family, apparently with nothing better to do than drive from the southern end of Naples to the northern. Viola must have seen the doubt on my face, because she gripped her spoon and jumped in to explain for him. "The pain was really bad, and I couldn't get through to you, so I called Luciano." "Don't be upset, Gianna. Don't blame him." I went still. I hadn't said a word. Luciano let out a cold snort. I let it go, picked up an apple, and began peeling it slowly. "Living alone really isn't practical for you." The blade slid through the flesh of the fruit. I looked up and smiled at her. "When you get married, I'll teach your husband every dish you love." Viola's smile stiffened for half a second before she went back to stirring her beef broth. "I don't even have a boyfriend. Who am I marrying?" "So find one." I set the apple on the tray, opened my phone, and started swiping through photos of good-looking men for her. "This one's a personal trainer. Very sunny personality." "This one works at a bank. Mature, stable." "And this one was a year below me at university—" Luciano's hand came down over the screen. "Since when do you waste your time on garbage like this?"

His grip was hard enough to hurt my fingers. "I'm just introducing Viola to someone. Why are you so worked up?" His jaw had been clenched tight. At those words his fingers released me instantly, and his tone softened. "I just don't want you setting her up with strangers you don't know and wrecking her life." "Of course." Viola set down her bowl and slid her arms around my waist. "I don't want a relationship right now. I have you. That's enough." "If Luciano ever mistreats you, come live with me. I'll take care of you for the rest of your life." She paused, then smiled and stroked my hair. "But you have to promise me something too. Stop letting your imagination run away with you, okay?" "Every time you start suspecting Luciano, you're the one who ends up hurting the most." Her cheek rested against me, exactly the way it had when we were children. She'd said it countless times these past three years. "I believe you." "But maybe this time you really are being too sensitive." Something closed around my throat. Viola was the one who'd dragged me out of my house when I was being beaten. Viola was the one who'd held me and cried all night after I swallowed those pills. And here she was, still holding me tight. Except now Luciano stood between us. I sat there stunned for half a minute. Then I slowly pushed her hands away and laid the peeled apple on a plate. "If you ever fall for someone, you have to tell me." They both looked at me at the same time. Luciano's shoulders visibly locked up. Viola lifted her bowl, her lashes fluttering. Neither of them said a word. The truth is, if they had been willing to come clean, I would have stepped aside — even if it cut me to pieces. Instead, after a moment, Luciano came over and touched my forehead. "You're tired, aren't you? Let's go home. Viola needs rest." I stepped back, picked up my bag, and walked out the door ahead of him. My heart felt like it was being torn in half. Even now, seeing their lies and their betrayal for what they were, I still loved Luciano and I still loved Viola. God, how I wished none of it were true. Once the car pulled out of the hospital, Luciano kept glancing over at me. I leaned against the window and said nothing. He reached over and touched the back of my hand. "Are you all right, baby? If it's too much for you, don't cook for Viola next time. I'll have someone arrange her meals." I pulled my hand away. His hand froze where it was. A moment passed before he put it back on the wheel. "Let's not go straight home. I'll take you to dinner." "Whatever." Luciano's patience wore down bit by bit. He drummed his fingers twice against the wheel. "Gianna, why is it always so damn impossible to talk to you? All you ever do is create chaos!" "Why can't you be more like your good friend Viola? Look at her — always gentle, always understanding." It came out before I could stop it. "Sure. Then take me wherever it is you usually take the other girls." Tires screamed. My seatbelt was loose. My forehead hit the glovebox and my vision went black for a second. Luciano took a few deep breaths. Then, finally, he noticed I was hurt. He unbuckled and reached for my face, holding it, checking the injury with something close to panic. His thumb brushed the red mark on my forehead. I turned my head away so he couldn't touch me. He stared at his empty hand, and the worry on his face slowly curdled into anger. "Gianna, how many times have I explained it? I am not cheating on you." Behind us, the horns grew more insistent. He put his foot back on the gas, chest rising and falling hard. "You lunatic. When are you finally going to believe me?" I turned toward the window. The tears came anyway, sliding down my cheeks. He pulled into a shopping center parking garage, his voice going soft again. "That's enough, Gianna. Stop making a scene. Let's just eat." We headed toward a French restaurant Viola had mentioned to me once. She'd been sprawled on my sofa, laughing, telling me she'd found the most delicious place and absolutely had to take me sometime. My vision blurred without warning, because I couldn't stop myself from wondering: the last time someone brought her here, was it Luciano? The car had barely stopped when Luciano's phone lit up. No name on the screen. Just a small blue heart. Before I could get a proper look, he'd flipped the phone face down. "Client. I'll take it outside." He pushed the door open and walked a long way off before answering. Through the window I watched the tension in his brow smooth out, inch by inch. Then he snapped upright, his voice so bright with excitement that I could hear it from inside the car. "Are you serious?"

The call ended quickly. He came striding back, the corners of his mouth still lifted, forcing them flat again as he opened the door. "Something's come up at the docks. I need to go." I looked at his eyes, still shining with that excitement. "And if I asked you to stay?" Luciano blinked. Then he took out his phone, head down, and transferred me a sum of money. "Don't start." "Have dinner on your own. Buy whatever you want." "Call the driver when you get tired of shopping. I'll probably be out late." I opened my mouth to say something else, but he was already slamming the door and walking away without looking back. The mall churned with people. I let the crowd carry me forward until I couldn't hold it in anymore and sank down right there on the floor, sobbing where anyone could see. I'd already said I would step aside. So why were they still lying to me? Three whole years. Three years of them turning me into a madwoman, through and through. Back home, I called Franco Morello, my personal attorney. Franco heard my voice and sighed before I said a word. "What did you find this time?" I didn't answer. He must have realized how blunt he'd sounded, because he added: "Gianna, it's not that I don't believe you." "But last month you wanted a divorce over a restaurant bill. The month before that it was perfume in the car. Before that, it was Luciano taking a call at two in the morning." "Every single time, I get the paperwork ready, and the next day you call to tell me it was a misunderstanding." "So this time, take two days to cool off. Please?" I switched on the study light and said quietly: "I found her." The line went quiet for a beat. "You're sure?" "I'm sure." I looked at the photo of the two of them, pressed close together. "Let them do whatever the hell they want." I opened the locked drawer at the bottom of my desk and drew out a yellowed document. "Franco. Execute the old agreement." Silence on the other end. "Donna. Are you certain?" "Certain." I looked at the name at the bottom of the page, signed in Luciano's own hand. "Divorce." Franco was quiet for a few seconds. "Understood." "I'll have the papers ready tonight." I closed the agreement. Ten years ago I'd quit my job in Milan and come to Naples. I'd knocked on client after client's door for Luciano, helping him take the Corsetti family's business — the parts that never saw daylight — and scrub it clean, piece by piece, until it could stand in the open. Now he wanted Viola? Fine. But I was taking back what belonged to me. By dawn, as the printer spat out the last page of the agreement, I heard the lock turn. Luciano came in carrying a boxed Black Forest cake. Not a trace of an all-nighter on his face. If anything, he couldn't keep the smile down. He reined it in when he saw me sitting in the study. I laid a folder over the agreement. "Sounds like it went well?" "It did. We closed the deal." "With which company?" Luciano set the cake on the table. His hands paused mid-unwrapping. "You wouldn't know them." I looked at him. He avoided my eyes, his tone souring into impatience. "I've been up all night. Let me rest." "I'm going to go sit with Viola." I'd just picked up my coat when he blocked me. "No need. She'll be up in a minute." My hand stopped on the doorknob. He went on: "A pipe burst at her place. She's going to stay here for a while." "She isn't well, so it's easier for her to..." He hesitated. "...recover here." The doorbell rang right on cue. Viola stood outside with a suitcase, arms already opening when she saw me. "Gianna, I've come to throw myself on your mercy." She'd stayed with us plenty of times before. Her pajamas were in my closet. Her toothbrush was in my bathroom. She knew where the spare key was. She knew Luciano took his coffee without sugar. She knew which cabinet held his painkillers. None of it had ever struck me as strange. Because she was Viola. The person I'd trusted most in the world since I was a child. She never had to stand on ceremony here. This place had always been half hers. And yet this time I found myself planted in the doorway. "No." The word landed, and Viola's open arms froze midair. Luciano's head came up, his brows drawing tight. "It's a few days. What is wrong with you?" Viola immediately took a step back. "Is it a bad time? I'll go to a hotel, it's fine, really." She was the same as she'd always been. And somehow it made my stomach turn. I gripped the doorknob, ready to drag the whole thing into the open. Then Viola clapped a hand over her mouth, shoved past me, and bolted for the bathroom. Luciano's face drained. He was after her in an instant. He crouched beside her, one hand bracing her shoulder, the other rubbing her back with unmistakable practice. Viola retched until she was white. I watched Luciano's fingers, bloodless with worry. A thought slid into my head. "Viola." I looked at the hand she had curled protectively over her stomach. "You're not... pregnant, are you?" Viola stopped mid-heave. Luciano's hand froze where it was.

Viola recovered first, bracing herself on the counter to stand. "You know my stomach's bad. I just ate something that didn't agree with me this morning." Her eyes flicked toward Luciano as she spoke, like she couldn't help it. Luciano wiped her mouth, then filled a glass with warm water and held it to her lips. "Rinse. Don't aggravate it any further." I watched him, watched the arm he had wrapped tight around her back. Viola cupped the glass, and her shoulders came down by degrees. Luciano turned his head and said, in the voice you'd use to scold a child: "She's sick. Stop being so neurotic." I watched the water tremble in the glass and said, slowly: "No boyfriend, but pregnant. Well, it can't be Luciano's, can it?" Viola choked on a mouthful of water and said, flustered: "Gianna, what are you talking about?" "Luciano is your husband, not mine. He is not the father of my baby." I caught her wrist and peeled the tissue away from her hand, one finger at a time. "So you admit you're pregnant." Viola went rigid. I looked at the two of them. Three years of denials came flooding back all at once. I hurled the glass against the floor. "How long were you planning to keep this from me?" I was screaming, tears running down my face. "Three years! I looked for her like a madwoman for three years — and you looked with me for three years." "How could you be my husband's mistress and watch me suffer with a clear conscience?" Viola shook her head, tears springing up at once. "No. Gianna, it wasn't like that." "I was protecting you." I threw off the hand she reached out. "Protecting me?" I laughed so hard it brought tears. "Viola, when you watched me swallow those pills — did you think you were protecting me then too?" "You know better than anyone how much pain I was in." Her shoulders collapsed. She looked like she couldn't hold herself up. Luciano stepped in front of her, blocking her from view entirely. "Enough, Gianna. Stop creating chaos." "If you want to blame someone, blame me. Don't hurt Viola because of me." I looked at the arm shielding her, and a laugh escaped me. "Who the hell do you think you are?" Luciano's expression froze. I pulled the gun from the drawer and leveled it at his forehead. "Watching two women tear each other apart over you — that must feel good, doesn't it?" The first shot cracked into the table lamp. He didn't flinch, but the way he looked at me was the way you look at an enemy. "Viola is my life, Gianna. Don't you touch her." I chambered another round. Luciano moved, and the bullet caught him in the left shoulder. Viola rushed out from behind him and grabbed my arm. "Gianna, I'm sorry. This is my fault." "We'd both been drinking that night. It was my fault, don't blame him." "Let go." I tried to pull free; she only held on tighter. "Yell at me, hit me — I'm the one who couldn't control my feelings!" "Please don't do this, you're scaring me." "I said let go." I wrenched my arm back. Viola lost her footing and went down hard on the floor. I couldn't help reaching out to catch her — and then my face exploded with pain. Luciano stood in front of Viola, his hand still raised from the slap. "Gianna, you know she's pregnant, and you still shoved her." "This is what you always do." "The slightest thing, and you're suspecting, interrogating, going through phones, going through statements, following people." "You suffocate everyone around you!" "Do you have any idea how exhausting these three years have been for me?" His voice went hoarse: "Every day before I come home, I sit in the car for half an hour, because I don't know what you'll be waving in my face the second I open that door!" "Gianna, I am done with you!" I stood there, frozen, and suddenly everything I'd done for him over the years struck me as a joke. Viola was still on the floor, face streaked with tears, trying to get up and put herself between us. "Stop fighting, please. It's my fault, I — I—" Then she doubled over, both arms clutched around her belly, and beneath the hem of her dress a small patch of blood began to spread. Luciano's face went white. He scooped her up and ran. "If anything happens to Viola or that baby, I will never forgive you." The door slammed behind them. I stood in the field of broken glass for a long time without moving. My cheek burned. My heart went cold, degree by degree. Numb, I walked into the bedroom and started packing. My phone rang. Franco. "Gianna." His voice was far more serious than usual. "The divorce papers have been delivered to Luciano's office." "But there's one thing I have to confirm with you before we go further." My hands stopped. Franco spoke slowly: "If we execute the notarized agreement from ten years ago, eighty percent of the marital assets go to you." "Not just property, cash, and investments." "It includes the majority of Luciano's shares in Corsetti Holdings." I looked up. "And?" Franco drew a long breath. "Luciano would lose control of the Corsetti family's legitimate holdings." The bedroom was silent for a few seconds. "Gianna." "You're taking half of Don Luciano's empire." I lowered my head and zipped the suitcase shut. A small click. "I know." "So you want to proceed?" Ten years ago, when he had nothing, I was the one who helped him build all of it. Three years ago, when I started suspecting him, he told me I wasn't well. The Corsettis called me a madwoman. The doctor told me to take my pills. My lawyer sighed whenever I said the word divorce. And now... I picked up the suitcase. "Proceed." Franco paused. "Yes, Donna." I hung up and walked out of the Corsetti estate.