The Don Took Me for Granted, So I Became His Rival’s Wife

Before I got together with Don Vincent Moretti, he told me he wasn't good at coaxing people. So on the third day of the silent treatment after our ninth fight, I went to his estate, just like I always did. Every time we fought, Vincent would move out. And every time, I was the one who went looking for him first, the one who backed down first, the one who pulled this relationship back together. But that day, the moment I reached the door, I heard laughter from inside. "Boss, you're really not going to make it up to Olivia?" "Seriously. If Olivia found out you spent last night sending Vanessa flowers, buying her bags, and personally apologizing just to make her feel better—would she break up with you on the spot?" Vincent let out a soft laugh. "No." His tone was absolute. "Olivia loves me too much. Three days of silence, and she panics more than anyone. She won't bring up breaking up." He paused, then added, "But Vanessa's different. If I ignore her, she can actually go a whole month without talking to me." My hand froze in midair. So it wasn't that he didn't know how to coax someone. He just didn't want to coax me. Well then. There was no reason for me to keep coaxing him either. Inside, Vincent's underboss Vanessa laughed and said, "Oh, don't be so dramatic. I wouldn't go a whole month without talking to you. Two weeks, tops." Vincent's response came naturally. "Two weeks is still a long time. Better to get you calmed down first—more cost-effective." I stood outside the door, my feet nailed to the ground, unable to move. Someone inside started egging them on. "Boss, you really are something else. But aren't you worried Olivia might cause a scene?" Vincent didn't answer right away. Two seconds later, he laughed. "Worst case, we break up." He paused, his tone growing even more careless. "But you guys think she'd actually go through with it?" The room erupted in laughter. "True. Every time you two fight, no matter who's right or wrong, isn't it always Olivia who backs down first?" "She really does love you." Vincent didn't deny it. He'd always known how to make me give in. Vanessa laughed too, her tone certain. "Don't worry, Olivia will definitely show up tonight. You guys don't know this, but last time before she came over, she sent Vincent this huge apology message. I replied with one line—'Stop messaging him'—and when she showed up, her face was white as a sheet." She laughed even harder after that. I laughed too. Only the smile was so cold it tasted bitter. So that message last time—it was Vanessa who replied. That day I came to the estate looking for Vincent, Vanessa was there too. She didn't look the least bit flustered. Instead, she casually told me to change my shoes, as if she were the lady of the house, as if she were Vincent's woman. Inside, Vanessa collected herself and continued, "But Olivia's apology messages were actually pretty sincere. After reading them, I almost wanted to forgive her on your behalf. Right, Vincent?" Vincent's voice carried a hint of helplessness, but also indulgence. "Right. Whatever you say." "Then let's make a bet," Vanessa said. "On when Olivia shows up." Vincent pressed out his cigarette in the ashtray. "Sure. I bet tonight." "Your silent treatments have never lasted more than three days, right?" someone asked. Vincent gave a low hum of confirmation. "Then isn't today the third day? Boss, you've already won." Standing outside the door, I realized belatedly that they were right. In three years, Vincent and I rarely fought. And even when we did, it never lasted more than three days, because before three days were up, I would always go to him first. This was the ninth time. And today was exactly the third day. The voices inside grew louder. Everyone was saying Vincent had already won. Vincent didn't argue. When they'd finished laughing, he finally spoke, slow and unhurried. "That's just how Olivia is. She can't stand being ignored." "I stop paying attention to her, she panics, and she comes back on her own. She has no boundaries in relationships. She can't help it." I used to think that ending the silent treatment first meant I valued this relationship. But in Vincent's eyes, it was just proof that I would never leave. I lowered my head and let out a quiet laugh. Too bad. This time, he was going to lose. I wasn't going to back down again.

Vincent came home the next evening. His expression wasn't pleasant. The moment he walked in, he frowned and asked me, "Why didn't you come find me last night?" In the early hours of the morning, Vanessa had posted a video on social media, teasing Vincent about losing the bet. In the video, Vincent's face was blank, but you could tell his mood was foul. Only that flash of irritation was quickly suppressed. Facing Vanessa's camera, he put on an air of indifference. "Whatever. If she doesn't come today, tomorrow's the same." But today, I still hadn't made a move. Hadn't gone to find him. Hadn't sent him a message. I suppose he finally couldn't understand why, this time, I hadn't reached out first. That's why he came back. "Why would I come find you?" I set down my phone and looked up at him. Vincent froze, as if he hadn't expected me to answer with a question. Then, as though something clicked, he let out a short laugh. "Trying a new tactic this time?" "No," I said. "I just figured things out." He stared at me. I said calmly, "If it wasn't my fault, why am I always the one who has to back down?" This fight started because I found lipstick on the collar of Vincent's shirt. It was Vanessa's. Not long after Vincent came home, Vanessa sent me a message—a saccharine apology. She said she'd accidentally smudged her lipstick on Vincent's clothes, told me not to take it to heart, told me not to fight with Vincent over it. I'd only asked Vincent a couple of extra questions. After that, it became a full-blown argument. My ninth fight with Vincent. Once again, because of Vanessa. A year ago, Vanessa came into his life and became his underboss. She'd handled trouble at the docks with him, taken a bullet meant for him during an assassination attempt, and walked out alive with him from a failed negotiation. Everyone in the Moretti family knew that Vanessa was one of Don Vincent's most trusted people. From that point on, Vincent and I had our first real fight. After the first came the second, the third. And now, the ninth. I'd once asked Vincent to reassign Vanessa, to stop letting her accompany him to family meetings, the docks, the private clubs. What had he said? He said my mind was filthy. That without a legitimate reason, he couldn't possibly punish someone who'd bled for the family just because of my suspicions. "What do you mean?" Vincent frowned. I didn't answer him. I just looked into his eyes and asked, "Vincent, in your eyes, is the reason I'm good to you because I have no self-respect in relationships?" He didn't speak. Silence was an answer in itself. Even though I'd known all along, in that moment, something in my chest hollowed out. I'd been loving him. But in his eyes, that love was cheap and laughable. The long messages I wrote him could be casually shown to Vanessa—he even let her reply on his behalf. Every time I backed down first, it could be turned into a bet with his men. "You came to find me yesterday?" Vincent finally put it together. He'd also guessed that I'd heard everything. I didn't deny it. "Yes. I went. And I heard all of it." "So that's it." Vincent's expression barely changed. He just said, "No wonder you've been acting so different today." Then he smiled. "It was just a joke." In Vincent's mouth, everything was a joke. Acting intimate with Vanessa at the family dinner—a joke. Posting Vanessa's photos on social media—a joke. Losing a game and letting Vanessa kiss him—a joke. Even betting on me, mocking the fact that I'd never leave—that was a joke too. So what wasn't a joke? He'd never once coaxed his own girlfriend, but he'd coax his underboss. Was that a joke too? Seeing that I wasn't speaking, Vincent's expression finally softened a fraction. "Don't take it so seriously. Everyone was just talking. It's over now, and no one's going to remember." "You sent Vanessa flowers and bought her bags to make her feel better, right?" Three years together. Vincent had never once lowered his head for me. Saying it didn't hurt would be a lie. After all, it was three years of love. "That's what this is about?" Vincent said. "Vanessa is my underboss. She has to go out with me to meet clients, attend events, sit with the Dons from other families. Buying her a bag is about making her presentable. As for the flowers..." He paused. "I just picked them up on the way. She made a mistake on a deal, I said a few things, she was in a bad mood, so I smoothed things over." "Smoothed things over"—those words cut like glass. On our first day together, he told me he didn't know how to coax people. So I accommodated him in everything. I never argued with him lightly. But it wasn't that he didn't know how. He just wouldn't do it for me. My throat felt blocked by something. It was a long time before I managed to say, quietly, "Okay. I understand."

Vincent clearly didn't understand what that meant. He was about to speak when his phone rang. He glanced at the screen, then at me, then walked to the side and answered. After hanging up, he came back, his demeanor as natural as if nothing had happened. "Let's just move past this cold war." The words sounded like charity. He finished speaking and turned off his phone. "Something came up with the family. I'm heading over." A well-practiced excuse. My expression didn't change. "Go ahead." Vincent turned and left without hesitation. I followed. His car eventually stopped in front of a private club. It was a place the Moretti family used frequently—only open to their own people. After he went in, I followed. Vincent went up to the sixth floor and entered a private room that had clearly been reserved in advance. I'd barely reached the door when I heard Vanessa's laughter from inside. "Did Olivia take the bait? You went home to her on your own this time—she must have been thrilled, right?" Vanessa's laugh was syrupy sweet. "She really is so easy to handle. The second you make a move, all her anger just disappears." Someone chimed in. "Honestly, I've never met a woman as easygoing as Olivia. Before, it was always her going to smooth things over with Boss. She didn't show up yesterday, Boss goes home today, and just like that—this whole cold war might as well have never happened." "Boss, teach us how to keep a woman in line." The others burst out laughing. Vincent laughed and swore. "Get lost." He paused, and then his voice came slowly. "Olivia's always been easy to handle. Even though she heard everything we said yesterday, she didn't fight with me about it. A couple of words, and it was over." Vanessa sounded surprised. "Olivia really did come yesterday?" Vincent gave a low hum. Then came another round of laughter. Someone said I must be crazy in love with Vincent—hearing all that and still not making a fuss. Someone said I just couldn't bear to leave, that I'd forgive him over anything. They laughed and said Vincent really knew how to keep me under control. I stood in the doorway and heard every last word. No wonder Vincent had suddenly come home. No wonder his attitude had changed. It was only so he could prove he still had me under control. I couldn't help but smile. A smile full of nothing but contempt. Just then, the door to the private room was pulled open from inside. The person who opened it saw me, and their face went rigid. "Olivia?" The room fell instantly silent. Vincent walked over. Something uneasy flickered in his eyes as he looked at me, his brow drawn tight. "You followed me?" I looked into his eyes and asked, "Didn't you say something came up with the family?" I tilted my head slightly and glanced past him into the room. My gaze landed on Vanessa's face, then pulled back to Vincent. "This is what you meant by family business?" Vincent couldn't find words. Vanessa walked over to smooth things out. "Olivia, don't blame Boss. Today's my birthday. He just came to celebrate with me. He was afraid you'd be upset, so he said it was family business." Her mouth was explaining, but the provocation in her eyes was barely concealed. I didn't blow up the way they'd imagined. I just nodded. "Is that so? Happy birthday, then." Vanessa's smile froze on her face. Vincent snapped back to himself and pulled me aside, lowering his voice. "Olivia, what exactly are you trying to do?" I looked at his anxious face and suddenly felt like laughing. "Nothing," I said softly. "I just wanted to confirm something." Vincent frowned. "Confirm what?" Confirm whether my heart had truly died. I didn't answer. Vincent opened his mouth to say something else, but Vanessa had already run over and hooked her arm through his with practiced ease. The motion was natural—like she'd done it a thousand times. And Vincent didn't push her away. "Boss, the game's about to start. Everyone's waiting for you." Then she looked at me, the corners of her mouth curving up. "Olivia, you should join us." "No thanks," I said. Vanessa stuck out her tongue. "Alright then. But you're not upset, are you?" "No." Vincent shot me a surprised look, as if he couldn't understand why I was suddenly being so agreeable. But he didn't think much of it. "Then head home first. Get some sleep. Don't wait up for me." The door to the private room closed, and I was alone in the hallway. I blinked, forcing the sting back down. My phone screen lit up. A friend request. "Olivia, hello. I'm Adrian Marchetti. If it's convenient, we could meet first." Marchetti. The Don of the West Side family, and one of the most dangerous men in the entire city. My father had mentioned him not long ago. The Marchetti family needed a solid marriage alliance, and Don Adrian was willing to meet me. I lowered my eyes and typed a single word on the screen. "Okay."