Don, I Won't Wait for You Anymore

Two years into my marriage with Luca Mancini, I'd gotten used to waiting. Wait until the accounts were settled—then he'd take me on our honeymoon. Wait until the family meeting was over—then he'd celebrate our anniversary with me. Wait until his men were taken care of—then he'd call the private doctor to see me. I knew how hard it was to sit in the Don's seat, so I never cried or made a scene about it. I even took half the work off his shoulders without being asked. Because of my patience and all the times I stepped back, things between us finally softened. When he was exhausted, he'd lean his head on my shoulder, kiss my forehead, and say: "My Donna, once this busy season is over, I promise I'll make it all up to you." Today was my birthday. He'd promised me half a month ago that he'd spend it with me. I'd booked out an entire restaurant. The cake was cut. I was waiting. But from six to ten, he never showed. Then a photo popped up in my inbox: In the pouring rain, Luca was holding an umbrella, shielding his childhood sweetheart, Anna, tight against his side. The timestamp on the photo read 9:40. Twenty minutes ago. He'd tilted the umbrella over Anna's head, letting the rain soak him through. Then his text came through: "I've got an important meeting. I'll be home late." Looking at that message, I didn't reply "Got it" like the good, understanding wife I always was. I thought I'd gotten used to waiting. I thought if I just cleared every obstacle out of his way, I'd finally get the man who kept his promises. But staring at that photo, my heart sank all the way to the bottom. It was never the waiting I was afraid of. It's just—last month, I was diagnosed with terminal leukemia. This was the last birthday I'd ever have. I stood up, hollow, and walked home alone through the endless sound of rain. The man I'd been waiting for—I couldn't wait for him anymore. Chapter 1 Back home, I opened the cabinet, grabbed the bottle of red wine I'd set aside for Luca, and downed it in one go. I was trying to drink myself numb—to forget that photo that cut me open. To forget that he'd stood me up again on my birthday. But a few moments later, a sharp pain tore through my stomach. My bones felt like they were on fire. I opened a drawer, took a painkiller, and caught my reflection in the glass beside me. Pale. Hollow. After the terminal leukemia diagnosis, I never told Luca. I just went to the hospital in secret, on my own. Because I didn't want to add one more burden to his already full plate. After several rounds of treatment, the doctor told me it wasn't working. He suggested I go to a better hospital. I thought about it. Then I gave up. Because I knew there was no point. I didn't want to spend my last days lying in a hospital bed, counting down the end. All I wanted was to hold on to whatever time we had left. When we first got married, Luca used to look at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered. Even when we got ambushed on a job, he'd throw himself in front of me without a second thought. A bullet tore through his shoulder, blood soaking straight through his shirt—and he still gritted his teeth, pulled me tight, and said: "Don't be scared. I'm here. Nobody touches my Donna." Back then, I was everything to him. He would've died for me. Now? He'd left me sitting alone for five hours for another woman. The thought carved something raw and bitter open in my chest. I turned, walked upstairs, and threw a few changes of clothes into a suitcase. Then I pulled off my wedding ring and tossed it onto the table without a second glance. I bought a one-way ticket to the Maldives for the next morning. That was where he'd promised to take me for our honeymoon. Every time I brought it up, he'd say the family was too busy—once business was stable, he'd take me there to see the ocean. I waited for his "next time," over and over. But that moment never came. Today, I finally understood—there was no next time. Before I left this world, I wanted to keep those promises myself. Alone. When I got into the taxi headed for the airport, my phone screen lit up. Another video popped into my inbox. The background was a bar. Luca's men were all egging him on. "Don, you ditched Donna at the estate on her birthday for Miss Reed tonight. She's not gonna blow up at you, is she?" When people used to poke fun at me, Luca would get furious. But tonight, he just shut his eyes and said coldly: "Elena's always been reasonable. She knows I've got business to take care of first." "Right now, she's probably already drawn my bath, waiting for me in the bedroom." Just as he said that, the taxi merged onto the highway. I watched the station signs blur past the window, then pressed the screen dark. I closed my eyes and slowly drifted off. By the time Luca called, I was already sitting in the departure lounge. The ringtone cut through the empty hall, harsh and out of place. "Elena." A short silence—then I heard his voice, barely restrained fury underneath. "You're not at the estate? Where the hell are you? Why is the trash full of dumped food?" I glanced at the clock on the wall. 3 a.m. He'd spent nine hours with Anna before it finally occurred to him to come home and check on his "most understanding wife." Before, no matter how long I waited, I'd always put his mood first. Help him change, draw his bath, wait until he was asleep. Then cry quietly beside his pillow, terrified of disturbing his work the next day. But now—now that I'd decided to leave—there was a strange kind of relief in my chest. I picked up the call and said, cold and flat: "Yeah. I'm not at the estate. I'm at the airport." "The airport? What the hell are you doing at the airport at 3 in the morning?" He stopped short, like something uneasy had just dawned on him. "Why are you suddenly throwing a fit? Where are you going? We said we'd wait until things calmed down—" Irritation bled through every word. That word—"fit"—dragged me back a month. That day, my nose wouldn't stop bleeding. I collapsed on the stairs with no warning at all. I fought back the fear, grabbed his arm, and asked if he could spare half a day to take me to the hospital. He looked at me, and something reluctant flickered in his eyes. "Elena, the port accounts aren't finished. I have to go verify the shipment." "Call the private doctor yourself. We'll deal with it once things slow down." Looking at how exhausted he was, I swallowed the taste of blood in my mouth and didn't push. But that same afternoon, I saw a post Anna put up. "Cut my finger on a steak knife—barely a scratch—and someone sent a helicopter to take me to the hospital. So dramatic." In the photo, a Band-Aid was wrapped around her finger. And at the edge of the frame, a large hand was holding hers tight—knuckles blurred out with a mosaic. I didn't think anything of it at the time. Until today. Until it hit me—the "someone" was Luca. The mosaic was covering that scar on his hand. He wasn't too busy for the hospital. He was willing to drop important meetings for a scratch on Anna's finger that you could barely even see. He just didn't want to take me. And meanwhile, I was dragging my dying body around, waiting for him. Endlessly. I looked out the window. The runway lights blinked in the dark. My voice was barely above a whisper. "I'm going to the Maldives. To see the ocean. I don't have any time left to wait." I wanted to go somewhere with no gunfire. No scheming. No Anna. A long silence. Then Luca sighed—like he was soothing a sulking child. "You're mad I broke my promise tonight, aren't you? Elena, I told you—I think of her as a sister." "Anna's car broke down on the road, and it just happened to be pouring. I had to go get her." "I thought as my Donna, you'd be big enough to understand that." He paused, then added: "Of course I didn't forget your birthday. I even bought you a jade necklace." "Elena, stop this. Tell me which airport. Just wait for me—I'll come get you—" "Luca. Don't." I cut him off. I didn't have the strength to ask why he'd miss his own wife's birthday for a "friend." I just looked at the night sky outside the airport and said, calm and steady: "Don't come. I don't have time to wait for you anymore." Then I hung up and blocked his number. Chapter 2 After the plane took off, I turned down the meal service and asked for just a cup of warm water. I'd barely taken a sip when that familiar tearing pain surged up from deep in my chest. I clamped a hand over my mouth and coughed violently. "Ma'am, are you okay?" A gentle voice came from beside me. The young man in the next seat frowned, quickly dug a strip of pills out of his bag, and held them out to me. "I'm a doctor. This painkiller might help." I didn't refuse. I took the pill, swallowed it. "Thank you." His gaze dropped to the ring finger on my left hand—where a deep, raw groove circled the base, the edges bruised purple from years of cut-off circulation. "Your finger... want me to take a look at that?" he asked quietly. I shook my head. "No need. I just wore a ring that never fit for too long. It's off now." The truth was, that ring never fit me. Not once. Two years ago, when Luca proposed, he'd had it custom-made by a craftsman. But the moment he slid it onto my finger, his phone rang. It was Anna's caregiver. Anna had gotten too worked up—she'd slit her wrist in the bathroom. I still remember the look in his eyes. One second, he was gazing at me like I was his whole world. Next, his face went dead white. Lost. He didn't even take a moment to check if the ring was the right size. He just shoved it down to the base of my finger, eyes red, and said: "Elena, I'll take you to get it resized when I'm back. Remember—you're my only wife." Then he turned and drove off without looking back. The wind was howling that night. I stood in the rain with a ring a size too small, feeling like everything was falling apart. I thought it was temporary. But over the next two years, Anna always had something. An illness. A car accident. A breakdown. Luca's promise was always "next time." In two years, he'd signed deals worth tens of millions. He'd shut down countless turf wars. But he could never spare a single hour to take his wife to get a ring resized. The painkiller slowly kicked in. The ache dulled. I leaned against the window, staring at the thick clouds outside, something heavy and sour twisting in my chest. The first six months of our marriage, we were polite. Distant, even. Luca ran dangerous jobs every day. I managed the estate, checked the books, kept his men in line. Almost everyone said I was the perfect Donna. And Luca would hold me when he was tired, tell me I was his only safe harbor. Until a year ago. When Anna came back from treatment in the States. And everything fell apart. Chapter 3 On the day of our first wedding anniversary, Luca had promised to take me to a charity gala. He was going to introduce me to the elites of every circle—to make sure every family there knew exactly who I was. His Donna. But the moment I arrived at the venue, his phone rang. Anna was on the other end, sobbing like her heart was breaking. "Luca, my power's out and there's a rat in my house—I'm so scared, can you please come check on me..." Luca set down his fork, his brows knitting tight, and said to me, rushed and urgent: "Elena, Anna lives alone. She's unstable. I need to go check on her. I'll be right back." After he left, I sat alone at the head table, gripping a wine glass, forcing myself to hold it together until the gala ended. He never showed. Not even by midnight. Every family in that room watched me. Laughed at me. The brand-new Donna who was a wife in name only. That night, on the way back to the estate, we got into a car accident. A truck came barreling at us, completely out of control. My driver swerved in time. We walked away mostly fine. But when we slammed into the guardrail, a shard of glass sliced open the back of my hand. I was shaking from the pain. I called Luca—and Anna's soft, delicate voice answered. "Luca, do you think this red dress looks better, or the white one?" And Luca's voice—patient, in a way he never was with me. "The red one. It suits you. Have it wrapped up." I held the phone to my ear, staring at the raw, festering skin on my hand. I didn't say a word. I just hung up. When Luca got back to the estate, he saw my hand wrapped in bandages. Something guilty flickered across his face. He walked over, wanting to hold me. I stepped back. I looked him dead in the eyes and asked: "Luca, can you really let Anna go?" "You grew up together. You're that close. She was supposed to be your Donna, wasn't she?" He froze. Then, irritated, he yanked off his tie, his voice sharp with impatience: "Elena, don't start imagining things. I think of her as a sister." "The family is already exhausting me. As my Donna, can't you be bigger than this? Stop making this harder on me." I looked at his cold, hard face and said nothing. Back then, I didn't believe he saw her as a sister. I thought it was just the cheapest excuse a man gives after he's already moved on. From that day on, I stopped asking about Anna. I stopped asking him for anything—time, company, anything. I thought if I kept stepping back, if I stayed "understanding" enough, eventually he'd come back to me. Then, a month ago, I was diagnosed with terminal leukemia. I still had my resentments. But every time I thought about how this was my last stretch of time with Luca, I'd shut it down. I'd stop myself from replaying all the ways he'd favored Anna. I thought we could spend these few remaining days like this—loving. Happy. But in the end, at one of the last moments that mattered to me, he still chose Anna. Without a second's hesitation. The thought hit me, and I didn't even have the strength left to be sad. The hum of the plane's engines swept past my ears. Worn out, I drifted into a deep sleep. Chapter 4 "Ladies and gentlemen, we'll be landing at Velana International Airport shortly. We hope you enjoyed your flight." The purser's voice pulled me out of sleep. I looked out the window. Sunlight flooded my eyes. No endless Italian rain here. No gunfire from the mafia. The blue water mirrored the blue sky, and it felt like every last bit of exhaustion was being pulled out of me. After I got off the plane, I rented a little wooden bungalow by the beach. I unpacked, sat down in the empty little room, and pulled out my phone. My fingers hovered over the screen for a long time. Then, almost on instinct, I opened my messages and unblocked his number. Even after I'd made up my mind to leave, years of loving him had left one small, stubborn ember of hope in my chest. I thought when he saw I'd vanished—when he saw the wedding ring I'd left behind—he'd lose his mind looking for me. I thought he'd send me a hundred messages, explaining why he'd left me behind. I thought he'd at least call. Just once. Just to ask where I was. But the message box was empty. No missed calls. No concern. No plea for me to come back. Just like my chest—hollow. Then an email popped up. From Leo—Luca's most trusted right hand, and the one person in the estate besides me who knew him best. The subject line read: [Donna, please. You need to see this.] My heart lurched. I hesitated, then opened it. [Ma'am, I know you've left. I know you're still angry at the Don. There are things the Don would rather bury in his chest than say out loud. But I've watched you suffer, and I can't stay silent. Miss Anna's older brother, Francis, was the Don's best friend. The three of them grew up together. They were family. Years ago, on an assassination job, Francis took ten bullets for the Don. He died on the spot. Before he died, he grabbed the Don's hand and made him swear—with his last breath—to take care of his only sister, Anna. To never let her suffer. The Don is a man of honor. He swore he'd repay that debt. Miss Anna's been unstable for years because of her brother's death. The Don, bound by that oath, has no choice but to give in to her, every time. Ma'am, the Don's heart belongs to you. He hasn't changed. He's just been torn between you and Anna this whole time. Please forgive him. Come back.] I stared at the screen. Read every word. Three times. Leo probably thought that once I knew this secret, everything would click. That I'd be moved by Luca's loyalty, that I'd blame myself for misjudging him, and then buy a ticket, fly back like a good, understanding wife, and help him take care of his savior's sister. And fall back into the endless waiting. Over and over again. The more I thought, the more I laughed. Tears splattered onto the screen, one after another. Leo was right. Luca was a good man. A man of honor. A mafia don who stood tall and kept his word. He'd kept his promise to his brother. He'd given every ounce of patience and favor to the sister of the man who'd saved his life. But Luca... To honor that promise—what did it cost? My dignity as his wife. Every single time I waited for nothing. And even the last moments that mattered to me. In this three-person movie, Anna got the favor. Luca paid back his debt. And me? Even after I told him I was leaving— even after I'd been missing for four days, no word, no sign—he didn't care. Not one bit. So how was that any different from him falling out of love? I took a deep breath, wiped the tears off my face, and hit Delete. The truth didn't matter anymore. I walked out onto the beach and stared at the endless ocean. A sudden dizziness washed over me. The pain took over my bones again. My senses started to slip. A tear fell onto the sand. Luca, you've paid your debt. In full. But my life is almost gone too. Let my body, and whatever love I have left for you, be buried here in this sand.