Lorenzo loved proving to the Underworld how desperately I loved him. So, on every anniversary, he presented me with fake divorce papers, betting with his Capos on the exact minute I would break down and beg him to stay. In our first year, he slid the Syndicate Severance Decree across the mahogany table with a cruel smirk. "If you don't care about me, sign it." I cried and tore the document to shreds. He pulled me into his arms in front of all his men. "I knew it. You cannot bear to leave me." In our second year, he let Gianna—his childhood friend and the Consigliere's daughter—sit right beside him. He looked at my pale face and asked, "What would you do if she actually became the new Donna?" With red eyes, I begged him to stop playing these twisted games. He simply kissed my forehead, his voice dripping with arrogant satisfaction. "Look at you. You really cannot live without me." In our third year, he had his ruthless Syndicate Fixer publicly read another fake decree. He forced me to declare in front of the entire Family, "I will never leave you, Lorenzo." His men secretly recorded my traumatic panic attacks. They cataloged my tears, using my breakdowns to entertain their underground betting ring. Until our eighth anniversary. The Fixer slid the documents toward me once again. But this time, the decree was real. Lorenzo had already signed his name on the dotted line. Gianna sat intimately close to him, asking in a soft, carrying whisper, "Once this little game is over, can I finally be the Donna?" Lorenzo looked at me with absolute certainty, waiting for my usual breakdown. "As long as you drop to your knees and beg like you always do, this decree will not take effect." Everyone in the room held their breath, waiting for me to tear the papers and throw myself into his arms. Instead, I calmly picked up a black pen and signed my name on the very last page. The arrogant smile on Lorenzo's face slowly froze. I pushed the finalized decree back to him and slid the heavy, diamond-encrusted Mafia wedding band off my finger. "She can stay," I said, my voice eerily steady. "And you can find someone else to prove their love for your sick bets." Because my love for him was dead. Chapter 1 Serena's POV The next morning, the air in the High Commission Tribunal was stale, reeking of old paper and centuries of broken vows. Lorenzo stood next to me at the polished wooden counter, his jaw tight. He was watching me intently. He was waiting for the tears, waiting for me to break down and apologize for embarrassing him in front of his men last night. The Tribunal official, an older man with a brutally scarred face, took the signed document. "This initiates the mandatory thirty-day Syndicate Grace Period," the official said, stamping the paper with a heavy thud. "During this time, the severance can be revoked if both parties agree. If not, on day thirty, the Blood Oath is permanently dissolved." Lorenzo let out a harsh, mocking laugh as we stepped out of the chambers and onto the busy New York street. "You will not survive a week without the Family's protection, Serena." He didn't even look back as he stepped into his waiting armored SUV, the door slamming shut. The motorcade sped away, leaving me standing alone in the freezing wind. I took a cab back to the estate. I needed my passports and my late mother's jewelry box. When I walked through the grand foyer and headed toward the kitchen, the smell of bitter, dark roasted coffee filled the air. Gianna was standing at the marble island, brewing Lorenzo's espresso. Lorenzo sat on a barstool, sliding a thick, leather-bound notebook across the counter toward her. "Learn the ropes," Lorenzo ordered casually. I recognized that notebook immediately. It was my meticulously handwritten ledger. It contained seven years of my life. It detailed Lorenzo's exact security protocols, the specific medical needs for his old gunshot wounds, and the names of every enemy who wanted him dead. I had spent countless sleepless nights compiling it just to keep him safe. Now, he was handing my blood and sweat to another woman like it was a cheap instruction manual. Gianna traced her manicured fingers over the cover. She looked up and smiled at me, a venomous glint in her eyes. "Don't worry, Serena," Gianna said softly, flawlessly playing the innocent successor. "I will take good care of him for you." Lorenzo stood up and gestured for Gianna to follow him. He walked straight into the master suite. I followed them quietly. I just needed to grab my things from the closet. But as I walked in, Lorenzo deliberately swept his arm across my vanity. He knocked my expensive skincare bottles and our framed wedding portrait into a cardboard trash box on the floor. The glass shattered. The sound was sharp and final. He wasn't just clearing space. He was deliberately destroying my territory, violently pushing my boundaries to see how far I would bend. He walked over to the electronic keypad on the bedroom door. Grabbing Gianna's hand, he pressed her thumb against the biometric scanner. The lock beeped, turning green. He handed her a heavy brass spare key. "This room is yours for now," Lorenzo said, his voice loud, making sure I heard every syllable. I walked past them to the safe in the closet. I punched in my code, took out my passports and the velvet jewelry box, and placed them in my tote bag. I did not look at the shattered photo. I did not shed a single tear. When I walked back out, Lorenzo was standing in the center of the room. His arms were crossed over his chest, his dark eyes burning into mine. He was waiting for me to scream. He was waiting for me to fight Gianna for my place. I simply walked past him toward the door. "Are you just going to walk away like a coward?" Lorenzo snapped. His voice lashed out like a whip, his cruel amusement finally cracking into impatience. "Don't think playing cold will make me chase after you." I stopped in the doorway, the cold indifference spreading through my chest forming an impenetrable shield. "You are overthinking, Lorenzo."

Serena's POV I dropped my heavy ring of estate keys onto the polished silver tray in the foyer. The metal clattered sharply against the surface, ringing with finality. I walked out the grand front doors and did not look back. Before I could even reach the street, my phone buzzed with a notification from the Syndicate's encrypted network. Lorenzo had immediately opened a new betting pool in the public channel. Some Capos bet I would come crawling back in three days. Others bet I wouldn't even last a week. Lorenzo directly matched them, slamming down three hundred thousand dollars. His message popped up in the chat, dripping with absolute arrogance. "She won't last the Grace Period." "Once she realizes I am not going to coax her this time, she will naturally come back." I stared at the glowing screen, my heart completely numb. I took a taxi to the gritty edge of the city, arriving at a dusty, abandoned safehouse that had once belonged to my parents. The air inside was thick, heavy with the scent of stale mildew and neglect. I spent the entire afternoon scrubbing the scuffed floors, putting my sparse luggage away piece by piece. That evening, a direct message from Lorenzo popped up on my screen. "Family dinner tomorrow night at the ancestral mansion. Be there at seven. You need to formally hand over your duties to Gianna." I calmly washed my blistered hands, slipped into a simple black dress the next day, and called a car. The ancestral mansion loomed like a massive stone fortress in the hills. I walked into the grand dining room and immediately stopped dead in my tracks. Gianna was sitting in my chair. It was the Consort's seat, directly to Lorenzo's right—the seat I had occupied for seven years as his loyal wife. Donna Isabella, Lorenzo's mother, sat at the opposite end of the long mahogany table. She wore a stiff, high-collared silk blouse and looked at me with absolute, unfiltered disdain. "Sit down there, Serena," Donna Isabella commanded, pointing a bony, jewel-encrusted finger toward the far end of the table, right near the swinging kitchen doors. "Gianna is officially joining the Family. You know the rules here, teach her first." I walked over with my head held high and took the empty seat. The wood was hard and deliberately uncomfortable. Lorenzo picked up a heavy, leather-bound book from the table and tossed it carelessly down in front of me. It was the Family's master ledger of alliances and tribute gifts. "Tutor Gianna," Lorenzo ordered, leaning back in his chair with arrogant ease. "Show her how to act like a Don's wife." Gianna folded her manicured hands on the table and gave me a wide, sickeningly innocent smile. "I am so eager to learn, Serena. What kind of gifts does Mother like? And what tea does the Consigliere drink?" Lorenzo sat beside her, looking like he was enjoying watching me being forced to teach someone else how to replace me. Donna Isabella motioned sharply to one of the maids. The maid scurried over, bringing a crystal decanter of vintage red wine. She poured the very first glass and handed it directly to Gianna. It was the First Pour. A sacred Family ritual meant only for the recognized woman of the house. Gianna held the crystal glass, her face flushing as she looked at Lorenzo. "Can I call them Mother and Father, just like Serena did?" Lorenzo did not even look at me. He simply smiled and said, "Of course." Everyone waited for me to stop them, but Lorenzo instead pushed his own empty glass toward me. "You are the most familiar with the etiquette, Serena. Show her how to serve the wine." I picked up the heavy silver decanter, poured the dark liquid into his glass without uttering a single word, and sat back down. "You don't need to ask me anymore." The cruel smirk on Lorenzo's lips faded slightly. "Don't use silence as your new weapon." "The more you pretend not to care, the more it proves you are just waiting for me to coax you." Dinner was finally served, and the entire Family surrounded Gianna with conversation. The maids brought out large, steaming silver bowls. The very first dish placed in front of me was a rich, creamy lobster bisque. My throat tightened in sheer panic. The entire Family knew I had a severe, life-threatening allergy to shellfish for seven years. I looked up at Donna Isabella. She was busy cutting her steak, ignoring my gaze completely. A moment later, Gianna let out a soft, delicate sigh. "Oh, there is truffle oil in this risotto. I really dislike truffles." Donna Isabella snapped her fingers immediately. "Take this back to the kitchen. Remake the entire course for Gianna." The maids scrambled frantically to clear the bowls. I sat in dead silence, staring down at my empty, dangerous plate. When the agonizing dinner was over, the photographer arrived for the traditional Family portrait. Everyone gathered in front of the massive, roaring fireplace. Donna Isabella turned her cold eyes to me. "Take off the Matriarch's ruby bangle, Serena. Let Gianna wear it for a few minutes so the photo looks complete." I looked down at my wrist. The heavy, antique gold and ruby bangle had been given to me on my wedding day. I had worn it every single day for seven years. Before I could even speak, Lorenzo stepped directly in front of me and grabbed my wrist. He slowly pulled the bangle downward. The metal scraped harshly over my bone, bruising my knuckles and leaving an angry red scratch down my pale skin. He only checked to see if the rubies were chipped, then personally slid the priceless heirloom onto Gianna's wrist. "Just lower your head and apologize. Once this is over, I will naturally give it back to you." The photographer called for everyone to squeeze together. Gianna stood right next to Lorenzo. The rest of the relatives shifted, physically edging me backward shoulder by shoulder, until I was completely pushed out of the camera's frame. The blinding flash went off. I pulled my phone out of my pocket, opened the group chat settings, and silently left the encrypted network that had accompanied me for seven years.

Serena's POV I was navigating the cracked sidewalk toward a local pharmacy when my phone vibrated against my palm. It was a text from Lorenzo. "Do you really have to make things look this ugly? Leaving the network makes the Family look bad." "When you come begging to come back, do not expect me to coax you like I used to." I locked the screen, shoved the phone into my pocket, and pushed open the smudged glass doors of the pharmacy. I just needed to buy basic groceries and a bottle of cheap painkillers for the throbbing bruise blooming across my knuckles. I placed my meager items on the counter and handed the cashier my sleek black credit card. The machine beeped—a harsh, discordant tone of rejection. "Declined," the cashier said, barely looking at me with dead, tired eyes. I frowned, a cold knot tightening in my stomach. "Try it again, please." She swiped it again. The same harsh beep echoed through the quiet aisle. Stepping out of line, I quickly opened my banking app. Every single offshore account linked to the Family had been frozen. Another text from Lorenzo popped onto my screen. "You want to play the independent woman? Fund your own survival from today on." "Do not try to test me with the joint accounts again." I turned off my phone, offering him no explanation, nor did I demand he restore my access. It was day fifteen of the Grace Period. Exactly halfway through. I had not gone back to the estate, nor had I asked Lorenzo for a single dime. Yet, Lorenzo told his friends in the group chat that I was waiting for him to bow his head first. Later, he had someone notify me that some of my mother's jewelry and personal items were still at the estate, telling me to come pick them up. When I walked into the grand living room, I stopped dead in my tracks. The cavernous room was filled with the friends who had participated in the betting ring over the years. There was no jewelry waiting for me. Instead, sitting squarely in the center of the room was a massive projector screen, fine wine, and a cake that read: "Fourth Year Settlement." Lorenzo sat in the center of the sofa, smiling as he asked me to watch the videos of the past three years first. In the first clip, I was crying, tearing a fake severance decree to shreds, while Lorenzo stood beside me, laughing with his men. In the second clip, Gianna was sitting directly beside Lorenzo, asking if she could be the new Donna, while I begged him to stop with red, swollen eyes. In the third clip, I was having a severe panic attack while Lorenzo's Fixer publicly read another fake decree. The Capos were reviewing the footage like a sports match. They laughed, discussing the exact minutes I broke down each year, guessing which day I would cry and beg Lorenzo this time. Lorenzo kept his eyes fixed on my face. He was waiting for me to lose control like I always did. I turned around to leave, and only then did he speak, his voice a slow, dangerous drawl. "You are acting well this year." "In the past, you would at least cry and ask if I still loved you." "Now, you even save your tears." I asked him, "Are the videos finished?" Thinking I was finally about to yield, he pressed the remote and slid a formal declaration toward me. "As long as you admit in front of everyone that you love me so much you lost your dignity, and that you voluntarily participated in all these games, I will withdraw the severance." The declaration read: "I love Lorenzo so much I lost my dignity, and I voluntarily participated in the marital games of the past three years." "Gianna has never interfered in my marriage, nor has she ever stolen my place." "I filed for severance simply because I cannot accept losing the game." Right on cue, Gianna sat beside him, offering a sickeningly soft, faux-concerned advice. "Lorenzo, maybe Serena really took the joke too seriously." Lorenzo just let out a harsh laugh. "If she really wanted to leave, she wouldn't care so much about what others think." "She isn't crying now because she is waiting for me to coax her in front of everyone." He pointed to the signature line at the bottom of the declaration. "Sign it." "Admit that you just couldn't afford to lose, and I will give you a way out."