Chapter 4

Three days later, I discovered something else.

Vincent's grandmother's ring was gone.

It was a vintage emerald—passed down through generations of the Colonna family. Only the Don's wife was permitted to wear it.

On the day he proposed, Vincent had placed it on my finger and told me: this ring represents the Colonna family's highest recognition of a partner.

I searched the entire estate.

I found it on Lena's social media.

A close-up of a slender hand—deep red nails, and the emerald ring I would have recognized a million times over.

The caption was a single word: Mine.

I found Vincent.

"You gave that ring to Lena?"

He was reading documents and didn't look up.

"I just let her borrow it for a few days. She likes vintage jewelry, so I let her try it on."

"Don't make a big deal out of nothing, Isabella."

Borrow?

The Colonna family matriarch's heirloom, lent to an outsider?

Word spread through the Family.

The old consigliere, Alfonso, was silent for an entire day. Finally, he came to me in private, struggling to find words.

"Signora… if the old Donna were still alive, she would never have allowed this."

I knew.

But the ring was on Lena's hand, and Vincent saw no issue.

This wasn't about jewelry.

This was about identity.

This was a declaration.

The marriage still existed.

But it was nothing more than a hollow shell.

A shell that needed to be destroyed.

· · ·

Everything detonated on a Sunday afternoon.

My father, Don Ambrosi, and my mother, Margherita, had just returned from Europe. The whole family was together for once, gathered around the long table in the estate dining room.

Ella was curled up in her grandmother's arms. I had cooked four dishes by hand.

Vincent sat at the head of the table and, for once, stayed through the entire meal.

Then the doorbell rang.

Lena walked in wearing a white dress, a stack of documents in her hand, and a bright smile on her face.

She surveyed the people at the table and let her gaze settle on Vincent.

"Vincent, you said you'd give me forty percent of Colonna Group's shares. Let's sign the papers now."

Then she glanced at me, her smile edged with thorns.

"Isabella upset my parents the other day. Consider this compensation—I can accept that."

I set down my fork.

"You're giving her the Family's shares?"

My father set down his wine glass. His eyes went dark.

"Vincent. What is this?"

A flicker of panic crossed Vincent's face before the impassive mask of the Don slid back into place.

"Lena has given a great deal for this Family. A share of the equity as a reward is only fair."

I crushed the napkin in my fist.

"Those are Colonna family assets. You're just giving them away without even discussing it with me?"

Vincent's expression hardened.

"Family business is my domain. You take care of the child."

I stared at him.

The man I had loved for fifteen years. In that moment, he was a complete stranger.

My parents were about to speak when Lena placed a second document on the table.

This time, the smile on her face had shifted—no longer sweet, but triumphant.

"Since everyone's here, I'll just lay it all out."

She looked at Vincent, then at me. Her voice carried a kind of cruel tenderness.

"I'm carrying Vincent's child."

Dead silence around the table.

Lena ran her hand over her belly, then looked up at Ella.

"Sweetheart, how about Mommy gives you a little brother or sister?"

She bent down and poked Ella's cheek.

"Pretty soon, I'll be your new mommy."

I stood. I walked to Lena. I placed both hands on her shoulders and pushed her back.

Not with hysteria. Not with a scream.

I simply pushed her away—calm, clean, final.

Then I turned to Vincent.

He sat at the head of the table. He said nothing.

I waited for him to speak. Waited for him to deny it. Waited for him to say it wasn't true.

He opened his mouth. What came out was—

"Let's discuss this in private."

Four words.

Not a denial. Not an explanation. Not outrage.

Avoidance.

In that moment, the marriage died.

My mother was shaking with fury. She stormed over to Lena.

"How dare you! Standing there brazen as the day is long—the other woman, and proud of it!"

"Isabella and Vincent were childhood sweethearts. This marriage was arranged by both our families with our own hands—who do you think you are? Get out!"

Lena took the slap, hand pressed to her cheek, but there wasn't an ounce of fear in her eyes.

"Vincent came to me first. I'm only pursuing my own love. At your age, Signora, maybe stay out of the young people's affairs."

My mother was too enraged to speak.

My father steadied her. His gaze swept over Vincent like a blade of ice.

"Clean up this mess. Then you can come see me and your mother-in-law."

He scooped up the crying Ella, not sparing Lena so much as a glance—as though stepping past a piece of garbage.

At the door, he rested a hand on my shoulder, his voice low.

"The Ambrosi family will always have your back. But if he doesn't deserve you—you can come home."

· · ·

The living room fell silent.

I placed the divorce papers—already prepared—in front of Vincent.

"Sign. We're done."

Vincent seized my wrist.

"Isa, listen to me. She and I—I never meant to divorce you—"

I pried his fingers away, one by one.

"Your heart left a long time ago, Vincent."

"I don't want to do this anymore. Let me go."

He didn't sign.

But I no longer cared.

That night, I took Ella with me.

I took my family's thirty-five percent share certificates.

Through my lawyer, I issued a formal declaration of divorce.

Then—

I picked up the phone and called my father.

"Dad. Pull every cent of support we've given the Colonna family."

Then I dialed another number—old Capo Marcello.

This was the man who, ten years ago, had presided over our wedding—a figure of the highest standing in the Family.

"Uncle Marcello, the Don has been… getting softer lately."

A few seconds of silence on the other end. Then a sigh.

"I understand, child."

After I hung up, I stood at the floor-to-ceiling window of my apartment, gazing out at the distant lights of the Colonna estate.

I spoke into the darkness, barely above a whisper.

"If he chose war over me…"

"I'll show him what real war looks like."