Chapter2

The next morning at seven, when I came downstairs, the estate was already awake.

Two armed guards stood at attention outside the dining room, low radio chatter coming from the end of the hallway.

Vito Russo sat at the head of the long table, suit impeccable, with last night's port cargo manifests and family internal communications spread before him.

He glanced up at me, gaze sharp and composed.

"Sit."

Same tone as always.

As if last night he hadn't announced in our bed that he was marrying another mafia heir.

I pulled out a chair and sat, didn't touch the coffee.

He scrolled through the tablet screen showing the family's territorial control map.

"The engagement party is next Friday." He said. "You'll arrange the proceedings."

"You know family banquets best," he said. "Seat guests by power structure. Eastern European families sit right of the head table. Limit media to two outlets. Fireworks launch from the port simultaneously."

Fireworks.

My throat tightened. "You just told me last night you want a divorce."

"Proceedings need advance preparation," he said. "Isabella likes details."

The first time he'd said her name so naturally in front of me.

I stared at him. "Have you considered my feelings?"

He glanced at me like assessing risk.

"Ailin, this engagement affects the port's weapons lines for the next decade."

"I asked about feelings."

He was silent for a second.

"Feelings don't solve problems."

I suddenly laughed.

Three years ago, the day we registered our marriage, there was no party.

He said too much attention would attract federal scrutiny.

I wore a simple white dress, signed papers in a lawyer's office.

Publicly, he only called me a financial consultant.

At family dinners, I sat at a side table.

He never walked me into the great hall holding my hand.

And now—

"She gets whatever she wants?" I asked.

"She deserves a public ceremony," he said.

Those words landed, and my chest went cold.

"A public ceremony?" I repeated.

"Her status is different," his tone was level. "She's the sole heir of the Kovac family. She needs dignity."

"What about me?" I stared at him. "I stabilized your port for three years, laundered all your accounts. What's my status?"

"You know what the situation was then," he said. "Making you public would have weakened my negotiating position in the West Side."

"Making her public now won't weaken it?"

"She brings the weapons line," he said. "Greater value."

Value.

I finally heard clearly how he measured me.

The phone rang.

He glanced at the screen, his expression immediately softening.

"Good morning."

Voice low and warm.

I remembered those first few months of marriage—he'd handle documents every morning with a cold face, never this tender.

"Did you sleep well last night?" he asked the phone.

I heard Isabella laugh.

"The jewelry's been delivered to you?" he continued. "If you don't like it I'll get something else. For the engagement night I've arranged fireworks along the entire river, from the port all the way downtown. You'll stand on the balcony and see the whole city light up."

The entire river.

The whole city.

I remembered our wedding day when he'd told me: "Keep it low-key, safer for us."

I'd nodded then.

I thought it was protection.

Now I understood it was just differentiation.

"You're too much," she laughed.

"Worth it for you," he said.

He said it without hesitation.

After hanging up, his expression returned to cold composure.

"I need the guest list in three days," he said.

I stared at him.

"In three years, you never once called me your wife in public."

He didn't refute it.

"At family dinners, I sat at side tables. When you introduced me, you only said I handled accounts."

"That was strategy," he said.

Now he was willing to let her stand center stage at the head table.

He'd never lit fireworks for me.

Every word reminded me of the difference between her and me.

She was worth going public.

She was worth fireworks.

She was worth citywide celebration.

I was worth discretion and secrecy.

My throat tightened.

"Vito, I'm still your wife."

"The divorce papers are already with the lawyers," he said. "Just a matter of time."

"You just told me last night you're marrying someone else, and today you want me to arrange the party?"

He closed the tablet, his gaze bearing down.

"Ailin, Isabella's family can give us the entire Eastern European smuggling corridor. You know what that means."

"It means I should cooperate?"

"It means you should understand." His voice was low. "You've always been rational. That's why I chose you in the first place."

Chose.

In the Russo family that word had only one meaning—utility value.

"You chose me because I could launder your money?" I lowered my voice. "Now you're choosing her because she can run guns for you?"

He frowned. "Don't be emotional."

"Emotional?" I couldn't help but laugh. "You want me to stand below stage, watch you walk her into the hall, and you want me calm?"

He leaned back in his chair, hands clasped.

The posture he used when assessing subordinates at meetings.

"Listen carefully," he said. "The divorce is just formality. I can allocate part of West Side Dock One jurisdiction to you. Or make your logistics line completely independent. You'll still be in this circle."

"You think I'm talking about territory?"

"I'm talking about reality," his gaze was cold and hard. "In this world, position is more valuable than feelings."

"Reality is, you want me in the front row watching you put a ring on her finger."

"You'll attend as 'former wife,'" he said. "Public blessing. Let all the families see we separated with dignity, no internal fractures."

I stared at him.

"You call that dignity?"

"I call it controlling the situation," he said. "I can't let the outside world think the Russo family is internally imbalanced."

I looked at this man.

He could decide a traitor's fate in five minutes.

He could also decide the end of my marriage at the same breakfast table.

"So when are you planning to tell the media our marriage was a transaction?"

His expression darkened slightly.

"That kind of talk is unnecessary."

"Unnecessary for you. What about me?"

He was silent for a second, then spoke.

"This marriage helped both of us. You got status, I got stability."

"Status?" I shot back. "You brought me to banquets, only called me a business partner. You let everyone think I was just a financial consultant."

"Making your identity public then would have affected negotiations."

"And now it won't?"

"Now her identity has more value."

Said plainly.

Power again.

"What if I refuse to attend?"

His gaze sharpened, voice dropping.

"The port system keys are in my hands. All account signatures are under my name. You can't leave this circle."

This was the godfather's warning.

What he gave her was affection.

What he gave me was warning.

I sat there, suddenly realizing something.

Every dollar of dirty money I'd laundered for him, every federal investigation I'd suppressed, every dock I'd stabilized—all of it had been paving the way for today.

The port I'd desperately stabilized was his gift for her.

I'd polished the empire clean.

He was taking it to marry someone else.

He was willing to light up the city for her.

Yet he'd never once acknowledged my identity.

"I'll arrange the proceedings," I said slowly.

He looked at me as if relieved.

"I knew you were rational."

Rational.

I stood up, picked up my phone.

"Assistant." I connected to the encrypted line. "Organize all port fund flows from the past two years. Including weapons prepayment accounts."

"Now?"

"Now."

Since he was willing to make everything public for her—

I should see who really propped up this city for him.