Matteo

Last night was a clusterfuck of epic proportions. I’m sitting at this breakfast table feeling like I just got hit by a truck driven by my own stupidity.

“They disrespected me, Mother!” I slam my coffee cup down hard enough to make the fine china scream. “In front of everyone. Her father slapped me like I was some two-bit street punk, and Dad just stood there like he was watching a fucking opera.”

“And Dad didn’t do anything!” The words come out strangled because, honestly, I’m still processing the fact that my own father basically shrugged and said ‘you had it coming.’ “Said I deserved it! His own son!”

Mother’s face goes full nuclear meltdown. “I cannot believe that man! He let us treat the mafia princess like dirt! It’s all his fault!”

Right. Everyone’s fault but mine. That’s definitely the narrative we’re going with here.

Anastasia’s been sitting quietly at the end of the table, picking at her fruit like she’s performing surgery. Finally, she speaks up in that careful voice she uses when she thinks she’s being clever.

“Isn’t it a good thing she’s gone? You didn’t love her. You have me now.”

And that’s when something inside me snaps.

“I don’t want love, Anastasia!” The words explode out of me like I’m exorcising demons. “Oh God, how can you be so fucking stupid? I want power! Influence! Connections! Money! Never love!”

Her perfect face crumples like I just told her Santa isn’t real. “But I thought—”

“You thought what? That this was some romantic fairy tale?” I’m really hitting my stride now, three years of frustration pouring out like toxic waste. “You thought I want to marry you for your sparkling personality? Your brilliant conversation skills?”

“Matteo, please—”

“You were supposed to be an upgrade, Anastasia. Better connections, better bloodline, better everything. But you know what? You’re just another pretty face with daddy’s money.”

The tears start, but I’m past caring. “And now I find out the woman I threw away—the woman you all convinced me was worthless—is worth more than this entire fucking family combined.”

“You’re being cruel,” she whispers.

“I’m being honest. Serafina Dorian could buy and sell you ten times over, and I had her. I fucking had her, and I threw her away for what? For you? For this arrangement that means nothing now?”

She’s full-on crying now, mascara running down her cheeks like black rain. “I love you.”

“I don’t care.” The words come out flat, final. “Love doesn’t pay bills or secure alliances or keep families in power. Love is a luxury I can’t afford.”

I storm out of the kitchen, leaving her sobbing into her perfectly arranged breakfast. Mother’s calling my name, but I’m done with this family meeting from hell.

My office feels like a war room. Maps on the walls, files scattered across the desk, the remnants of the empire I thought I was building. I buzz my assistant.

“Marco, get in here.”

Marco appears in thirty seconds, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. Smart man.

“I need the car ready. We’re going to get my wife back.”

“Sir, what wife?”

“The one that matters. The one who’s apparently worth more than Fort Knox and I was too stupid to realize it.”

“Yes, sir. Should I—”

That’s when Father walks in without knocking, carrying a manila folder like it’s a peace treaty. He sets it on my desk with the kind of deliberate care that means bad news is coming.

“What is this?” I ask, but I already know. The way he’s looking at me, the weight of the folder, the timing—it’s all too fucking obvious.

Father’s voice is steady, matter-of-fact, like he’s discussing the weather instead of ending my marriage.

“Divorce paper