30 Days Before Divorce: Mafia Don’s Regret Can’t Win Me Back Chapter 05

30 Days Before Divorce: Mafia Don’s Regret Can’t Win Me Back Chapter 05

Elena never looked at him again.

In the end, he stood up and left, defeated.

On his way out, he accidentally knocked over the trash can by the front desk. Then he bent down in a fluster to set it right.

When Elena got to this part of the story, she let out a quiet sigh. “He looked like he’d been crying.”

I held a cup of warm milk, taking a slow sip.

I didn’t say anything.

That same day, Andrea went to my parents’ house.

My mom told me about it later on the phone.

“He just stood outside the security door, knocking for fifteen minutes.”

My father sat in the living room without making a sound.

Finally, my mom went to answer.

She didn’t open the door wide enough to let him in. Just a crack, and one sentence: “This isn’t your home.”

Then she shut it again.

Later she peeked through the peephole.

He stood downstairs for a long time after that.

When she finished telling me all this, I was quiet for a moment.

“Mom, don’t let him find out where I live.”

“Don’t worry!” she said, with a firmness I rarely heard from her.

After I hung up, I stood on the balcony for a while.

Late November in western Vomero. No biting wind like at the estate in Caserta. Just a dry chill in the air.

That heaviness settled over my body again.

Thirty-four weeks. Six more to go.

The last checkup said everything looked good.

The doctor said the baby was in a good position. If things went smoothly, a natural delivery was possible.

I placed my hand on my belly. Through the soft knit fabric, I could feel the baby hiccupping.

One little tremor after another.

Steady and warm. The most reassuring sound I’d ever heard.

Day eighteen.

AURA Consulting Group signed its first project.

A shipping route plan for a family operation. The budget wasn’t huge. Three hundred thousand.

But for a company that had been registered for eighteen days, it was more than enough.

Elena had met with seven different family representatives to land this deal.

By the time she got back to the office, her heels were nearly worn flat.

“The family rep said they’d heard about the arms shipping route plan you did for the Camorra family.”

“Said it was incredibly professional. Asked for you by name.”

I flipped open the project brief and smiled.

That plan was from two years ago.

Back then, the Camorra family in Caserta had just secured partnership rights with the east side docks.

But three rounds of proposed arms shipping routes had all been rejected by the dock operators over security concerns.

Andrea stormed back to the estate and slammed the files on the table.

“Is there no one in this entire family who can put together a decent plan?”

I picked up the files and read them for twenty minutes.

“Your strategy is flawed,” I said.

That night, I worked until three in the morning, rewriting the entire proposal from scratch.

The next day, Andrea took my version to the meeting.

Approved in a single round.

He came home in high spirits, threw a celebration dinner with the family’s core members.

At the dinner, he raised his glass. “Thank you all for your hard work.”

Everyone. But not me.

Late that night, after all his men had gone, he was a little drunk.

He draped his arm around my shoulders and mumbled, “Thanks, babe.”

Then he passed out on the couch.

That was the last time he ever said thank you to me.

After that project, he never brought another proposal home for me to look over.

But his Underboss, Riccardo, knew the truth.