The Day My Don Got Sick, I Took His Empire Chapter 08

The Day My Don Got Sick, I Took His Empire Chapter 08

The first thing I did after taking over Bellandi Holdings was handle Lena.

She thought she’d be protected. She cried in the hospital and on the phone. Said she was a victim too. Said she just loved Dante too much. Insisted the Bellandis wouldn’t let her be destroyed.

But the medical process had already started.

Her records. Her contact lists. Her whereabouts over the last three years. All pulled up.

Private clubs. Underground parties. Casino VIP rooms. The men who sent her money.

The innocent-student persona she’d built for so long finally cracked.

Three days later, a video started spreading in small circles.

Lena, drunk at a private club, barely standing. Surrounded by married rich men. Leaning on one of them, laughing. Nothing left of the poor girl Don was protecting.

Then a second video. A third. They appeared one after another.

Then someone filed a formal complaint against her, alleging that she was fully aware of her health issues yet continued to engage in risky sexual behavior with multiple partners.

The investigation has been officially opened.

Lena broke down. That night, she called me, her voice sharp and hysterical.

“Vivienne, you did this to me! You leaked all of it!”

I stood in the Bellandi Holdings penthouse and looked down at Chicago at night.

“Lena, wasn’t Dante what you always wanted?”

“Now everyone knows you’re his.”

“You should thank me.”

She screamed on the other end of the line. So I just hung up.

The next day, Celia rolled a filing cabinet to my desk.

Three rows. Every file numbered.

Dante’s women over the years. Dates. Locations. Bank transfers. Chat logs. Medical records. All there.

I didn’t release them all at once.

The knife hurts more when it falls one blade at a time.

First week: a female streamer who built her image on innocence got exposed for breaking up a marriage. Brands dropped her. Her livestream channel was shut down overnight.

Second week: a politician’s wife received an anonymous evidence package. Her ties to Dante’s circle. Several shady payments to a private club.

Third week: an “independent woman” influencer was revealed to have been funded by a sugar daddy for years. Her team dissolved. Her account wiped clean overnight.

A rumor started in the inner circles.

Any woman Dante Bellandi has been with is finished.

When Dante saw the news in his hospital room, his hands shook so badly he could barely hold his phone.

He finally understood. When I said I’d “keep it quiet,” I never meant protecting his lovers.

That day, for the first time since his diagnosis, he exploded at me. Threw his water glass against the floor. Shards scattered by the bed.

“Did you do this?”

I stood beside the bed and looked at the broken glass.

“Evidence?”

Dante’s eyes were red. He couldn’t say it.

I leaned down and looked at the Don who once made Chicago bow.

“Dante, I didn’t do this to you.”

“You slept your own life away.”

His chest heaved. “Vivienne… you’re ruthless.”

I stood straight, calm.

“You just found out?”

I pressed the call button. When the nurse came, I said, “Don Bellandi is emotionally unstable. Please keep an eye on him.”

Then I turned and walked out.

Behind me laid his broken cup.

And his broken Bellandi empire.