The Donna Who Vanished from the Portrait Chapter 01

The Donna Who Vanished from the Portrait Chapter 01

For over a century, only three people could stand at the center of the Moretti family portrait.

So when the painter arrived, Don Adrian Moretti gave the places beside him to Elena and her daughter, Sophie.

The Consigliere hesitated.

“My Don, where will your wife be placed?”

Adrian barely looked at me.

“Margaret is already my wife. One painting will make no difference to her.”

In my past life, that portrait hung in the Moretti estate for ten years.

Every guest who saw it believed Elena was the true Donna.

Even on my deathbed, Adrian only promised he’d add me to the painting “once I recovered.”

Then I opened my eyes.

I was back before the first brushstroke.

Elena smiled. “Margaret, come help me fix my skirt.”

This time, I didn’t move.

I slipped off my diamond wedding band and placed it in Adrian’s palm.

“I no longer wish to be the Don’s wife.”

……

The ring landed in his hand. His thick eyelashes flickered, almost too faint to notice.

Silence crashed over the room. Every pair of eyes locked onto us.

He glanced down at the ring, said nothing, and reached to drape my slipping shawl back over my shoulders.

“Just another fit.” His thumb brushed slow across my collarbone, a chilling brand of tenderness. “It is only a portrait. You remain my wife, my irreplaceable Donna.”

He tucked the ring into the pocket of his tailored suit. “Once this family portrait is finished, I’ll commission a separate portrait just for you. It will hang inside our private quarters.”

He would surrender the spotlight of the great hall to Elena, and offer me private consolation in return.

Ten years ago, I might have convinced myself that was enough.

Now I held his gaze unflinching. “I’ll ask you only once. If I insist on being in this family portrait, what will you do?”

Elena gathered her skirt, her eyes glistening. “Adrian, Margaret is your legal wife…”

Adrian’s brows drew tight. “You and your daughter have only just been recognized by this family. People are already talking. If you don’t stand beside me in this painting, they will believe the Morettis are ashamed of you.”

He turned back toward me, his tone softening marginally. “You know the old family rules. You are my wife. Can you not make room for a newly welcomed member?”

The elderly painter stood motionless, brush clamped in his grip. He painted only by the Moretti family’s age-old customs.

In a century-old portrait hanging in the estate, the Don’s right side belonged to his wife. The child at his feet represented the next generation of heirs.

Once Elena and Sophie were immortalized on canvas, every Capo, every ally, every enemy would accept them as the true mistress and heir of Moretti.

Adrian understood this perfectly. He simply believed my marriage license carried greater weight. Honors that could be seen meant nothing to him—they could be handed away without consequence.

Suddenly Sophie pressed a hand to her forehead, her voice small. “This diamond tiara hurts my head… it really aches…”

Adrian dropped to his knees at once. He lifted the tiara from her hair and brushed his fingertips over the red indentation pressed into her skin.

“Why did you not say it hurt? Who were you trying to impress by enduring it?”

I stared at him.

Seven years ago, on our wedding night, a gem-studded hairpin had sliced open my scalp. Blood had run down my neck.

I had whispered that it hurt.

Adrian had only glanced out over the ballroom full of guests. “Bear it a little longer. Everyone is waiting.”

He knew exactly how to be gentle. My pain had never been enough to make him pause.

The Consigliere returned with the evening’s schedule and asked whether I would still receive guests in my capacity as Donna.

Adrian answered for me. “Of course. The portrait is one matter. Your duties are quite another.”

I took the printed schedule from his hand and set it back down on the silver tray.

“If I’m not the Donna in the portrait, why should I fulfill the Donna’s obligations?”

His expression finally darkened.

“You hold the title of Donna, yet you quarrel with a woman who has no title and no standing. Isn’t that beneath you?”

He reached out, one arm looping around my waist, pulling me close until our faces nearly touched for quiet words.

“Do you want me to come to our rooms and soothe you tonight? Just say the word. Don’t drag Grandmother and all our guests into this.”

I pushed his arm away and headed upstairs.

Adrian didn’t even glance after me. He gave the household staff his order:

“Leave her alone.”

At two o’clock in the morning, the doorknob turned.