The Donna Left, The Don Went Crazy Chapter 07

The Donna Left, The Don Went Crazy Chapter 07

Elena collapsed to the floor, scrambling backward. “Don, let me explain… I was forced… they threatened me…”

His mother walked in cold-faced and slammed a thick stack of documents and photos into Elena’s face.

The photos scattered everywhere-proof of her meeting with the rival family, selling intelligence, and the forensic report from the shooting six months ago, clearly showing it was all staged with actors and props.

“Explain?” Alexander stepped on her hand as she tried to reach for the photos-the same hand she used to play the piano to

seduce him.

He applied pressure, listening to the sound of metacarpals crushing, feeling not a ripple of emotion.

“Ah-! My hand! Don, please… I was wrong…” Elena screamed shrilly, rolling on the ground in agony.

He crouched down, gripping her chin, forcing her to look into his bloodshot eyes.

“You used these hands to play for me, used these hands to plot against Ivy, and used these hands to sell out the Family.” His voice was soft, like a lover’s whisper, but it carried the chill of hell. “Since these hands are so dirty, you don’t need them anymore.”

He stood up and took a sledgehammer from a bodyguard.

“No! No! Alexander! I love you! I really love you!”

He swung the hammer down without hesitation.

Once. Twice. Three times.

He didn’t stop until her hands were a mangled mess of flesh and bone, unrecognizable.

Elena passed out from the pain, lying on the floor like a dead dog.

He threw aside the bloody hammer, panting heavily, but the void in his heart only grew larger.

His mother watched it all coldly and ordered the bodyguards, “Drag her out and feed her to the dogs. Clean up the mess.”

She walked up to him, her eyes complex. “So what if you cleaned house? Ivy is already gone.”

Alexander froze. He stumbled out of the interrogation room, pulling out his phone and frantically dialing Ivy’s number.

Off. It was off.

At that moment, the phone vibrated. It was a text message from the lawyer:

[Mr. Alexander, your divorce proceedings with Ms. Ivy have been officially finalized.]

The hand holding the phone began to tremble. A panic he had never known gripped his heart.

She really didn’t want him anymore.

He floored the gas pedal, the sports car roaring screamingly along the winding mountain road.

Like a madman, he kept telling himself: Impossible. That woman, Ivy, can’t survive without me.

This must be another one of her little tricks. Just like before, as long as I go home, coax her a little, give her two diamonds, she’ll obediently tear up the divorce agreement and throw herself into my arms.

“Damn it, Alexander, you really went too far this time,” he muttered to himself, trying to suppress the fatal panic rising in his chest “I’ll get on my knees if I have to, just as long as she stops this nonsense.”

The car screeched to a halt at the manor gates.

He stumbled into the main hall, shouting, “Ivy! Baby! I’m back! We need to talk!”

No one answered.

Only a deathly silence and the hollow echo of his own voice welcomed him.

The paintings she liked in the living room, the flowers she arranged personally, even the cashmere blanket she usually used- everything was gone.

The entire manor was so clean it looked as if he had never been married.

“Ivy?” The sound stuck in his throat. He felt the blood in his body flowing backward.

His gaze fell on the coffee table. Two lonely items sat there.

A signed “Declaration of Secession from the Family,” and… an ultrasound slip torn in half.

He walked over with trembling hands.

On that slip, only a blurry little black dot remained, stinging his eyes.

And on the edge of the paper, there was a smear of dried, dark red blood.

It was her blood.

It was the blood left there in her despair when he had forced the doctors to drain her to save that bitch Elena.

“Ah-!!!”

His knees gave out, and he crashed heavily to the floor, letting out a guttural roar like a dying beast.

Like a lunatic, he pressed the bloodstained paper to his chest, tears and mucus covering his face.

Gone.

His wife was gone. His child was gone. His home was gone.

Alexander, you truly deserve to die, he thought.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the European continent.

A private jet touched down at the most secretive private airfield in Sicily.

The cabin door opened, and dozens of bodyguards in black suits, armed with concealed weapons, bowed in unison, perfectly synchronized. “Welcome home, Princess.”

Ivy, her heels clicking on the stairs, walked down the ramp with an icy demeanor.

This was no ordinary wealthy family. This was the fortress of the Rainier family-the oldest, bloodiest Mafia dynasty in Europe. And she was the apple of their eye, the Principessa who had been missing for three years.

In the great hall, Ivy’s father-the old Rainier Godfather-sat on a high-backed red velvet chair that symbolized supreme power, polishing his antique pistol.

Her brother, Vincent, the current Underboss and enforcer of the family, sat nearby, smoking a cigar with a dark expression.

Seeing Ivy’s pale face and the scars on her wrists, Vincent crushed the whiskey glass in his hand.

“Damn Alexander.” Vincent gritted his teeth, his blue eyes-so similar to Ivy’s-burning with hellfire. “He dared to use my sister as a blood bag? And he killed your child for a low-life whore?”