Wed To The Mafia, Wedded To Revenge Chapter 10

Wed To The Mafia, Wedded To Revenge Chapter 10

We walked out of the cemetery, and Cassian spoke my name again. I stopped moving.

He stepped forward and wrapped his arms gently around me.

“I still do not want a divorce.”

“I have thought long and hard these past few days. You are right. This marriage was built on a transaction from the start, thanks to old Mr. Moreau’s debt. You chased me for five years, even if your reasons were not genuine. Yet I grew to care for you. After marrying you, I left you alone and focused solely on the business.”

“I always assumed you would stay by my side. I failed to see that grief had trapped you for a decade. This marriage has become another cage for you. I will not hold you prisoner any longer. I agree to the divorce.”

“But will you give me one chance? Let us start over from the beginning.”

I listened to every word he said. I had never seen Cassian beg for anything before.

“Cassian,” I said gently, “I plan to leave New York.”

I had never loved managing business or running a company. Grief and revenge had blinded me for years, stealing my ability to paint the beauty of the world. Now I wanted to travel and try to live again.

His body stiffened completely in my arms.

I pulled away and brushed my fingers lightly over his red eyes.

“Find happiness elsewhere.”

We returned to the city, and Cassian handed me the revised divorce papers. He had rewritten nearly every clause, all favoring me. If we filed for the official divorce decree in two months, I would gain half ownership of Moreau Group.

Still, he refused to stay away.

While I worked to hand over De Santis Group affairs, Cassian waited for me outside my building every single day. He greeted me morning and night, showering me with endless gifts—small trinkets from street vendors and priceless diamond jewelry alike.

He seemed determined to make up for every moment we had lost over the past ten years.

Two months passed quickly. We received our divorce decree, and I finished arranging the handover of the company.

I visited the old Catholic church one final time before leaving the city. Cassian came with me.

Father Silas smiled kindly.

“Well you keep the candle burning, Ms. De Santis?”

I nodded slowly.

“This will be the last time.”

“May God watch over you,” the priest said warmly.

We walked outside the church. Cassian broke the silence first.

“Dorian told me you prayed for me after my car accident.”

“I hope everything goes well for you on your journey.”

I held the candle between my fingers and smiled at him.

“It will.”

The weather was perfect on the day I left. I boarded a flight bound for Milan.

I stared out the window at the endless clouds soaring above the city and felt the urge to paint the view.

Four years passed. I traveled across the globe, wandering from place to place and painting whatever caught my eye.

No matter where I went, gifts from Cassian always arrived shortly after me—local travel guides, unique curiosities, and sometimes even himself.

I eventually asked him to stop sending things. He agreed to my face, but the packages kept coming.

I began sending small sketches back to him as a way to return the favor. Tiny simple drawings required little effort.

Cassian posted the first sketch he received to his Instagram and left it up for three full days. As more drawings arrived, he set them as his profile pictures and backgrounds across all his social media accounts.

Before my final art exhibition in Paris, a reporter asked if I planned to change my artistic style.

I thought for a moment before answering.

“I have painted portraits before. One was of Matteo. Another is a gift I sent to someone special. I believe he has received it by now.”

My flight from Paris landed back in New York. I pulled my luggage through the arrivals hall and spotted a familiar figure waiting for me.

He walked forward quickly to take my suitcase, just as he had done four years prior.

“You’re home.”

I nodded.

“I’m home.”