Divorcing The Don: I Am Free Now

Lorenzo loved proving to the Underworld how desperately I loved him.

So, on every anniversary, he presented me with fake divorce papers, betting with his Capos on the exact minute I would break down and beg him to stay.

In our first year, he slid the Syndicate Severance Decree across the mahogany table with a cruel smirk. "If you don't care about me, sign it."

I cried and tore the document to shreds.

He pulled me into his arms in front of all his men. "I knew it. You cannot bear to leave me."

In our second year, he let Gianna-his childhood friend and the Consigliere's daughter-sit right beside him.

He looked at my pale face and asked, "What would you do if she actually became the new Donna?"

With red eyes, I begged him to stop playing these twisted games.

He simply kissed my forehead, his voice dripping with arrogant satisfaction. "Look at you. You really cannot live without me."

In our third year, he had his ruthless Syndicate Fixer publicly read another fake decree.

He forced me to declare in front of the entire Family, "I will never leave you, Lorenzo."

His men secretly recorded my traumatic panic attacks.

They cataloged my tears, using my breakdowns to entertain their underground betting ring.

Until our eighth anniversary. The Fixer slid the documents toward me once again.

But this time, the decree was real.

Lorenzo had already signed his name on the dotted line.

Gianna sat intimately close to him, asking in a soft, carrying whisper, "Once this little game is over, can I finally be the Donna?"

Lorenzo looked at me with absolute certainty, waiting for my usual breakdown. "As long as you drop to your knees and beg like you always do, this decree will not take effect."

Everyone in the room held their breath, waiting for me to tear the papers and throw myself into his arms.

Instead, I calmly picked up a black pen and signed my name on the very last page.

The arrogant smile on Lorenzo's face slowly froze.

I pushed the finalized decree back to him and slid the heavy, diamond-encrusted Mafia wedding band off my finger.

"She can stay," I said, my voice eerily steady. "And you can find someone else to prove their love for your sick bets."

Because my love for him was dead.

Chapter 1

Serena's POV

The next morning, the air in the High Commission Tribunal was stale, reeking of old paper and centuries of broken vows.

Lorenzo stood next to me at the polished wooden counter, his jaw tight.

He was watching me intently.

He was waiting for the tears, waiting for me to break down and apologize for embarrassing him in front of his men last night.

The Tribunal official, an older man with a brutally scarred face, took the signed document.

"This initiates the mandatory thirty-day Syndicate Grace Period," the official said, stamping the paper with a heavy thud.

"During this time, the severance can be revoked if both parties agree. If not, on day thirty, the Blood Oath is permanently dissolved."

Lorenzo let out a harsh, mocking laugh as we stepped out of the chambers and onto the busy New York street.

"You will not survive a week without the Family's protection, Serena."

He didn't even look back as he stepped into his waiting armored SUV, the door slamming shut.

The motorcade sped away, leaving me standing alone in the freezing wind.

I took a cab back to the estate. I needed my passports and my late mother's jewelry box.

When I walked through the grand foyer and headed toward the kitchen, the smell of bitter, dark roasted coffee filled the air.

Gianna was standing at the marble island, brewing Lorenzo's espresso.

Lorenzo sat on a barstool, sliding a thick, leather-bound notebook across the counter toward her.

"Learn the ropes," Lorenzo ordered casually.

I recognized that notebook immediately. It was my meticulously handwritten ledger.

It contained seven years of my life.

It detailed Lorenzo's exact security protocols, the specific medical needs for his old gunshot wounds, and the names of every enemy who wanted him dead.

I had spent countless sleepless nights compiling it just to keep him safe.

Now, he was handing my blood and sweat to another woman like it was a cheap instruction manual.

Gianna traced her manicured fingers over the cover.

She looked up and smiled at me, a venomous glint in her eyes.

"Don't worry, Serena," Gianna said softly, flawlessly playing the innocent successor. "I will take good care of him for you."

Lorenzo stood up and gestured for Gianna to follow him. He walked straight into the master suite.

I followed them quietly. I just needed to grab my things from the closet.

But as I walked in, Lorenzo deliberately swept his arm across my vanity.

He knocked my expensive skincare bottles and our framed wedding portrait into a cardboard trash box on the floor.

The glass shattered. The sound was sharp and final.

He wasn't just clearing space.

He was deliberately destroying my territory, violently pushing my boundaries to see how far I would bend.

He walked over to the electronic keypad on the bedroom door.

Grabbing Gianna's hand, he pressed her thumb against the biometric scanner. The lock beeped, turning green.

He handed her a heavy brass spare key.

"This room is yours for now," Lorenzo said, his voice loud, making sure I heard every syllable.

I walked past them to the safe in the closet.

I punched in my code, took out my passports and the velvet jewelry box, and placed them in my tote bag.

I did not look at the shattered photo. I did not shed a single tear.

When I walked back out, Lorenzo was standing in the center of the room.

His arms were crossed over his chest, his dark eyes burning into mine.

He was waiting for me to scream. He was waiting for me to fight Gianna for my place.

I simply walked past him toward the door.

"Are you just going to walk away like a coward?" Lorenzo snapped.

His voice lashed out like a whip, his cruel amusement finally cracking into impatience.

"Don't think playing cold will make me chase after you."

I stopped in the doorway, the cold indifference spreading through my chest forming an impenetrable shield.

"You are overthinking, Lorenzo."