Chapter 1

My wife, Monica, hated the smell of alcohol, so I had never once seen her drink.

Not even at the celebration for my succession as Don did she touch a single drop.

That changed at a Family banquet, when a party game broke out halfway through.

Monica lost. The penalty: sit on the lap of your one true love and share a lovers' toast.

Without a second of hesitation, she picked up her glass, settled onto Dillon's lap, and drank it down.

The room erupted in cheers, and every pair of eyes turned to me with the same expectation.

They were waiting for me to flip the table and storm out.

But I just watched Monica in silence, slid the ring off my finger, and placed a set of divorce papers in front of her.

"Divorce." My voice was flat.

Monica froze for a beat, then let out a scornful laugh. "All because I didn't drink with you?"

"Exactly. That's why."

I pushed the papers a little closer.

Chapter 1

The atmosphere in the room shifted to something strange.

Monica took a deep breath, glanced at the papers, and said, "Put those away."

"Don't pick a fight with me right now."

Her sister heard and immediately stepped in. "Come on, it was just a game. Don't take it so seriously."

"You two have been married for ten years. There's no need to ruin things over something so small."

"Put it away."

Her sister stuffed the papers back into my hands.

Then everyone around us started chiming in. "You're a man. Be the bigger person. Don't be so petty."

"Stop joking around."

My fingertips went white. I was so angry I almost laughed.

It was always like this. At our engagement party, Monica had shaken me off in front of everyone and danced with Dillon. At our wedding, she had ridden in the same car as Dillon to the church and left me standing on the side of the road.

Afterward, I confronted her in a fury.

Everyone stepped in to tell me the same thing: "Come on, Monica already married you. No need to ruin things over something so small."

After all these years, I'd had enough.

"I'm not joking. Divorce."

I adjusted my cufflinks and swept a cold gaze across the room. "You all think these are small things. We've been married ten years. At every important Family event, she refused to touch a drop because she 'hated the smell of alcohol.' She never once cared how it made me look. Tonight, the truth was finally impossible to miss."

"She didn't hate alcohol. She just hated me."

The moment the words left my mouth, every eye in the room turned to Monica.

Monica's face went white. She shot to her feet and hurled the half-glass of wine from the table straight into my face. "Shut up!"

She turned away with a cold smile. "I already told you it was a penalty for losing a game. What are you even doing right now? This is just about your pride, isn't it?"

"I don't like the smell of alcohol, but I can take a game."

She spoke with absolute conviction, pinning every bit of blame on me for being unreasonable.

For years, our liquor cabinet had stayed empty because Monica hated the smell of alcohol. Even coming home from a Family banquet meant following her rules.

I had to air myself out until every trace of alcohol was gone before I could set foot inside.

And that wasn't even the worst of it.

At my succession as Don—the most important occasion of my life—she still refused to touch a single drop.

Yet today, in front of the entire room, she broke that rule without a second thought.

She shared a lovers' toast with Dillon.

I suddenly had no desire to argue with her. I lowered my eyes to the papers and gave her one last reminder.

"Don't forget to sign them."

I gathered my things and stood to leave. The moment I got up, Dillon stretched an arm out to block my way.

He gave a light smile. "I didn't realize you were this petty. Still jealous of Monica and me after all this time."

"Since I took over the Family, I've been based in Southeast Asia. I'm rarely back in Sicily. The one time we finally get to see each other, you have to make a scene?"

"Besides, she doesn't like the smell of alcohol. We hadn't seen each other in years, and she had a couple of sips because she was happy. You can't even tolerate that much of a friendship between us?"

There was a deliberate edge of provocation in Dillon's voice.

Everything he said boiled down to one thing: their bond was the one that mattered most.

I smirked.

I walked past him and out of the banquet hall.

In the car, I lit a cigar, smoke curling around my fingertips.

Monica had texted me.

[What exactly did Dillon and I do to upset you? You had to humiliate us in front of everyone?]

[If there were really something between us, would you have gotten the chance to marry me? He finally comes back once, and you can't stop making a scene?!]

I read the messages and didn't reply.

Those words severed the last thread of attachment I'd clung to for ten years.

I used to love Monica, so I tolerated her calling out Dillon's name while she was in bed with me. I tolerated her swapping my suits and ties for the colors Dillon always wore.

Now, I was done enduring it.

I picked up my phone and booked a flight north, then called my lawyer.

"I'm filing for divorce."

Chapter 2

My lawyer told me the best route was negotiation.

Without concrete evidence of Monica's infidelity, pushing through the divorce would be difficult.

We had been married ten years. Monica had Dillon in her heart the whole time. Whether she had actually been unfaithful, I couldn't say for certain.

I sat in the car for a long time, not returning to the estate until well past midnight.

The front gate was open. I heard noise upstairs, climbed the steps, and walked straight into the sight of Dillon sitting on the sofa drinking wine.

He was wearing my robe, his hair still wet, the front hanging half-open.

The color drained from my face. I opened my mouth to speak.

But Monica came out of the bathroom, toweling her hair dry.

There were red marks along her collarbone. She glanced at me with cool indifference. "Off getting lured away by who knows what, and you still know how to come home?"

"Go get me something to eat. I'm hungry."

Monica was as cold as ever. Faced with this scene, she didn't bother to explain a thing.

My hands shook with rage, my throat tight.

On any other day, if my suit carried even a trace of alcohol, Monica would gag and throw it out without a second thought. Yet today Dillon could lounge on the sofa drinking wine without a care in the world.

In that instant, my heart sank to rock bottom.

And then I found it almost funny. Those rules only ever applied to me.

Dillon smiled at me and raised his glass.

"Is there a problem?" Monica said.

She was about to lose her temper, but she caught the look on my face. I was staring at Dillon.

I steadied my voice. "What is he doing here?"

"What are you staring at? You left me behind at the banquet and I haven't even settled that score with you yet. What right do you have to question me?"

Monica's tone was getting worse by the second.

Dillon stood up with a smile. "Don't get the wrong idea. You drove off on your own, and I didn't feel right leaving Monica, so I gave her a ride home. That's all."

I almost laughed.

Monica had a personal driver.

I couldn't be bothered to argue with such a flimsy excuse.

"Give me my clothes back."

"I don't like my clothes smelling like alcohol."

My voice came out harsh. The moment I said it, Monica's expression darkened.

Maybe I'd struck a nerve. She turned aggressive. "I'm the one who picked those out for you. I'll dress whoever I want in them. Are you really going to get jealous over a piece of clothing?"

"Isn't this all because I didn't share a toast with you?"

"Colton, Dillon is a guest. He has wine every night. You can't even show a guest basic courtesy?"

"If word got out that this is how you treat people, wouldn't that be an embarrassment to the Family?"

I stood there stunned, completely at a loss for words.

Every piece of clothing I owned had been picked by Monica. She wouldn't let me wear anything else, so every robe and suit fit wrong. There was a simple reason for that.

She only ever remembered Dillon's measurements.

I used to have a glass of wine in the evenings too. But after I married her, I gave that up entirely.

Before I could speak, Dillon stepped in first. He patted my shoulder. "Sorry, I really shouldn't have worn your clothes."

"I got wine on my own clothes and had nothing else to wear. Monica hates the smell. You know that. Why weren't you more careful?"

After his explanation, he turned and quietly scolded Monica.

"That's enough. You're always twisting things around. It was my fault for wearing his clothes without asking. He has every right to be upset."

"Come on, how can you be so rude to him?"

Monica pouted, clearly unhappy, then said in a coaxing tone, "Fine, fine. Wasn't it because he was being rude first?"

She never spoke to me that way.

With me, it was always orders and demands. And because I loved her, I let her get away with it.

I never once called her out, and that had become habit for Monica.

What made it even more absurd was that Dillon was sitting there with a glass of wine, lecturing me about not being considerate of Monica's aversion to alcohol.

Monica turned to me.

"Enough. It's just clothes. I'll buy you new ones tomorrow."

"You're sleeping in the study tonight. Dillon gets your room."

It wasn't a suggestion. It was a command.

They both seemed to have forgotten that this estate was mine. At first, I had tried to spare Monica the smell of alcohol whenever I came home late from Family banquets.

That was why I began sleeping in the room next door.

Over time, it became Monica's habit to banish me to the other room.

Only now did it hit me: we hadn't shared a bed in six months.

My protest never made it past my lips.

Monica added, "Unless you'd rather I share a room with him?"

She was backing me into a corner. In her eyes, she and Dillon would always be on the same side. I was the outsider.

"Do whatever you want." I gave a quiet laugh and turned back to my room.

As I closed the door, I could hear Monica shouting from the hallway. "You're going to regret this!"

Dillon soothed her. "Don't get upset."

"You're the one who told us to sleep together! You'd better not regret it!"

I listened to her voice and laughed. A cold, hollow laugh.

I quietly opened my chat with my lawyer.

[I'll have the evidence of her affair soon.]

Chapter 3

That night, I heard Dillon go into Monica's room.

Monica locked the door behind them.

I stood on the balcony and lit a cigar, listening to the sounds from next door. My ears burned. My heart seized.

Monica's laugh was coy. "I thought you hated working out. When did you get abs?"

"You like them?" Dillon teased.

"Oh, stop." Monica shoved him, then laid down the rules. "No crossing the line tonight. You sleep on your side."

"No promises. Not sure I can help myself. Colton's the one who insisted we share a room." Then the light went dark.

I stopped the recording on my phone.

There were other rooms available. Monica chose to share one anyway.

And somehow it was my fault.

Unbelievable.

I didn't sleep that night. Laughter drifted through the wall every now and then.

I couldn't make out what they were saying. I only knew that every laugh cut into me, and the intimacy in those sounds nearly suffocated me.

A soft sigh of satisfaction from Monica made my entire body go rigid.

I bit down on my lip and swallowed it all.

I didn't fall asleep until dawn.

When I woke, I sat downstairs eating breakfast.

Monica came down looking polished and put together. Dillon walked out in one of my suits, saw me, and gave a small smile. "Morning. Didn't sleep well, ended up sleeping in. Excuse the late appearance."

Dillon might have looked refined, but everything he said left a bad taste.

Monica clicked down the stairs in her heels. "Why are you apologizing to him?"

"Let's go. We're going to be late."

"Where are you two going?" I asked.

Dillon laughed under his breath. "Oh, I forgot to mention. Monica's interested in the drug trade. I happen to have a connection to introduce her to."

"Think of it as a welcome-home gift."

I shot to my feet and looked at Monica.

For years, the Family had shifted to legitimate businesses. We didn't touch that kind of thing anymore.

I wouldn't allow any member of the Family to go near it, and there was one reason for that.

I knew exactly how dangerous it was.

Monica didn't care. "You think keeping me cooped up at home is for my own good? Compared to you, Dillon is far more generous."

"You're just afraid that if I can make it on my own, I'll leave you."

Hearing that, I calmed down.

In ten years of marriage, the only thing Monica had ever done was spend my money, travel wherever she pleased, and buy designer everything.

I worried that someday the Family's position might slip and I wouldn't be able to provide for her, so I had offered multiple times to hand over key operations to her.

But Monica had only shot me a cold look. "So I spent a little of your money? And now you're doing this? Aren't you just resentful that I don't earn my own?"

"You can afford what I spend, so what's the problem? Besides, the Family's business is dangerous and complicated. You just want to pile all the risk onto me."

After that, I never brought it up again.

I just never imagined that when Dillon offered her a drug connection, she wouldn't say a word about danger. She was thrilled.

Just before Monica and Dillon walked out, I stopped them.

I pulled out the divorce papers one more time. "Sign these before you go."

Monica's brow creased. She glanced at them and exhaled. "Are you done? I'm heading out for actual business today."

"You just want to keep me locked up at home like some useless housewife. You're using divorce to threaten me."

"Can you not be so controlling?"

"You're so selfish."

Monica clearly wasn't taking it seriously.

I pressed on. "If you sign now, this doesn't have to get ugly."

"Otherwise, you'll regret it."

Monica gave a soft laugh. "Are you threatening me? Fine. Let's see what you can possibly do to make me regret it."

The tension between us was thick, the air sharp.

Dillon draped his arm around her shoulders. "Come on, don't get upset."

"Don't worry, I'll take good care of Monica. I'll bring her back in one piece after the event tonight."

"Stop being so jealous. If something were really going on between us, you'd have lost your chance a long time ago." Dillon gave a quiet laugh, then walked her out the door with his arm still around her.

I stood there, my wrists trembling, every breath burning.

The moment they were gone, I got in my car and followed.

Chapter 4

The recording from the night before wasn't enough evidence to force the divorce. I tailed Dillon's car.

My lawyer reminded me that my marriage to Monica was an alliance between two families.

To secure a clean divorce, my best chance was to catch her in the act.

Dillon's car pulled up in front of the largest club in the area.

The moment they stepped out, Monica took his arm and walked inside.

I followed from a distance and discovered they were meeting with a group of drug lords from Southeast Asia.

The men had done business with the Family years ago.

Once we stopped dealing in anything illegal, we had cut ties.

Monica, who normally refused to attend any kind of gathering, was all smiles today. When the dealers leaned in close to joke around with her, she batted their hands away with a flirtatious pout.

They called it a business meeting, but all the banter circled around Monica and Dillon.

Someone asked out of nowhere, "You two have been clinging to each other this whole time? You telling me you don't feel anything? If you can't keep your hands off each other right here, that'd be something."

Monica buried her face in Dillon's chest.

Dillon smiled. "Then I'm afraid I'll have to ask you gentlemen to give us the room."

"Didn't realize you two played like that?"

"Monica's husband probably hasn't even tried anything this wild, has he?"

The lights in the private lounge were low, the mood thick with suggestion.

Monica twirled the end of her hair. "Oh, him? He doesn't have it in him. No stamina."

The room burst into laughter.

And Monica's eyes never left Dillon.

Dillon lowered his head with a grin, his hands wandering along Monica's waist, giving it a squeeze every now and then.

I watched them through the surveillance feed, my throat tightening.

The glass in my hand trembled.

The man who ran the club approached me carefully. "Don, should I have them thrown out?"

"No."

Monica didn't know this club was one of my properties.

She never touched the Family's business, so she had no idea.

I didn't care about any of that. I just wanted the evidence, and then a clean divorce.

Halfway through, the dealers brought out their latest product for them to sample.

Monica had never touched anything like it. She was scared.

She knew the consequences, so she didn't dare.

But Dillon went first, then coaxed her. "One time won't hurt. If you're going to be in this business, how can you not at least try it?"

I watched through the monitor, palms slick with sweat.

Monica hesitated for a second.

The dealer said, "So you won't do it for Dillon."

"Guess Dillon's not that important after all."

Dillon leaned close to her ear. "Just go through the motions. What's the worst that could happen?"

"Do it for me."

Without another moment's hesitation, Monica leaned in and inhaled. One hit and she nearly blacked out, gagging and dry-heaving.

But when she raised her head, she forced out a smile.

Dillon bent down and kissed her. "That's your reward."

The air between them was charged. Monica didn't push him away. If anything, she looked like she wanted more.

My jaw clenched. I couldn't help but find it laughable. Monica never showed me even basic respect in public. When the Family's elders offered her a drink, she would shove the glass at me with a look of disgust and wouldn't spare a thought for how it made me look.

Sometimes she would even snap at me in front of everyone, demanding to know whether I had made her preferences clear enough.

Everyone in Sicily's Mafia families knew I was afraid of my wife.

The truth was, I just couldn't bear to make her do anything for my sake.

Now she was willing to try the one thing she feared most. For Dillon.

None of that mattered anymore.

By the time I came to my senses, they had moved to one of the private suites.

Maybe that kiss had sparked something between them.

"Get my men. We're going to the suite."

I walked at the front.

My bodyguards fell in behind me.

At the door, I paused for one second. I knew what pushing this door open would mean.

One of the drug lords from the suite next door spotted me.

"You... you're Colton?!"

I gave a look, and my men moved to block him.

He seemed to realize what was happening and reached for his gun to signal for help. My men had him pinned to the ground before he could pull the trigger.

"Colton! What do you think you're doing! I booked this entire floor today!"

"Get out of here. Now!"

"You booked it. So what? This is my territory."

I glanced at him with contempt and reached for the door handle—only to freeze.

From inside came a familiar moan, a sound of satisfaction I had never once heard from her.

I closed my eyes. "Break it down."

My bodyguard kicked the door in.

It collapsed. On the bed, Dillon was on top of Monica. Her arms were hooked around his neck, her head thrown back, gasping.

Both of them turned and stared at me in shock.

【卡】