Please let go! My mafia ex-husband

When Dante postponed our wedding because of Nadia for the fourth time, I accepted it silently as usual. But after hanging up, I immediately had my private lawyer draft a divorce agreement. I placed the agreement on the last page of our postnuptial agreement, then asked Dante to sign it. He was rushing pick up Nadia, so he signed his name without reading it at all. "The agreement will take effect 30 days after signing." Seven days. Seven days later was the exact wedding date Dante had promised me. The countdown began. Chapter 1 "Ms. Vance, I’ve drafted the divorce agreement according to your requirements. Please note that this agreement will take effect seven days after both parties sign." My private lawyer handed the divorce agreement to me solemnly. Seven days. That was enough. I took the agreement, sandwiched it on the last page of the postnuptial agreement, and packed them into a document bag together. After flipping through it several times to ensure this disguise would not be exposed immediately, I had the driver steer toward the private villa of Dante and I. In any case, as long as Dante signed this agreement, I would be free. — When I arrived home, Dante was sitting on the sofa in the first-floor living room. He looked down at his gold Patek Philippe watch from time to time. A hint of impatience flickered in his cold green eyes, as if something urgent was waiting for him. Recently, He rarely came home. Today, I specifically made an appointment to meet him at home. Under the pretext of signing the postnuptial agreement. "Where have you been? Why did you come back so late?" he asked with dissatisfaction. "Just shopping," I brushed him off casually, subconsciously gripping the document bag tighter. "Nadia is back. Our wedding has to be postponed for seven days." He stood up. His tall frame, combined with the bloodthirsty aura of a Mafia Don, felt extremely oppressive. I was already used to it. Nadia was his childhood sweetheart. Three weeks ago, her husband was killed in an attack. Since then, Dante had made it his mission to take care of her. He had postponed the wedding three times for Nadia. The first time was because she fainted from crying at her husband's funeral; the second time was because she had a panic attack; the third time was even just because she wanted to bake apple pie with him, like they did when they were children... "Elena?" Dante's impatient prompt pulled me back from my memories to reality. "Okay, I understand," I nodded calmly. Dante raised his eyebrows in surprise, not expecting me to be so submissive. Every time he postponed our wedding before, I would lose my temper at him. But this time... An imperceptible flicker of unease flashed in his eyes. He vaguely felt something had changed. But there were more important things to do right now, so he had to ignore this strange feeling for the time being. "The agreement," he said. I handed over the thick stack of documents. "There seems to be an addendum on the back page," I said softly, my voice devoid of any emotion. "If you have time, you can read it slowly." I chose this specific time on purpose. I knew Nadia’s plane was about to land. He would have no time to read through the document. Sure enough, Dante picked up the silver pen on the desk. Without reading a single line, he flipped directly to the last page. "Elena, my darling," he muttered softly, reaching out and grabbed my wrist with a gentle yet almost paranoid grip. He pulled me close until his forehead pressed against mine. His breath smelled of Bourbon whiskey. "I have to pick her up right now. I swear to you... this is the last time I will let her tragedy disturb us.” “Once I settle Nadia safely in the West Wing and handle her late husband's territory, everything I have will belong to you." "I will give you a wedding of the century. I will make it up to you, I swear." He gently kissed the back of my hand, completely unaware that his signature was now on the legal document that officially ended our marriage. He released my hand, adjusted his tailored suit, and hurriedly left the study surrounded by bodyguards to pick up another woman. I looked down at the signed document on the desk. Countdown: Seven days. The divorce agreement would take effect in seven days. Coincidentally, the grand wedding he promised me was also just a week away. Except there would no longer be a bride waiting for him at the church altar. Chapter 2 Countdown: 5 days. Dante left earlier and returned later than ever before. Meanwhile, through dark intelligence leaks in the underworld, rumors about Don Dante intensified. In those photos, Dante wore a well-tailored dark gray suit, solemnly escorting a woman in a black veil through the heavily guarded gates of a private estate. The face behind the black lace veil was blurry, but I could still identify her as Nadia from her posture. That afternoon, Lucy, the senior partner at my design firm, knocked on my office door. "Ele, bring the design blueprints for the Grand Sovereign mansion renovation. We need to go to the Syndicate's downtown headquarters to sign the final contract with the client." She leaned close and lowered her voice. "I heard the new owner of this mansion is Don Dante's widowed childhood sweetheart!" I nodded slowly, my mind wandering for a moment. Everyone at the firm knew I was a top architectural designer in New York, but no one knew I was the secretly married wife of this legendary Don. This new mansion and the design contract were Dante's gifts to comfort Nadia. He personally funded them and presented them to her. Additionally, he also registered a new company under the name Nadia to facilitate her establishment in New York. When we walked into the 47th-floor penthouse suite, Dante was already there. He stood beside a leather sofa, holding a ribboned box from a top French patisserie, handing it to the woman sitting in a luxurious armchair. Nadia. The moment Dante turned and saw me, his tall frame froze completely. A rare flash of panic and guilt appeared in his deep green eyes. Everyone in the room sensed something unusual. A suffocating silence fell over the room. Nadia looked back and forth between the two of us, with a subtle and playful smile on her lips. "Who is this please? Do you know each other?" she asked softly. Dante was about to speak, but I stepped forward first. "My name is Elena. I’m the lead designer for this project. Don Dante and I were..." I paused, meeting his intense and complex gaze, "...college classmates in London back in the day." With a flawless professional smile, I extended my hand. Dante froze upon hearing this, then frowned at me, seemingly surprised that I took the initiative to distance myself from him. I thought he would feel relieved, but I actually saw unease in his eyes. When Dante first became the Mafia Don, there were many unresolved internal gang issues. Countless enemies were secretly watching him and everyone around him. I was just a designer without any means of self-defense. If I became a target, I would be in extreme danger. Thus, to protect me from his rivals, he had to hide our marriage. Back then, he always held me gently to comfort me, his voice full of guilt and heartache. "Elena, I’ve wronged you. But please believe me, this is all temporary." "When the time is right, I’ll give you the grandest wedding and let everyone know you are my only Donna." But now, he postponed our wedding again and again for another woman... Dante cleared his throat, quickly regaining his cold authority. He pulled out his pen and began reviewing the contract figures with ruthless efficiency. "Lower the budget by another ten percent," Dante commanded coldly. His deep voice carried absolute authority, pushing our profits and bottom line to the extreme limit. I always knew he was not only a feared Mafia Don, but also an extremely smart business tycoon. I just never expected he would one day use his fierce business tactics against me. Under the his intense pressure, cold sweat broke out on Lucy's forehead. After a moment's hesitation, she nodded. "Okay, Don Dante. You live up to your reputation and know our limits completely." Dante lowered his eyes, not daring to look me in the eye the entire time. Nadia sat quietly beside him, sipping black tea, her eyes shining with silent triumph. After the contract was stamped with the family seal, she stood up and untied the ribbon on the dessert box. "Dante brought my favorite Black Forest cake. Let's share it to celebrate our collaboration," she said, reaching for the cake knife. Suddenly, her face turned slightly pale. She let out a weak gasp and delicately supported herself against the table corner. "Ah... my head is getting dizzy again." Dante held her almost instantly, holding her against his chest in a protective posture. Without any hesitation, he turned to me, his voice urgent and panicked, "Elena, cut her a piece of cake. Her hypoglycemia flares up!" I froze in place for a second. A wave of painful, ironic memories flooded over me. Once upon a time, Don Dante, the Mafia King who held immense power and blood on his hands, never let me do anything when we were alone. In our private villa, he would personally cut my steak, peel my fruit, and gently wipe the cream off my lips with his thumb. The first bite of every dessert always belonged to me alone. He once whispered in my ear that taking care of his wife was his highest honor. Now, he personally commanded me to serve his childhood sweetheart in public. Lucy noticed my distraction and tried to step in to cut the cake for me. I stopped her, quietly picked up the silver knife, neatly cut a rich piece of cake, and pushed it gently in front of Nadia. "Please enjoy, Miss Nadia." Nadia held her forehead and looked at Dante for help. He hesitated for just a moment, then personally fed her the cake with a fork. Nadia took a sip of cream from his hand and smiled at me. I certainly could read the pride and provocation in her eyes, but watching their intimacy, my heart felt no wave of emotion. Seeing my calm and submissive response, Dante felt as if an invisible hand were clutching his heart. He stared at me stubbornly, with his eyes filled with silent apologies. I naturally shifted my gaze away and tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. Fortunately, my heart no longer ached for Dante. Chapter 3 Countdown: 3 days. The project of Grand Sovereign mansion was progressing with surprising efficiency. Yet Dante continued to pressure the execution team to speed up. He emphasized to my team more than once that this was Nadia's new start in New York, and he would not allow any mistakes. I stood to the side, watching the scene coldly like an outsider. That day, after a long and suffocating negotiation, Dante followed me back to our villa. He lingered near the glass bar for a long time before speaking with difficulty, his tone terribly heavy. "Elena, the underworld is still in turmoil right now." "Currently... it is not the right time to hold a public wedding." "The top priority is to handle the Grand Sovereign project. Once Nadia settles down completely and the territory stabilizes, I’ll give you a perfect wedding." I nodded politely, without any emotion. I didn't bother to remind him that the real top priority seemed to be the cathedral wedding he had promised me, which was a wedding he had never prepared for since the day he agreed to it. Nor did I remind him that on that exact day, the divorce agreement he signed unintentionally would officially take effect. After all, by his standards, his grieving widowed childhood sweetheart always held the highest priority. In the subsequent project review meetings, Dante deliberately avoided having Nadia and me in the same room. Lucy eventually noticed this strange protection and avoidance. After a meeting, she leaned in with curiosity, whispering, "Ele, is there any secret relationship between you and Don Dante?" I smiled faintly. "How could that be? He is the Don and I am just an designer." Lucy curled her lips, continue saying, "But every time you turn around, he looks at you with guilty and uneasy eyes. That is definitely not the look of a ruthless mafia boss! It looks more like... the eyes of a man who realizes he is about to lose his true love." I froze, carefully recalling the past. It was not that I hadn't caught Dante's heavy and painful gazes. But after experiencing four postponed promises, I could no longer believe the meaning behind those looks. That afternoon, Nadia called me into the lounge alone under the pretext of discussing room layouts. Her intentional probes in her speech suggested she had likely guessed my hidden relationship with Dante. I maintained a cold, flawless politeness and handled her with ease throughout. When the meeting ended, Dante made an unprecedented move. He didn’t let his bodyguards follow. Instead, he offered to drive me home in his vintage Maserati himself. "Elena, your professional skill has indeed exceeded all my expectations," he spoke in a deep voice as we drove through the rainy streets. In five years of marriage, this decisive Don complimented my work for the first time. My hand packing up the blueprints paused. I turned to look at him in confusion. Dante gripped the leather steering wheel tightly, his knuckles slightly white. He swallowed hard and finally asked: "The wedding... is it still in time? I worry it might be too rushed—" I lowered my head, guessing he wanted to cancel the wedding. "Forget it, Dante," I turned to look at the streetlights receding outside the window and interrupted him softly. "There are not many days left anyway. Please cancel it." I didn’t expose his thoughts, because I didn't want to make us look miserable in our final moments together. Dante slammed on the brakes. The tires made a sharp screeching noise on the wet road and stopped before the red light. He turned around, his deep green eyes filled with disbelief, shock, and faint panic. "...You don't care?" he asked in a hoarse voice. In the past, every time he postponed our plans for Nadia, I would lose control of my emotions and force him to give me an explanation. All the fights and tears in our marriage essentially stemmed from my desperation to hold onto him. But now, I didn't care anymore. I shook my head slowly, "What’s there to care about? It's just a meaningless ceremony." A suffocating silence spread through the car. A moment later, Dante suddenly spoke hastily. "How about next week, I take you out of New York to relax?" "Go to our private villa on the Amalfi Coast? Or go to that seaside restaurant in Capri you've always wanted to visit?" I looked down at the countdown app on my phone. It showed: 10 days left until the divorce takes effect. "No need, Dante." His lips trembled slightly. My calm rejections, one after another, were pushing this boss, who was used to standing high above, into silent torment. Watching the guilt on his face gradually turn into confusion and frustration, I spoke softly: "If you really want to go somewhere, take me to see that old house in Brooklyn." That old Italian-style house was where we lived when he first established his power. At that time, his father had just passed away. He was struggling to gain the approval of the gang's elders. During that time, although we were always on edge, there was no childhood sweetheart standing between us. There were only two souls purely in love with each other. I indeed missed that time. Dante froze for a long time, as if trying to decipher my thoughts. Until I got out of the car, he still sat stiffly in the driver's seat, watching me leave in dead silence. Chapter 4 Countdown: 1 day. As if by tacit agreement, Dante and I rarely appeared together in project meetings anymore. However, whenever Nadia was not present, Dante would walk down alone from his 47th-floor office and stand silently at the back of the meeting room, staring at me quietly with his deep green eyes. I no longer tried to guess his recent regret and abnormal behavior, nor did I bother to understand it. I began secretly moving my personal belongings out of the villa piece by piece, trying not to attract Dante's attention. On the final afternoon, after the meeting ended, Dante suddenly called me into his private study. He stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window. His voice was hoarse and exhausted. "You’ve moved a lot of things out of the main house recently, and you haven't slept in the master bedroom for several days." "I’ve been staying in the old house in Brooklyn recently," I answered calmly with a pre-prepared reason. "It's quiet there, making it convenient for me to modify the design blueprints." Dante turned around abruptly and walked toward me. "Elena, regarding the wedding... I have thought about it for a long time. We can hold the wedding on schedule. I will handle all the interference from the family side—" "Dante," I interrupted him softly, "there is no time left." His eyebrows twitched violently, and panic instantly surged in his eyes. "What do you mean... there is no time left?" I paused, resting my hand on my handbag, hesitating whether to slap the signed divorce agreement directly in front of him. Before I could act, his phone suddenly rang. The name flashing on the screen was Nadia. Nadia claimed her low blood sugar acted up again after a shower, asking weakly if Dante could rush over to accompany her. I smiled faintly, took a step back toward the door. "Go fulfill your responsibility. There's no rush to talk about our matter." A familiar struggle flashed in Dante's eyes, but he ultimately sighed. "I will definitely go to the old house in Brooklyn tomorrow night to find you. I swear to you, Elena, no matter what happens, I will get there." However, the next day, he broke his promise once again. I sat on the mottled leather sofa in the old Brooklyn house, looking down at my phone screen. Countdown: 12 hours. The news app popped up the latest headline. In the photo, Dante stood solemnly before the media and bodyguards, holding a tearful Nadia in an extremely protective grip, officially announcing to the whole city the Syndicate Empire's absolute protection over her entire family. Looking at the photo, a self-mocking and ironic smile appeared on the corner of my lips. If he knew these were the last 12 hours he would spend with his wife, would he still choose to abandon me to shield another woman from the wind and rain? Maybe not, maybe he still would. However, the answer no longer mattered to me. I spent a few hours cleaning this once warm old house spotlessly. There were not many things left of me here. What I missed was merely the happy times Dante and I had spent here together. I called Lucy to make a final professional farewell, and then dialed my private lawyer's number. "The divorce agreement was notarized and filed by the court a month ago," I asked calmly. "Do I still need to complete any procedures now?" "No," the lawyer answered crisp and clear. Pausing for a moment, he added in a gentle tone, "Congratulations on regaining your freedom, Elena." "Thank you," I replied softly and hung up the phone. I stayed quietly in this old house, watching the night envelope all of New York. Countdown: 3 hours. I packed my last flight suitcase and checked my one-way ticket to Paris for tomorrow morning. Countdown: 2 hours. I picked up the scissors by the bed and neatly cut Dante out of all our early photos together, leaving only my younger self in the frames. Countdown: 1 hour. I placed the divorce agreement that was about to take effect neatly in the very center of the wooden dining table. The moment the countdown on my phone hit zero, I put on my coat, picked up my suitcase, and put my hand on the door handle. It was over. All my devotion. My marriage. My love.