Page 35 of The New Godfather

As we leave the city behind, the tall glass buildings give way to familiar winding roads lined with tall cypress trees. The farther we drive, the heavier the air feels. Even before the gates appear, I can already sense the coldness waiting for me. The old estate always carried a chill that had nothing to do with temperature. It seeped into your bones and stayed there.

By now, everyone will have heard. The news spreads fast in our world—faster than blood on a marble floor. I married the new boss barely five seconds after my husband was put in the ground. The gossip will be vicious. I can almost hear the whispers already: cold, heartless, calculating bitch. Jumping from one powerful man to the next, before the last one is even cold. They’ll say I was waiting for Salvatore to die. They’ll call me a whore who traded up the moment she could.

I stare out the tinted window and feel… nothing. No shame. No guilt. I don’t give a damn what they think. They can talk until their tongues fall out. The same people who watched Salvatore leave me with nothing, not a single dime, not one asset in my name, didn’t lift a finger to help me. Not one of them cared when I was trapped. In fact, they tried to take advantage of me. So let them judge. Their opinions mean less than the dirt under my shoes.

I feel genuinely relieved to be heading back there for the last time. This trip is about closing the door to that unhappy part of my life for good. Leaving that miserable chapter behind and never looking back.

The familiar wrought-iron gates swing open automatically, heavy and slow, like they always have, and the car turns onto the long driveway. Hopefully, for the last time in my life, I see the sprawling stone mansion come into view. The house looks the same—grand, cold, imposing—but it feels different now. It looks smaller somehow. Or maybe I’m just bigger inside myself.

I step out of the car and walk towards the front door. The maids are already waiting just inside the grand foyer. Their faces are carefully neutral, but I catch the glances they exchange. As if they have been instructed not to leave me alone, silently they follow me upstairs. They stand just behind the door as I move through the rooms I used to live in and feel almost nothing. No nostalgia. Just a quiet determination to leave as soon as possible.

I turn towards them. “Only the clothes in the far closet. The jewelry in the little blue box. Leave everything else. You can donate them or sell them. Actually, do whatever you want with them.”

Most of those things carry bad memories anyway—heavy, suffocating ones that cling like leeches. I want as little of the past as possible to touch my new life.

After I give them their instructions, I walk outside into the afternoon light toward the stables. My eyes find Bella immediately in the paddock. My chest tightens, a sharp little ache that I wasn’t ready for. This is the only part that really hurts. I head over to her, and run my hand slowly along her sleek neck, breathing in the warm, familiar scent of horse, hay, and open fields. She nudges my shoulder gently, as if she knows how sad I am to leave her.

I decide I need one more ride. Just one.

Just the two of us. A few precious minutes together. Like old times.

I saddle her quickly, swing up, and let her have her fly. The sun warms my face, the air rushes into my lungs clean and sharp. Together we go across the rolling fields. The wind whips my hair back hard, and the powerful rhythm of her hooves thunder beneath me. Suddenly, I feel free, wild, and more alive than I’ve ever felt. I made my escape. I really did it. I laugh out loud, and the sound is instantly carried away by the wind. For a little while, my worries and fears lift, and I’m just Viola on a horse, nothing more.

Refreshed and recharged, I finally turn her back toward the stables, and my stomach drops like a stone. There, waiting near the entrance with his arms crossed and an ugly smirk on his face is the last person I ever wanted to see.

Mario.

Fuck him. There is nothing he can do to me now.

I slide off Bella’s back, my legs still tingling from the ride. My hands linger on her warm neck, stroking the smooth, glossy coat one last time. The familiar scent of horse and sun-warmed leather fills my nose. I lean my forehead against her for a moment, whispering a soft goodbye that catches in my throat. My voice comes out thick, almost breaking. This is the hardest part. The only part that hurts. She nudges me gently with her muzzle, as if she understands, and my chest squeezes tight. I pat her one final time, fingers tracing the white star on her forehead as I memorize the feel of her.

Before I turn away, I hear Mario’s heavy footsteps heading toward me. He steps directly into my path, blocking the way to the stable door. His shadow falls over me, tall and looming. The air between us instantly turns colder, heavier.

His eyes drag over my body with that same sick, possessive hunger I’ve felt for years. It makes my skin crawl.

“So,” he drawls, voice dripping with mockery, “did the pretender promise to build you a fancy new stable and get you better horses? Is that why you married him so fast?” He tilts his head, eyes narrowing. “Or is it because his cock is bigger and better than my father’s? I’ve always been curious.”

Shock freezes me in place for a long second. How dare he speak to me like this. I can’t speak. Can’t even form a single word. He’s vile and too disgusting, too filthy to answer. Pure revulsion washes over me. I stare at him, lips pressed tight, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

When I stay silent, his smirk fades, and his face twists with fury, eyes darkening, and his jaw clenching so hard a muscle jumps in his cheek.

“You’ve humiliated my father,” he spits venomously, “by being such a whore. Jumping into bed with his second-in-command. Poor man, he’ll turn in his grave at your betrayal.”

The poison in his tone makes my skin prickle. I feel the old familiar fear rise, the fear that used to crawl up my spine whenever he looked at me with his desire. Not fear of him, but fear that Salvatore will see and punish me for it. But Salvatore is dead. I don’t have to stand here and take this anymore. I don’t belong to this house. I don’t belong to him. Not anymore.

Sharp anger fills my chest. And it is a good feeling. Exhilarating.

Mario takes another step closer, his breath hot and sour. “Answer me, you gold-digging little bitch.”

Still, I don’t answer. The words hang in the air between us, ugly and sharp in the tense silence that stretches between us. My heart is pounding hard against my ribs.

“You think you’re so smart, don’t you?” he sneers, his voice low and malicious, stepping so close that I can smell the sour whiskey on his breath.

For a long moment I just look at him — really look. At the twisted but impotent fury on his face. His hands are twitching at his sides like he’s barely holding himself back. Something shifts inside me. A quiet, clear decision.

I don’t have to endure this anymore.

I don’t owe him a single word. I don’t owe him my time, my fear, or my silence. Not today. Not ever again. Without saying anything, I turn to leave.