---- Chapter 9 Giovanni POV: The rage burned out, leaving behind a cold, terrifying panic. My first instinct was to find her. To drag her back. To make her understand that leaving was not an option. | grabbed my phone, my fingers fumbling as | scrolled to her name. 'Isabella.' | hit call. It went straight to a disconnected message. "The number you have dialed is no longer in service." | tried again. And again. The same robotic voice, a digital tombstone for our marriage. My mind raced. Her friends. She must have told them something. | called Maria, her closest friend, the one she'd known since college. She answered on the second ring. "What do you want, Giovanni?" Her voice was ice. "Where is she?" | demanded. "Where is Bella?" A cold, bitter laugh came through the phone. "You're asking me? After what you did? You are the last person on earth who deserves to know where she is." ---- "What | did?" | repeated, bewildered. "This is a misunderstanding. | can fix this." "Fix this?" Maria's voice rose, sharp with contempt. "You and your pregnant little assistant, Sofia? You think you can 'fix' that? We all knew, Gio. We all watched you break her heart in slow motion for the last year. We just didn't know how strong she was until now. Don't call me again." She hung up. The words hit me like a physical blow. They knew. *All* of them. My perfect facade, the carefully constructed image of the devoted husband, was a lie everyone had seen through except for me. | wasn't a king. | was a fool. A clown in a bespoke suit. | sank onto the bare mattress, the empty house a mausoleum of my own making. | had always known, on some level, that | took her for granted. She was the constant, the fixed point in my universe around which everything else revolved. | had thought my affair with Sofia was a separate thing, a minor indulgence that had no bearing on the bedrock of my marriage. A Don was entitled to certain... pleasures. It was the way of our world. | had been wrong. A new resolve hardened in my chest. This wasn't over. She was my wife. The vows we took, the alliance between our families, that meant something. It meant everything. *The Supremacy of Loyalty* was the core of our code, and while | ---- had broken it, | would force it back into place. | called the head of my household staff, a stern woman who had been with my family for forty years. "Mrs. Gable, when did my wife leave?" | asked, my voice tight with authority. "Yesterday afternoon, Mr. Moretti," she replied, her tone professionally neutral. "She dismissed all staff for the week. Paid them a generous bonus." "Did she say where she was going?" "No, sir. She said she was preparing a surprise for you." A surprise. The melted ring. The empty house. A cold, bitter smile touched my lips. She had played me perfectly. But she had made one mistake. She had underestimated my power. She had no money of her own, not really. A few accounts I'd set up for her, with trivial amounts for shopping. She'd be back. Once the money ran out, she would have no choice but to come back to me. She couldn't survive without me. | would make sure of it.