The Godfather’s Ex-Wife

The Godfather's Heart

My husband confessed he loved another woman.

He chose our seventh wedding anniversary to tell me.

His voice held a feverish intensity I'd never heard before.

"Aurora, you don't understand. I love her. Completely. Irrevocably."

"You are still my wife. Still the matriarch of this family. I swear I will never lay a hand on her. I only ask... that you allow me to keep a place for her in my heart."

I didn't scream. I didn't collapse. My reply was calm, icy. "If she stays, I leave. If I stay, she goes."

That night, Benjamin—who never touched hard liquor—drank whiskey until the sun rose.

In the end, he yielded.

"You choose the destination. I won't ask where. I will send her away myself."

In the month before her departure, he clung to Scarlett like a drowning man to a lifeline.

He canceled every syndicate meeting. Every negotiation. His days were spent walking with her in the park, camping, vanishing into the city until late.

"Don't worry," he'd say. "Nothing has happened between us. I just want to look at her a little longer."

That month contained my birthday, our anniversary, and the anniversary of my mother's death.

No matter how many messages I sent, how many calls I made, he never came home.

But Benjamin, did you ever realize?

That plane ticket... was always meant for me.

—

Seattle's rain had terrible timing.

Just like Benjamin's confession.

In the study of the Ellison estate, the hearth fire burned too hot, flushing my cheeks. But Benjamin, standing by the window, looked as cold as if encased in ice.

"Aurora," he turned. His voice was calm—a cruel, detached calm. "I've fallen in love with her."

The bourbon in my glass trembled. The amber liquid nearly spilled over the rim.

Seven years.

This was the first time he'd spoken to me like this—not as a partner, but as a man delivering a final judgment.

"Who?" I asked, my own voice steady.

"Scarlett. The new arms liaison."

He stepped closer. Those steel-gray eyes that once held only my reflection now burned with a strange, unfamiliar fire.

"It's not a passing fancy. Not merely... physical. I love her. Hopelessly."

I laughed. I actually laughed.

I set the glass down gently on the mahogany desk. It made no sound.

"So what now? You want me to step aside so that twenty-year-old girl can become the lady of the Ellison family?"

"No."

Benjamin shook his head, still trying to play the rational don.

"I won't end our marriage. I won't touch her. That would dishonor you, and betray the vow I made to this family."

He paused, choosing his words with excessive care. He was too eager to say them.

"I only hope... you'll allow me to keep a place for her in my heart."

The fire cracked. A log split in the hearth.

I looked at him—the man I chose at eighteen.

The man who shielded me during a bloody ambush, leaving three vicious scars across his back.

The man who, drenched in blood in a warehouse, pointed a knife stained with the old godfather's lifeblood to the sky and swore never to betray me in this lifetime.

"Benjamin," I stood slowly, walked to him, looked up. "Do you remember what the family codex says about betrayal?"

His pupils constricted.

"It's not merely about the body, Benjamin."

I gently adjusted the collar of his velvet robe, my fingers soft—as they had been a thousand nights before.

"It's about your heart. Your loyalty. They once belonged entirely to me... and to this family."

"And now, you wish to carve out a piece—for an outsider?"

"She is no threat to you, Aurora."

He took my hand. His palm was still warm. It made my skin crawl.

"She is just... something different. You will always be my wife. My partner. My only true companion."

Partner.

That word pierced the softest part of my heart like a needle.

Ten years ago, who was he?

A small-time enforcer scraping by on the docks.

And me?

The daughter of the Churchill family. My father's only treasure.

Everyone said, "Aurora, you're mad. He'll destroy you."

But I chose him anyway.

I used my family's influence to open doors for him.

Used my dowry to secure his first major arms shipment.

I negotiated his deals. Learned to stitch his wounds when he came home bleeding.

And now, after everything we built together, after seven years of life and death... all I am to him is a "partner."

And Scarlett? She gets to be his "different kind of love."

She doesn't bleed, doesn't scheme. She simply basks in his "pure affection."

"If she stays, I go. If I stay, she goes."

I pulled my hand away. My voice was as cold as the winter sea.

Benjamin froze.

Perhaps he expected me to cry. To scream. To become hysterical like the other women he'd discarded—like the mistresses of his underlings.

But he forgot: I am Aurora Valence.

The woman who carved the Ellison name into the pinnacle of Seattle's underworld, right beside his.

That night, Benjamin did not leave the estate.

He descended to the wine cellar and drank an entire bottle of vintage Macallan—a gift from my father on our wedding day.

I stood on the second-floor balcony, listening to the sound of shattering glass below.

He rarely lost control like that.

Alcohol was taboo in our world. It made men weak. Loose-lipped.

But tonight, he broke that rule—for another woman.

—

By morning, I found him in the dining room.

His eyes were bloodshot. His jaw was shadowed with stubble. The silk shirt he wore looked like a crumpled rag.

He stood before me, reeking of whiskey and regret. His voice was hoarse.

"I will arrange for her to leave. You choose the place. I won't ask."

He had compromised.

Trading his beloved's departure for the illusion of my forgiveness—and the right to keep her memory enshrined in his heart.

"Fine."

I cut a slice of bacon, chewed slowly.

"Paris, then."

Relief washed over his features. He even reached out to touch my shoulder—but I stopped him with a look.

"This month," I wiped my lips and stood. "This month is for you and her. A proper farewell, is it not?"

His face stiffened.

"Don't worry," I stepped beside him, patted his rigid arm gently, as if soothing a wild animal. "I will oversee the family business. You go and give her a beautiful goodbye."

I walked out of the dining room, my spine straight as a blade.

On the stairs, I overheard him instruct the butler, his voice low:

"Cancel all appointments today and tomorrow. Prepare the car. I'm going to the downtown penthouse."

Downtown penthouse.

That was Scarlett's place.

A property under our family's name, now their temple of "pure love."

Back in my bedroom, I locked the door and slid down against the cold wood.

The tears came, silent.

Only three.