He Bought His Assistant a House, so I Left Him

On my birthday, my husband, Alessandro, the family's Capo, didn't come home.

He sent a bodyguard with a bouquet of roses already wilting at the edges and a text message: [Picked these myself from the garden. Happy birthday, love.]

A moment later, his assistant, Chloe, posted an Instagram story: a fifty-thousand-dollar custom floral arrangement of black roses, their petals embedded with crushed diamonds.

The caption read: [My Capo says, "If you love me, you show me devotion that never dies."]

I didn't storm the casino to confront him. I just packed my bags, ready to leave the city.

Forget flowers. At that point, I wouldn't have cared if he'd bought me the most luxurious villa in all of New York.

I looked at the likes and comments under Chloe's story.

They were from a few of Alessandro's men, gangsters I once recognized.

[Damn, the Capo's generous. Fifty grand without even batting an eye.]

[I heard the boss only gave Sienna some dead weeds and a "love you," hahaha.]

[Looks like the Capo thinks Miss Chloe is the smarter choice. A woman who can launder money for the family is the one who deserves to be by his side!]

I clutched my phone, stunned.

Today was my birthday. Alessandro had texted me early in the morning, saying he had an arms shipment to oversee at the docks and couldn't make it back.

Then he had a bodyguard deliver those half-dead roses, along with a "Happy birthday, love."

Seven years. In the seven years I had been with him, I had never felt so ridiculous.

In his eyes, all I deserved was a handful of wilted flowers he'd casually snipped, while Chloe deserved the most brilliant of diamonds.

Suddenly, Chloe updated her social media again, this time with a video.

In the casino's VIP lounge, Alessandro leaned back on a leather sofa, a cigar held between his fingers as smoke drifted past his jawline.

The camera panned over to a few of his men, who were jeering.

"Capo, when are you gonna dump the artist? Make Chloe our official Donna?"

"Chloe's the one who can handle business. That painter can't even read a ledger."

The video cut off there.

But I had still noticed Alessandro's expression. He didn't deny it. He just smiled and kept smoking.

I gripped my phone, a suffocating tightness crushing my chest.

On the dining table was the pasta I had spent two hours making, and a red velvet cake I had baked myself.

I had thought he would come home tonight.

But he used "family business" as an excuse again, just to be with Chloe.

I couldn't count the number of times this had happened in our seven years together. I had grown numb to it, accustomed to the disappointment.

I turned off my phone, set the cake out nicely, and took a picture of it for Instagram.

I saved a photo from every birthday. This year would be no different. I wouldn't let him ruin the plans I'd made for myself.

After posting the story, I cut a small slice of cake and ate it. The frosting melted sweetly on my tongue, but the taste turned bitter as I swallowed.

My love for Alessandro was just like this cake.

Exquisite and sweet on the outside, but hiding a bitter aftertaste only I could taste.

I scraped everything off the table and into the trash can.

Just as I finished, Alessandro's call came through.

His voice was sharp with displeasure. "Sienna, what the hell was that cake picture you posted?"

"Are you trying to show the whole family I didn't spend the night with you? That I can't even take care of my own woman?"

The photos I posted in previous years had always included him. No matter how busy he was, he would always rush back.

Only this year, he hadn't.

"That wasn't my intention," I replied calmly, my voice devoid of any emotion.

"Don't play dumb. I know you're pissed I didn't come home."

His tone sharpened. "I already explained it to you. There was a big deal at the docks tonight, I couldn't get away. And I had flowers sent to you."

"Be reasonable and drop it."

"Look, that's enough. The deal's about to start. I'm hanging up."

The line went dead with a dial tone.

I let out a laugh, a laugh at my own stupidity. I was a fool for still waiting for him to change.

How do you piece something back together once it's rotted to the core?