My Don Chose My Best Friend—So I Took His Empire Chapter 1

I knew my husband, Don Luciano Corsetti, was cheating on me. I just could never find out who she was.

For years I'd planted trackers, combed through statements, tailed every woman who came within arm's reach of him.

I swallowed a whole bottle of pills right in front of him, out of my mind, trying to force the bitch's name out of his mouth.

But when I woke up, Luciano was at my bedside, worn down to nothing.

He stared at me for a long moment when my eyes opened, then pulled me hard against his chest.

"Gianna, there's no one else."

"What do I have to do to make you believe me?"

Everyone in the Corsetti family said I'd lost my mind.

Once, Luciano's cousin caught me looking at some woman a beat too long and murmured, laughing, "Careful. The Donna's hunting for mistresses again."

The family doctor told me to stop seeing ghosts everywhere and get some sleep.

Even I started to wonder whether Luciano had ever cheated at all.

Whether the woman I couldn't find was just something my mind had conjured up.

Only my best friend, Viola Alfieri, held me — again and again — and said:

"You're not crazy. I believe you."

"If you want to divorce Luciano, you can come live with me. If you want to keep looking for her, I'll keep looking with you."

"Whatever happens, I'll always be on your side."

I was so grateful Viola stayed with me when I had no one else.

I told her about the earring I'd found on Luciano's passenger seat — an earring that wasn't mine — and the hotel charges I'd dug out of his accounts.

And then the earring vanished.

And the charges turned out to be client expenses.

Luciano tore into me in front of the family's men, and even Viola shook her head gently and sighed:

"See, Gianna? You're doing it again."

I dropped my head, wishing the floor would open up and take me.

Then came the day Viola was hospitalized with stomach pain. I cooked and brought the food to her room.

Outside the door, I heard Luciano's voice, raw with pain:

"Viola, I can't keep pretending. I'm going to tell Gianna. It's you I love."

Viola went hysterical and snatched up a fruit knife, pressing it to the side of her throat.

"No! You can't tell her."

"After my parents died, Gianna is the reason I'm still alive."

"If she finds out her husband and her best friend have been sleeping together, how is she supposed to keep living?"

Luciano's face changed. He rushed over, wrapped his arms around her, and said nothing more.

Outside the door, I clamped both hands over my mouth so no sound could escape.

The mistress I'd hunted for three years had been standing between me and my husband the entire time.

There was never room for three people in one marriage.

This time, I really was letting go.

...

I hid in the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face, over and over.

Only when the face in the mirror gave nothing away did I pick up the food container and walk out.

Inside the room, Luciano was sitting beside Viola.

Viola saw me and her eyes lit up.

"Gianna, sweetheart, you're finally here."

She took the thermos, sniffed it, and smiled, satisfied.

"Mmm, that smells amazing."

"Nobody takes care of me like you do!"

Everything exactly as it had always been.

In primary school, the first time I brought Viola home, I nagged my mother into teaching me to cook so I could make her something with my own hands. That was the first time in my life I ever cooked.

Later, when her parents died in an accident and she couldn't eat anything, I sat with her and fed her one spoonful at a time.

Somewhere along the way, taking care of her had become a habit I'd had since childhood.

I looked at her slightly reddened eyes and tugged the corner of my mouth into something like a smile.

"As long as you like it."

Luciano came over, reaching for the bag on my shoulder.

I turned aside without thinking, out of his reach.

His hand hung there in midair. His brow creased.

"What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing."

I set the bag on a chair and looked up at him.

"Why are you here?"

Luciano's eyes drifted toward the window.

"I heard Viola was sick. Figured I'd stop by."

The Godfather of the Corsetti family, apparently with nothing better to do than drive from the southern end of Naples to the northern.

Viola must have seen the doubt on my face, because she gripped her spoon and jumped in to explain for him.

"The pain was really bad, and I couldn't get through to you, so I called Luciano."

"Don't be upset, Gianna. Don't blame him."

I went still.

I hadn't said a word.

Luciano let out a cold snort. I let it go, picked up an apple, and began peeling it slowly.

"Living alone really isn't practical for you."

The blade slid through the flesh of the fruit. I looked up and smiled at her.

"When you get married, I'll teach your husband every dish you love."

Viola's smile stiffened for half a second before she went back to stirring her beef broth.

"I don't even have a boyfriend. Who am I marrying?"

"So find one."

I set the apple on the tray, opened my phone, and started swiping through photos of good-looking men for her.

"This one's a personal trainer. Very sunny personality."

"This one works at a bank. Mature, stable."

"And this one was a year below me at university—"

Luciano's hand came down over the screen.

"Since when do you waste your time on garbage like this?"