Page 63 of The Don's Eternal Vows

Just then, I hear a knock at my door. Frowning, I glance up for just a second to bellow - “Come in,” - before turning back to my list.

I hear rustling footsteps and feel someone standing in front of my desk. “Get on with it,” I growl, turning the sheet in front of me.

“Sir,” a young, petrified voice reaches my ears. Its tonality is unexpected compared to what I’m used to from one of my men. I look up in surprise to find one of the pantry maids trembling before me.

I raise an eyebrow.

“There’s been a delivery, and sir - uh - we don’t know what -”

“What sort of delivery?” I ask briskly.

“Sixty pounds of chicken, fifty pounds of salmon, 3 pounds caviar, 30 pounds tomatoes” -

I raise my hand, cutting her off, confusion flickering across my face. “What exactly,” I say icily, “are we to do with all this food? Return it.”

“Sir, it’s all been paid for already, and the vendor said it’s not returnable.”

“Who paid for it?” I growl.

Her eyes shift from me towards the door behind her, and I can tell how terribly she longs for an escape.

“Who?” I ask again.

“Your wife, sir. Madam paid for it before she ever…” her words trail off. She can’t bring herself to say the worddied.She clears her throat, then looks up at me with some feigned confidence.

“For the party tonight, sir. You had planned it months ago and we just had your office call a few people. Turns out,” she pales.“It was never really canceled. They’re all descending tonight - the Capos and their associates and all the wives.”

I pace the study, the cigar smoke curling upwards, and I watch it dissipate. Tonight’s dinner plays on my mind. It’s too late to cancel now. Whether I like it or not, a hundred of our closest allies and friends are going to throng our mansion tonight.

However, none of them know that Genoveva now walks among us. I need to reintroduce Genoveva without raising suspicion. It's a delicate dance: one false step and everything crumbles.

"They'll accept her without scrutiny or gossip," I mutter, tapping ash into a crystal tray. "They have to."

My mind races, plotting each move like a chess grandmaster—a casual mention of howour closestknew of the threats my wife faced. A pointed wink after explaining how feigning her death was the smartest thing to do, tothrow enemiesoff her trail.

I clutch the cigar between my teeth and make my way to the grand hall, where Genoveva sits quietly reading a book. She looks up as I enter the room, her hazel eyes meeting mine, silently questioning. I give her a reassuring nod, hoping she understands the gravity of the situation.

She puts down the book and rises. She walks towards me, feline and graceful, and takes my hand. “Don’t worry, Gianni,” her lips curl into a calculating smile. “We’ll be confident. Brave. We shall pretend anyone and everyone who mattered knew all along. And they’ll be left reeling from the insecurity. They’ll begin lying on our behalf, confirming that they knew I was alive all along - or else, they’d risk losing face.”

I shake my head and chuckle. My wife is truly a deviant. She was the mastermind behind this carefully orchestrated lie - one where everyone would go along with the story to avoid the embarrassment of being the only people who didn’t know.

I adjust my cufflinks as I stand before the full-length mirror, my eyes darting to Genoveva's reflection. She's a vision in tussar silk, her dark hair cascading over one shoulder.

For a brief second, it feels like every other night. It reminds me of all those nights when we’d dress up together and be the very life of the party, entering one another’s arms.

Then again, tonight is anything but another night. Every single person at that party had either attended Genoveva’s funeral or sent condolences in some form or another.

And none of them would expect to see her by my side tonight. I anticipate whispers, accusations, and conversations ofconspiracies. The more godly amongst us might speak of dark magic.

Unless we put ona damn good showand have them question just how close they are to us. Once they suspect they weren’t close enough to have known our plan to feign Genoveva’s death, they’d remain quiet. Not only that, but they’d also do everything in their power to curry some favor.

Including defending us if needed and informing us of those with ill intentions in the hope that they’d prove their loyalty to us.

The clinking of Genoveva’s silver bracelets pulls me out of my thoughts. She approaches me and turns. It’s a familiar routine, and I hook on the necklace she needs help with. Once done, I lean forward and brush my lips against her shoulder.

"You look stunning, amore," I murmur, my voice low and gravelly.

Genoveva meets my gaze in the mirror, her hazel eyes sparkling. "Let's go down and show them that we are the masters of our fate."

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