The Villainess Wants a Divorce Chapter 07
I came home to find the courtyard full of men.
Black suits, every one of them, like a flock of crows had settled on my lawn.
I’d called them myself. They were Milano soldiers.
There was a lot in that story I could accept. But not the part where the Milano family got torn apart. If it
came to that, I’d bleed to keep the family name clean.
I led them inside and gave my instructions.
“Every custom gown in the closet. Every piece of jewelry. Every handbag. Box it all up.”
“The wine cellar. Take all of it.”
“Every painting in the living room, the study, the hallway. Take them down carefully.”
They answered each instruction with a quiet “Yes, ma’am.”
I kept thinking, trying to remember everything I’d brought into this marriage.
“There’s a ginkgo tree in the back garden. That comes too.”
One of the men shifted uncomfortably. “Ma’am… it won’t fit in any of the vehicles.”
I took a sip of tea. “Then find one that fits.”
They dispersed like a black storm through the house.
The head housekeeper approached with a pained expression. “Donna, what exactly are you-
“Three things,” I said. I didn’t want to make this hard for him. He’d served this house longer than I’d lived
in it.
“First, I’m only taking what belongs to me personally.”
“Second, if Renato has questions, he can contact my attorney.”
“Third.” I smiled. “Starting today, call me Miss Milano.”
He withdrew with a stunned look on his face.
In less than three hours, it was done.
I stood in the middle of the room and looked around. Every trace of Gianna Milano had been removed
from this house.
Good. I was almost glad I’d woken up inside this story when I did. The sooner you hit the ground, the
sooner you can start again.
On my way out, I called Luca and told him to meet me in an hour.
He arrived at one of the Milano family’s private club rooms, hands wringing, forehead damp.
“Ma’am-you-you needed-”
“I need you to move a shipment,” I said. “On Renato’s boats. No paperwork.”
Luca nearly slid out of his chair. “Ma’am! That breaks every rule! If the Don finds out, he’ll kill me!”
“What’s the difference? He’d kill you eventually anyway.”
I opened the tablet on the table beside me and turned it to face him.
A dozen encrypted cargo manifests. Email chains between Luca and several South American contacts.
I had the benefit of knowing exactly where to look.
Luca stared at the screen, and something settled over him, the strange calm of a man who’d run out of
options.
“Two choices,” I said, holding up two fingers. “One: I give this to Renato. You get your last rites.”
Luca didn’t wait for the second. “I’ll take option two.”
Nothing makes a man decisive like having nothing left to lose.
“Good.” I extended my hand. “From this moment on, you work for the Milano family. You report directly to
- And you keep eyes on Renato. Anything suspicious, anything at all, I want to know.”
Luca shook my hand and nodded, rapid and earnest.
What followed was, to put it charitably, not the gritty mob thriller I’d been planning.
Luca’s first report:
“The Don came home and went straight to the back garden. Stood in front of the hole for a long time. Just
stood there.”
It took me a moment to figure out what he meant. That was where they’d dug up the ginkgo tree.
More updates followed.
“The Don transferred Noemi to the warehouse department today. She threw a fit, told him she was quitting. He said: ‘Make sure your work is properly handed off.’ She left in tears.”
“Noemi brought the Don lunch and tried to eat with him. He said no, told her to stop bringing food. She wouldn’t leave, so he had her removed from the office. The lunch went straight in the trash. I bribed the cleaning staff to check. He didn’t touch it.”
“Noemi didn’t quit. She reported to the warehouse. Per your instructions I’ve been watching her, so I put
her on cleaning duty.”
“She’s a piece of work, that one. All sweetness in public, completely different behind closed doors. Men fall for it every time.”
I told Luca to report Renato’s suspicious doings, yet all he sent were nothing but ridiculous trivialities.
I sat with this running commentary and twirled a forkful of pasta I had no appetite for.
That was when a hand settled, gently, on my shoulder.
I didn’t need to look.
My father, back from Mexico.
His gaze rested on me the way it always had, like I was the most important thing in the room.
“You’ve lost weight.”
Brief, as always. Then, straight to business.
“The shipment you asked me to prepare is ready. We can load tonight.”
