The Don Who Chose Wrong Chapter 08

The Don Who Chose Wrong Chapter 08

Three days later, I stood in my old bedroom at the estate. Packing a few personal items from the penthouse. 

Everything of Dante’s had already been thrown out. I wanted nothing that could remind me of him. 

My phone buzzed. A text from Camila: [It’s done. Dante Russo 

is dead.] 

I should have felt something. Grief. Guilt. Relief. Even a flicker 

of emotion. 

But there was only a barren emptiness. Five years. All of it 

reduced to a hollow space in my chest I couldn’t fill. 

A knock at the door. I spoke flatly. “Come in.” 

My father walked in with a folder. His tone was brisk. “Final report.” 

Dante had been handled cleanly. Staged as a rival gang hit. No 

connection to the Bellandi family. 

“What about Irina?” I asked. 

“Left at a Philadelphia bus station. Given five hundred dollars. 

Warned severely. Our people watched her board a bus heading 

west. Gone for good.” 

“Good.” I took the folder but didn’t open it. The details didn’t 

matter. 

“What about the people at the casino?” 

“They’ve experienced a series of unfortunate incidents 

recently. Business troubles. Personal setbacks.” My father’s voice was flat. “No evidence connecting anything to us. But sufficient to make them reconsider their choices.” 

He sat on the edge of my bed. His expression was unusually tentative. “Seraphina, we need to talk about your future.” 

“My future?” I raised an eyebrow. 

“You’re thirty. Divorced. And the sole heir to the Bellandi 

family.” He sighed. “The family needs leadership. Stability. It 

needs-” 

“A husband?” I cut in coldly. Mockery in my voice. “A prop to stand beside me and help me play ‘respectable‘?” 

“I didn’t want to put it that way, but yes. The conservative factions in the organization are already talking.” My father’s voice was resigned. “A divorced woman. No children. No strong male figure beside her…” 

“Papa, those so–called ‘traditionalists‘ are dinosaurs on their last legs. Half of them will be in the ground within five years.” 

“Perhaps. But until then, they still hold power and influence.” He pulled out a thicker folder. “I’ve compiled a list of candidates. All from respectable families. All with their own power bases. Men who could help solidify our position.” 

I resisted instinctively. Didn’t want to repeat my mistakes. But I reached out and took it. Opened the folder. 

The first profile had a heavy photo attached: Marco Moretti. A rising star. Young. Ambitious. And dangerous as hell. 

I closed the folder. My voice was tired but firm. “I need time.” 

“Of course. No rush. But Seraphina…” My father’s expression softened. “Don’t close yourself off completely. What Dante did to you was unforgivable. But not every man is him. Some would be honored to stand beside Seraphina Bellandi. To truly 

protect you. Respect you. Value you as a person.” 

“Or like Dante, they’d only value my name and your power.” I 

scoffed. 

“Perhaps. But isn’t it worth finding out?” He stood up. Kissed the top of my head. “Think about it. That’s all I ask.” 

After my father left, I sat on the bed. Stared at that folder for a 

long time. Finally opened it again. Read every word carefully. 

My phone suddenly vibrated. A text from Camila: [Someone’s 

here. Says it’s urgent.] 

I: [Who?] 

Camila: [He says his name is Marco Moretti. At the front gate.] 

I stared at the text. Then at the folder in my lap. Marco 

Moretti. The first name on my father’s list. The timing was… 

interesting. 

I replied: [Let him in. Garden. Ten minutes.] 

I quickly changed out of my sweatpants. Put on a simple black dress. Elegant but formal. Pulled my hair up. Applied lipstick for the first time in days. Shed every trace of dishevelment. 

When I reached the garden, a man stood waiting by the 

fountain. Tall. Around six–two. Black hair. Gray eyes. A tailored 

suit that fit him perfectly. Every movement radiated the 

confidence of a man who controlled everything around him. 

He saw me and smiled. Natural. Genuine. No forced flattery. 

No fake pleasantries. 

“Miss Bellandi.” He extended his hand. His tone was warm. 

“Thank you for seeing me. I know this is sudden.” 

I took his hand. His grip held exactly the right amount of 

respect. “Mr. Moretti. My father would be quite surprised to find you here. He only gave me your file twenty minutes ago.” 

Marco laughed. His eyes crinkled. “Is that so? Saves me the 

trouble of introducing myself.” He gestured to a nearby bench. “Shall we sit?” 

“Of course.” 

We sat side by side. Silent for a moment. Sizing each other up. No pretense. 

“I heard about what happened,” he said first. His tone was grave. “About you and Dante Russo. Everything.” 

“I imagine the entire circuit knows by now.” My response was 

flat. 

“Perhaps. But I want you to know, when I heard, I was furious. 

Not at you. At him. At every man who stood by and let you be 

humiliated.” His jaw tightened. His eyes were serious. “You 

deserved better.” 

“Yes,” I agreed openly. “But I chose him. Married him. Trusted 

him. And he betrayed that trust in the most despicable way 

possible.” 

Marco turned to face me directly. His tone was solemn. 

“Seraphina, I’m not here to offer empty sympathy. Or to play 

savior. You don’t need saving. You’re one of the most powerful 

people in this country.” 

“Then why are you here?” I challenged. 

“Because three years ago, I learned who you were.” He spoke 

slowly. “That meeting in Chicago. You sat in the back row. Pretending to be someone’s assistant. You were brilliant. Saw family connections everyone else missed. Predicted market 

shifts months in advance. And Dante Russo took the credit.” 

I remembered that meeting. I’d attended under a false name. Gathering intelligence for my father. 

“I wanted to approach you then,” Marco continued. “But you 

were already married. So I waited. Watched. Learned 

everything I could about you.” 

“Mr. Moretti, that sounds suspiciously like stalking.” Amusement colored my voice. 

He grinned. Unapologetic. “Maybe a little. But in our line of work, due diligence is just business.” 

His expression turned serious again. “I’m not here to propose. Not here to discuss alliances or mutual benefit. I just want to know if you’d have dinner with me. One dinner. That’s all.” 

I should have said no. Told him I wasn’t ready. That it was too 

soon. 

But looking at Marco, I saw something Dante never had. Respect. Genuine interest. 

He didn’t see me as a tool to consolidate power. He saw me as someone worth knowing. That sincerity stirred something in me I thought was dead. 

“One dinner,” I said slowly. “But I pick the restaurant. And my security comes with me.” 

“Perfect.” Marco stood. Offered his hand to help me up. “I’ll call you tomorrow to confirm details?” 

“Fine.” 

He nodded. Turned to leave. Stopped. Looked back at me. “Seraphina, for what it’s worth, Dante Russo is a fool. I’m glad 

you’re rid of him.”