Three Divorces Later, The Mafia Princess Is Getting Married Again Chapter 04
The next day, four in the afternoon, the Romano estate.
The first-floor grand hall was choked with white roses, glass pillars, and cool white lighting. A jazz band played on the second-floor balcony, the low, sultry notes of a saxophone drifting through the air.
Long banquet tables stretched from one end of the hall to the other, culminating in an extravagant dessert display loaded with cookies, cannoli, mille-feuille, and amaretti. Every single item was something I had personally selected.
Guests in exquisite formal wear glided across the floor.
In a secluded private study upstairs, my uncle, Don Romano, was receiving his low-profile visitors.
I wore a minimalist white wedding gown. There was no gaudy lace, only a heavy silk satin that gleamed with a pearlescent sheen. My veil was short, and emerald earrings left to me by my father dangled from my ears.
In my hands, I held my divorce papers.
I walked right into the center of the hall, where Dario was already waiting.
Seeing me, Dario asked softly, “Where did you stay last night?”
“A friend’s place,” I replied.
He nodded, his gaze lingering on my face. He reached out to touch my hair, but I tilted my head away.
His hand hung suspended in midair for a second before he pulled it back.
“Aurelia,” Dario whispered, his tone gentle and placating. “You saved my dignity in front of Leandro and Silas. I know what you sacrificed for me.”
“As for the co-op…” He hesitated. “Marcella had just officially entered the family circle, and people were mocking her for having no backing. I felt sorry for her and wanted to help her out of that rut, so I claimed the co-op was a gift to her.”
“She won’t actually move in. That co-op will always be our home.”
“Besides, you own so much real estate. I didn’t think you’d mind.”
I nearly laughed out loud.
Even now, he still believed I was just playing along with his little script.
The co-op didn’t even belong to him, yet he had gifted it away to another woman without a second thought.
Dario continued, “Anyway, you can still live there.”
“But after the divorce is announced, it might be best if you stay somewhere else for a month. I need to explain to Marcella why the co-op isn’t hers, and buy her something else to smooth things over…”
“Aurelia, I’m truly grateful you’re cooperating with this divorce. It gives the Ravello Group’s logistics branch a vital layer of protection.”
“You are the one I love most in this world.”
“Let’s hurry up and announce it then,” I cut through his profession of love, my voice utterly cold. “Before the other families get the wrong idea.”
Dario smiled and stood tall beside me. Every eye in the room turned toward us.
My gaze drifted to the portraits hanging on the wall—my late parents.
They stared back at me in silence, as if witnessing my humiliation.
Only then did a single, uncontrollable tear escape my eye.
“I miss you so much,” I whispered.
Dario, thinking the words were meant for him, flashed a dazzling, self-assured smile.
I raised the divorce papers, projecting my voice across the room. “I hereby announce that my engagement to Dario Ravello is null and void.”
The hall fell dead silent.
Shock rippled through the crowd. High-society women gasped, shielding their mouths. Several old capos looked incredibly grim, while the younger family members exchanged tense, hurried glances.
From the shadows, the Consigliere spoke up. “Have you thought this through, Ravello boy?”
Dario still thought this was just a simple divorce from Don Romano’s isolated niece, a quick and painless transaction. Shivering slightly under the pressure, he spoke into the silence. “Yes… we’ve already signed the papers…”
“Then you will pay the price,” the Consigliere declared. “As of tonight, the Ravello family is stripped of its proxy rights over Area 6 of the Port Newark–Elizabeth Marine Terminal.”
“That’s not fair!” Dario shouted, losing his composure. But looking at my expressionless face, he forced a sigh. “Fine. Whatever. You’ve already been divorced three times anyway…”
The Consigliere said nothing more. The guests tactfully looked away, silently sipping their champagne, terrified of learning too many Romano family secrets.
Dario believed the matter was settled. He turned to me and said, “Wait here. I need to inform my father—he’ll blame me for losing the port. I’ll be right back to take you to your uncle’s estate…”
I stood perfectly still, making no move to follow.
Dario took a few steps toward the exit when his phone suddenly rang. He pulled it out, his eyebrows shooting up. “Marcella…”
He answered the call, his face rapidly draining of color. Hanging up, he turned back to me hurriedly. “Something came up. Go back on your own, I’ll call you later.”
I ignored him.
Dario rushed toward the doors, pausing one last time to look back. Seeing me still standing in the center of the hall, a bitter smile crossed his face, assuming I was desperately waiting for his return.
Instead, another man brushed past him, walking confidently into the ballroom.
The stranger was tall and breathtakingly handsome, with eyes as pure and piercing as raw blue sapphires.
The moment anyone saw those eyes, they knew his name: Benedetto Rinaldeschi. He belonged to an old-money Italian-American family out of Boston, and rumor had it his mother was European nobility.
Benedetto wore a dark gray suit with a crisp white rose pinned to his lapel—minimalist yet extraordinarily regal.
Under the stunned gazes of the crowd, he took his place right by my side.
A raspy voice echoed from the secluded private study upstairs:
“Let the wedding proceed.”
I slid my arm through Benedetto’s.
By then, Dario had reached the exit. Hearing the ballroom erupt into cheers as guests raised their glasses anew, an unsettling feeling crept into his chest. He spoke into his phone to Marcella:
“Wait, something’s wrong with Aurelia. I need to go back to her.”
