The Mafia Boss Told Her to Take Off Her Husband’s Ring, but Her Answer Changed Who Owed Whom

As Dominic dragged Miles out through the heavy steel door, his desperate screams faded down the concrete corridor.

The basement room became strangely quiet. Just Roman Vale and me, surrounded by dark wood panelling and the faint scent of rain and old bourbon.

Roman reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver lighter, flicking it open. "You handled that with remarkable coldness."

"I spent eight years being warm," I replied, my hands trembling slightly now that the immediate adrenaline was wearing off. "It got me lied to, cheated on, and brought into a mafia basement."

Roman lit a cigar, blowing a thin stream of gray smoke toward the ceiling. "You still haven't obeyed my first order."

I froze. "What order?"

"The ring," Roman said, gesturing toward my left hand with his cigar. "Take it off."

"I told you no."

"You said no when you thought I was claiming you as property," Roman said, stepping closer until I could feel the heat radiating from his broad shoulders. "Now I am telling you as a businessman. You are about to strip that pathetic man of his money, his freedom, and his name. Why wear his leash while you do it?"

I looked down at the gold band on my finger. For eight years, it had felt like a symbol of devotion. Tonight, it felt like a brand of shame.

I placed my thumb against the metal. It was tight, but I pulled.

I yanked the ring off my skin, feeling an instant, overwhelming sense of relief wash over my chest. I didn't hand it to Roman. I tossed it onto the glass coffee table where Miles had been bleeding moments ago.

Clink.

The gold band settled on the glass.