The Don Didn’t Choose Me, So I Crowned Myself Donna

Three years of marriage, and Vito never once sat down at the table with me.

I couldn't get through a single meal without fish, but the mere smell of it made him snarl about the stink—and afterward, he'd refuse to speak to me for a full month.

So whenever he ate at home, I took my plate of fish outside the villa.

Three years. Every single day.

Until the afternoon I passed by the seafood market at the docks and saw Vito, with practiced ease, gutting a fish for some young girl—then eating the plate of tuna sashimi she fed him with her own hand.