I Was the Stand-In Wife. Now I'm the Mafia Queen

Seraphina's POV

"Gentlemen, this port expansion contract benefits both parties."

I tapped the table, my voice crisp and authoritative. The eight men in the conference room all looked at me, their eyes holding the respect I'd earned bit by bit over five years.

Williamson, the director of the New York Port Authority, nodded: "Mrs. Romano, your proposal is very convincing."

'Mrs. Romano.'

The title made my heart clench. I stole a glance at my watch—240 hours left until the contract expired. Ten days. In ten days, I would no longer be anyone's wife.

"Thank you for your recognition, Mr. Williamson." I maintained a perfect smile. "The Marchetti family has always valued our cooperative relationship with the Port Authority."

Every word was perfectly measured. Five years—I'd learned how to maintain authority in front of these men. No longer the 19-year-old girl who had been casually married off to Lorenzo by her father.

Lorenzo cleared his throat softly beside me: "Regarding the cargo distribution issue, my wife's suggestion is very reasonable."

'My wife.'

Damn it, when that title came from his lips, it still made my heart race.

"The loading equipment in District 3 does need upgrading." Lorenzo added, perfectly complementing my argument.

Our eyes met for an instant. Five years of practiced coordination, precise as clockwork.

But was this habit or genuine feeling?

I didn't dare think too deeply. The answer might shake my resolve to leave, and I'd waited too long for these ten days.

"So regarding the specific implementation timeline..." Williamson was about to continue when the conference room door was suddenly pushed open.

No knock.

No announcement.

What was security doing?

A woman walked in, wearing a black Chanel suit and red-soled shoes. Her long curls fell perfectly over her shoulders, her red lips bright as blood.

She looked tired, but still beautiful.

My blood instantly froze.

"I'm back, Lorenzo." Her voice carried a European accent. "You must have missed me."

The conference room fell deathly silent.

Isabella.

My sister. My sister who had disappeared for five years.

"Now it's my turn to sit here." Isabella surveyed the entire conference room, her gaze finally landing on me. "Sera, you've occupied my husband and child's place long enough."

Williamson and the others exchanged glances. Several partners' expressions shifted from shock to confusion to suspicion.

"Gentlemen might not know," Isabella walked gracefully toward the head seat, "my sister has always had a habit of picking up my discarded things. Toys, clothes, friends..."

She stopped beside me, her voice soft as silk: "Now it's my husband's turn."

Childhood memories flooded back instantly.

On my seventh birthday, she suddenly said she wanted my doll, and father immediately made me give her my gift.

At twelve, she took a liking to my best friend Lily, and a week later Lily stopped talking to me.

At sixteen, she stole my first boyfriend.

Every time, I could only watch helplessly as she effortlessly took everything from me.

That feeling of abandonment and despair returned.

But now was different.

I was no longer that little girl who could only cry.

"Isabella." I stood up, my voice so calm it surprised even me. "Where have you been for five years?"

"I was in Europe, living a wonderful life." She lifted her chin. "Unlike some people who only know how to hide in others' shadows."

"A wonderful life?" I repeated the phrase. "So wonderful you couldn't remember your son's birthday?"

Isabella's face changed slightly.

"When Marco cried for his mother on his third birthday, where were you? When he learned to walk, where were you then?"

With each sentence I spoke, Isabella's face grew paler.

"For five years, I've been the matriarch of this family." I surveyed the entire conference room, my voice growing stronger. "No one can change that fact."

Then I looked at Lorenzo.

Waiting for his statement.

Waiting for his choice.

But he remained silent.

Complete silence.

He neither supported me nor welcomed Isabella.

Just like that night five years ago when she ran away from the wedding, he fell into silence again.

"Security," I pressed the red button on the table, "please escort this lady out."

"You have no right!" Isabella screamed.

"I do." I looked into her eyes. "As the mistress of this house, I do."

Security personnel entered, standing politely beside Isabella.

She looked at Lorenzo, her eyes full of expectation: "Lorenzo, won't you say something?"

Everyone in the conference room looked at him.

Including me.

Lorenzo slowly stood up, adjusting his suit.

What would he say?

Who would he choose?

"Meeting adjourned." His voice was low and weary. "Gentlemen, we'll continue our discussion tomorrow."

That was it.

He neither chose Isabella nor supported me.

Typical Lorenzo-style handling—avoidance.

Williamson and the others hurriedly packed their files and left, their eyes bright with gossipy excitement.

Isabella was escorted out by security, shooting me a venomous glare before leaving: "This isn't over, sister."

Only Lorenzo and I remained in the conference room.

"You have nine days left." I said coldly, gathering my files.

Lorenzo looked up at me, his eyes holding emotions I couldn't read.

"Nine days?"

"Until the contract expires." I shouldered my bag. "Nine more days, and I'll be free."

I walked toward the door, my hand already gripping the handle.

"Sera." He grasped my hand on the handle.

I stopped but didn't turn around.

"We need to talk, I..." he said quietly.

The shrill ring of my phone suddenly broke the tense silence. I mechanically took out my phone and saw my father's caller ID. No need to guess—Isabella must have already given him an embellished report of today's "victory."

"There's nothing to talk about, Lorenzo." I gently removed his hand and pushed open the door, walking out of the conference room.

The cold air in the hallway made me shiver, and I couldn't shake a bad feeling in my heart.