The Don’s Exiled Wife Was Not Mad, She Was the Last Witness

On the day my daughter turned one month old, my husband's beloved old flame swept into the estate cradling an unconscious infant against her chest. She struck her own face again and again, pleading with me between breaths. "If my own milk hadn't run dry, I swear on my blood I'd never have dared trouble you to nurse my child. I deserve to die for this. Please, I'm begging you, spare my baby. Don't poison her!"

In a fit of rage, my husband, Don of the Falcone Family, banished me to the exile-farm out in the forgotten hinterland, the slaughter compound where the disgraced are sent to "learn…