Chapter 1 - The Amalfi Betrayal
At fourteen hours into labor, I stood barefoot beside the window of St. Catherine’s Hospital in Manhattan, gripping the bedrail while freezing rain blurred the city below. The pain was blinding, but it was nothing compared to the absolute, suffocating clarity wrapping around my heart.
My older sister, Sofia, held my other hand, wiping the cold sweat from my forehead.
“Did he answer?” I gasped as another contraction ripped through my abdomen.
Sofia just shook her head, her eyes filled with a helpless, furious pity.
Dante Romano terrified half of New York. Politicians returned his calls before the second ring. Judges remembered his favors. Men who carried guns lowered their voices and their eyes when he entered a room. Yet his wife, currently laboring to bring his firstborn child into the world, had called him six times.
He had answered none of them.
“I can’t do this without him,” I whispered, tears of exhaustion blurring my vision.
“You already are,” Sofia promised, squeezing my fingers tightly.
Three days earlier, Dante had kissed my forehead in our luxury penthouse and told me he needed to fly to Italy. “Family business in Palermo. Two days, maybe three. I’ll be back before the baby comes, Bella.”
I had believed him. I always believed him. Until that evening, while lying awake in pain, I saw a photograph posted by a socialite at an exclusive, secluded resort on the Amalfi Coast.
It was a candlelit terrace with the glittering Mediterranean behind it. Seated at a private table was Valentina Russo. She was beautiful, elegant, and wearing a dangerous slip of red silk. Across from her sat a man whose face wasn’t visible in the frame.
It didn’t need to be.
I recognized the broad line of Dante’s shoulders. I recognized the limited-edition watch on his wrist. And I recognized the black signet ring I had custom-designed and given him on our fifth anniversary.
May you like
I had stared at the photograph for almost a full minute, listening to the silence of my empty penthouse. Then, I turned off my phone. I didn’t call him to scream. I didn’t confront him. I called Sofia, packed my hospital bag, and left.
The night my mafia-boss husband chose another woman while I went into labor alone, I stopped waiting for him to become the man I had married.
