He Faked Amnesia To Abandon His Wife

y, delivering a diagnosis that severed

nte Rizzoli, remembered how to strip a

n't remembe

herished Mafia Princess to an unwa

favorite lilies trying to spark

cheap suit. The Capo had forgotten his wife, b

e hope of his recovery, until I stood outsi

mused laugh rumblin

seful card I've ever playe

ly breathing down my neck. Elena is a boring,

dn't race.

lie. He hadn't forgotten m

y. I wasn't going to wait f

house and dialed a numbe

eady," I whispere

tonight. Livia More

pte

Vitiel

like a scalpel, delivering the diagnosis that would

w to strip a Glock blindfolded, how to launder millions throu

sn't rememb

an blue to fix a hairline crack in a seventeenth-century Madonna. That was my role in Dante's life. The fi

and cherished, living in a gilded ca

ra roses so dark they looked like dried blood. The car

na. Fo

From the promise he made to my father when I was eighteen, to the summers in the Hamptons wh

protector.

he pho

anger wearing his vocal cords. He told me there had been an ambu

and the menace of armed guards. The doctor explained the selective amnesia. It wa

e heat that usually simmered there when he looked at me-the heat t

you?" h

uestion. It w

enthouse into a museum of us. I filled the vases with his favorite lilies. I play

th

polite indifference one reserves for an annoying dis

Valenti

it had been dipped in gold and a laugh that shattered glass. She didn't walk;

. The glances. The pity. The Capo has forgott

clung to the idea of medi

f espresso in my hands, intending to try one l

s persistent, Boss,"

through the wood. It

amnesia' is the most useful card I've ever played. The marriage contract with her father is

for

his words. "And time to enjoy Gia without the family breathing down my neck about duty. Elen

n't shake. My heart didn

esia wa

to sleep wondering where my husband had gone. It was all a performan

't a partner. I was an

't make a sound. I turned around and walked out of the pen

tuary. The smell of old paper and dust usually calmed me. Mr. Henderson looked up,

poetry Dante had given me

e. To the woman who holds my soul. I

e ink. It look

t formed in my stomach. The Elena who waited for

didn't buy it. I put

," I whispered t

ving for hi