The Discarded Wife Is A Mafia Queen

ella

14th. I stood on the freezing stone steps of the private pickup zone, watching

rest. Marco, my husband

my status as his wife. I pulled my sleeve down, concealing the jagged scar on my wrist-a permanent reminder of his "family law"-and slipped into the anonymit

When the polished brass doors parted, I stepped into the foyer. The black-and-white marble floor was littered

een-inlaid with a mother-of-pearl ph

deep, gravelly voice drifted from the l

e it!" Elena, my five-year-old

its neck. My breath hitched, the air suddenly turning to glass in my lungs. Three months ago, I had tried to buy that

to Adriana Rizzo-my hal

r than Mommy," Elena chirped, her innoce

umb fingers, the brass clasp clinkin

culated ice, flared with raw, undisguised annoyance. My early return from

tone flat, devoid of an

unicorn. "It's October 14th, Dante." My voice trembled, a

of the date. Adriana's party starts in an hour, and we are already late." He did

move toward me. She clung to Dante's leg, looking at me a

tired," Dante di

gar smoke lingering in the air. The heavy bronze door clicked shut, l

r. In her place, a strange, freezing calm washed over my veins. The girl who had been traded as collateral was d