His Regret Came Too Late

During a shootout on a rainy night in New York, I took a bullet meant to kill my husband, Alvis Sartori. While I fought for my life on the operating table, he ran into Althea Sartori at the end of the hospital hallway. She was his adopted sister, and she'd been gone for years. She'd once sold secrets to a rival faction and nearly cost Alvis his place as heir to the Sartori family. Now she said she had cancer. Her dying wish was to marry Alvis. So the moment I opened my eyes, he handed me divorce papers. "Althea has three months to live, at most. I can't let her die with regrets." I froze and stared at him in disbelief. Just then, Alvis's parents, Richard and Mia Sartori, pushed the door open and walked in. They seemed to have forgotten the trouble Althea had caused and how she'd plotted against the Sartori elders. Instead, they looked at me with disgust. "Evelyn, a Sartori bride needs to be gracious. Don't be so selfish. "We raised Althea for 20 years. If it weren't for you, the two of them would've been married long ago." I was still in a hospital bed, in agony from a gunshot wound. They'd already taken Althea back to the Sartori estate and were fussing over her as if she were made of glass. Watching the three of them walk out together, I wiped my tears and called my father. "Dad, I'll come home to the Lauretti family. I'll take my place as heir."