My Mafia Husband Made Headlines with His Lover, I Left

I had no idea how much time had passed before the front door finally opened.

Antonio walked in looking thoroughly satisfied, a smear of lipstick still on his mouth.

Lillian clung to his arm, the corners of her eyes flushed pink.

Her slip dress was rumpled, and Antonio's trench coat was the only thing she wore over it.

The moment he saw me, Antonio let go of Lillian.

He came straight to me and bent to touch my hand, concern in his voice. "Why are your hands so cold?"

He frowned and told a servant to light the fire. Then he took off his suit jacket and draped it over my shoulders, the way he had countless times before.

The heavy scent of cedar mixed with cloying perfume enveloped me.

Then he leaned down to kiss me, but I turned away.

Antonio paused for a beat. Then he sighed and held my hands to warm them. "Cecilia, are you still upset about the garage? I promise, once this is taken care of, I'll take you back to Sicily for a visit, okay? Haven't you always wanted to go back?"

His voice was tender, but it only drew a bitter laugh from me.

That was how he'd smoothed over every fight we'd ever had.

It was always an expensive piece of jewelry or a candlelit dinner, followed by the promise of a trip.

And then, same as always, I'd forgive him, and he'd go right on screwing up.

When I didn't say anything, Lillian cast me a timid glance and tugged at the coat with both hands.

"Donna, please don't be angry with the Don. It was my fault. I kept begging him to show me his new custom sports car in the garage, and that's how we got photographed...

"This whole mess is my fault. If you're angry, just take it out of my pay."

My gaze swept over the fresh red marks across her collarbone and settled on the coat she was wearing.

It was the birthday present I'd had custom-made for Antonio last year, ordered six months in advance. Our names were stitched into the collar in fine thread. Now it was hanging on someone else.

I gripped the jacket around my own shoulders, remembering the warmth in his eyes when he'd draped it over me moments earlier.

I couldn't help wondering whether he'd looked at Lillian the same way when he wrapped the coat more tightly around her.

So he had enough tenderness for two women after all.

The thought left me exhausted. When I spoke, my voice was heavy with weariness.

"Lillian, you make $24,000 a year playing the piano at this estate. The paper wants seven figures. How many years do you think you'd have to play to pay that off?"

Lillian went pale. She grabbed Antonio's hand and began crying as though she were the one who'd been wronged.

"I'm sorry, Don. Just fire me if that's what it takes for the Donna to feel better..."

"Enough."

Antonio's face suddenly hardened, and he brushed her hand off.

"Cecilia is the lady of this house. If she wants to deal with you, you don't get to stand here sniveling about it."

Lillian's face froze.

But Antonio had already turned back to me, his voice gentler.

"But Cecilia, you're not really going to send her away, are you?

"You've always been the sensible one. You know this is just a passing thing for me. Handle it for me one more time, okay?"

How absurd.

He'd defended my place as his wife, then turned around and expected me to tolerate his lover as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

I shoved him away, my face hard.

"We don't have enough in the accounts to pay seven figures in hush money. You used all our available cash to buy your dear Lillian a waterfront estate on Long Island."

Antonio pulled his hand back and gave me an amused smile.

"So that's what you're jealous about? That place is just somewhere for Lillian to practice. If you want, I'll put the glass-walled penthouse in Manhattan in your name tomorrow."

I took his jacket off my shoulders and set it on the edge of the table.

"I don't need it."

The tenderness slowly drained from Antonio's face.

"Do you really have to make such a big scene over a woman who doesn't matter?"

"Doesn't matter?"

I took a long look at the coat Lillian was wearing.

Antonio followed my gaze.

For a moment, I saw guilt flicker in his eyes.

In a daze, I thought back to 12 years ago, when I first came to Brooklyn.

Back then, Antonio had only just been promoted to street boss. He came home with knife wounds almost every day.

In winter, our basement had no heat, and the pipes froze solid.

He wrapped me in the only thick blanket we had and sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing cheap liquor over his skin to keep warm.

He held my red, frozen fingers, his face twisted with worry for me.

"Cecilia, don't worry. Once I take this neighborhood, I'll build you the warmest sunroom in all of New York. You'll never be cold again as long as you live."

Once, even after being slashed four times on the street, he fought to protect the box of tiramisu he was carrying just because I'd mentioned that morning that I wanted some.

Back then, he really loved me.

Maybe he still did.

But now, his love was laced with entitlement.

He was sure I'd never be able to leave him. My pain had become something small, something a single apology could erase.

The landline on the desk suddenly rang.

Antonio answered and put it on speaker. The familiar voice of Salvatore Vescari, the old Don, came through.

"Bring Cecilia to the council room. And bring the piano player too."

Antonio agreed, then automatically held out his hand to me.

For 12 years, he'd taken my hand every time before we walked into the council room.

It was an unspoken habit between us.

No matter how badly we'd fought outside, once we walked through that door, we were husband and wife, standing together.

But this time, I looked down and didn't give him my hand.

Antonio frowned.

"Cecilia."

Lillian tentatively stepped up and slipped her arm through his.

Antonio just shot her a cold look. Lillian went pale and stopped where she was.

In the past, seeing him stand up for me like that, I probably would have found endless reasons to forgive him.

But now, I was just tired.

I didn't look at either of them. I turned and left.

On my way down the stairs, I took out my phone and booked the next flight to Sicily.