Chapter 1: The Good Wife.

Wilhemina-

“Thank you again, Mrs. Saldini. The children’s wing wouldn’t have reached its fundraising goal without your support. And please, give our regards to your husband.”

I smiled.

The same practiced smile I had perfected over the last three years. Warm. Elegant. Gracious. The smile of a happy wife. A loving wife. A dutiful wife.

The kind of smile that whispered, Look at us. Central-Bay’s most prominent couple. Aren’t we perfect?

If only they knew.

“Of course.” I reached out and squeezed the charity director’s hand. “Emilio was disappointed he couldn’t attend today, but the Saldini Foundation will continue supporting the hospital however we can.”

Another lie. Emilio hadn’t been disappointed. He hadn’t even remembered the event was today.

Still, cameras flashed as I stepped away from the podium, my cream-colored heels clicking against the marble floor. Behind me hung an enormous banner thanking the Rucci-Saldini Foundation for its generous donation to the children’s oncology wing.

Two million dollars. My husband could lose that much money over a weekend and barely notice. But writing the check allowed reporters to call us compassionate. Philanthropic. Generous. It bought flattering headlines.

And in our world, perception was worth far more than money.

“Mrs. Saldini! One more picture!”

I turned and smiled as the camera flashed.

“Mrs. Saldini, is Mr. Saldini joining you for tonight’s dinner?”

“My husband has business obligations this evening.”

Smile. Flash. Repeat.

“How do you manage being married to one of Denmoore’s busiest businessmen?”

“It's all about balance and understanding.”

Smile. Flash. Lies. So many fucking lies.

My name is Wilhemina Rucci Saldini. Daughter of Alfredo Rucci. Wife of Emilio Saldini. Two names capable of opening almost every door in the Central-Bay Region and closing enough mouths to fill a cemetery.

My husband was one of the most prominent businessmen in the state of Denmoore. Hospitals. Banks. Real estate developments. Shipping companies. Construction firms. Luxury hotels.

Emilio had his hands in almost everything. And thanks to his marriage to me, he controlled half the ports throughout Central-Bay too.

The Rucci family’s ports. My father’s empire.

Our marriage had connected two dynasties and transformed them into something far more powerful than either family could have become separately.

Legally, we were billionaires.

Illegally...we were something else entirely. My father was one of the most powerful mafia bosses in Central-Bay. My husband was quickly becoming another.

Rumors had already begun circulating that Emilio could eventually replace the aging Godfather who controlled the families throughout all five regions.

And society adored him. Emilio Saldini was handsome, wealthy, charming, patient and allegedly devoted to his wife.

He hosted charity auctions. He attended hospital ribbon cuttings. He funded medical research programs, food drives and scholarships. He donated to schools, police departments and fire departments.

If an old woman stumbled crossing the street, I wouldn’t have been surprised if Emilio materialized from nowhere simply so someone could photograph him helping her.

To the world, my husband was Mr. Perfect. But the world was filled with mindless sheep who saw whatever illusion they were given.

And Emilio...Emilio Saldini was the lord of illusions.

They didn’t see the blood. The threats. The disappeared men. They didn’t hear screams echoing inside abandoned warehouses near the docks. They didn’t know how calmly Emilio could discuss dinner reservations while another man begged him for his life.

They didn’t see bodies hanging from rafters. Men beaten until their own mothers wouldn’t recognize them. Tongues removed because someone had spoken when they shouldn’t have.

But more importantly...

They didn’t see me. Not the real me. To the world, I was Wilhemina Saldini. The pampered socialite who had become the adored wife of Central-Bay’s golden prince. Designer dresses. Private jets. Diamonds. Vacation homes. A staff waiting on my every request.

They believed Emilio worshipped the ground beneath my feet.

They didn’t see the marriage arranged by two power-hungry fathers and power-hungry young man before I had been given much opportunity to object.

They didn’t see how quickly indifference became cruelty. How silence could become punishment. How neglect could slowly convince someone she was invisible.

They didn’t see the arguments. The gaslighting. The loneliness.

They didn’t see me lying awake beside an empty pillow night after night while my husband gave another woman everything he had refused to give me.

Love. Tenderness. Attention. Devotion. No...all they saw was what we needed them to see. A marriage filled with love. A partnership filled with devotion. A picture-perfect union between two powerful families.

And apparently, I was doing an excellent job selling it.

“You handled yourself beautifully today.”

My father didn’t look up from his plate when he said it. Two hours after the charity event, I sat across from Alfredo Rucci inside the private dining room of his estate.

Calling the property an estate was almost insulting.

It resembled a historical-style palace dropped onto sixty acres outside Denmoore. Marble columns. Manicured gardens. Private security stationed behind iron gates. 

The home where I had grown up. The home I had spent most of my childhood wanting to escape.

I lifted my wineglass.

“Thank you.”

“The hospital director called me personally. Two million was generous.”

“It was necessary.”

That finally earned his attention. His dark eyes lifted toward me. At sixty-one, my father remained intimidating. Broad shoulders. Salt-and-pepper hair. Thick brows. An expensive black suit despite the fact we were having a private lunch inside his own home.

Alfredo Rucci never truly relaxed. Men like him couldn’t afford to.

“It was necessary,” he repeated approvingly. “Exactly. People remember generosity, Wilhemina. Particularly when it comes from families like ours.”

Families like ours. Criminal families. But polite society preferred influential.

I cut into my salmon.

“You’re doing a wonderful job honoring both the Rucci and Saldini names,” he continued. “The papers love you.”

I gave him another smile. Smaller this time. More tired.

“You know me, Father. Anything for the families.”

His fork stopped halfway toward his mouth. For several seconds, neither of us spoke. Then he placed it down.

“That’s your job, Wilhemina.”

My fingers tightened around my wineglass. He leaned back.

“Never forget that. As Emilio Saldini’s wife, your job is to maintain appearances above everything else.” His expression hardened. “No matter what.”

There it was. The speech. I had heard some variation of it dozens of times. At my engagement. Before my wedding...after discovering Emilio had been seeing Yazmin again.

The first time I begged my father to let me leave him. The second time I cried. The third...the words were memorized.

The families come first. The businesses come first. The marriage comes first.

Always...or else. I lowered my gaze.

“Yes, Father.”

He smiled as if that settled everything. For him, it did. For men like Alfredo Rucci and Emilio Saldini, my unhappiness was an inconvenience. My marriage, however, was an asset.

By six that evening, I was home. If home was what one could call the enormous stone mansion where I happened to sleep. The front doors opened before I reached them.

“Good evening, Mrs. Saldini.”

“Good evening, George.”

Our butler accepted my coat while two maids hurried forward.

“Would you like dinner prepared?”

“Not yet.”

A hesitation. Always that hesitation.

“Will Mr. Saldini be joining you tonight?”

I looked at the young maid. Her face immediately changed to the look I knew all to well...pity. I hated pity.

“I’m sure Mr. Saldini will inform the kitchen of his plans.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I walked away before she could say anything else. My heels echoed through the foyer. The sound carried. That was the thing about large houses. People assumed they felt luxurious...they didn’t.

Sometimes they simply made loneliness louder.

The Saldini mansion had fourteen bedrooms, eighteen bathrooms, two kitchens, a ballroom, indoor and outdoor pools, a theater, library, gym, wine cellar and enough staff to ensure I never had to lift a finger unless I wanted to.

And somehow, it always felt empty. Cold. Sterile. Miserable. There were photographs of Emilio and me everywhere. Wedding portraits we'd taken only after realizing others might question why one of the richest couples never had a wedding. Charity galas. Political dinners. Vacations we had taken for appearances.

In every picture, his hand rested possessively against my waist. In every picture, I smiled. In every picture, we looked desperately in love.

I stopped in front of our wedding portrait.

Twenty-one-year-old me stared back. Beautiful. Hopeful. Stupid. I remembered believing there might eventually be something between us. Perhaps not love immediately, but friendship. Respect. Companionship.

I had been willing to try. Emilio never was. Because his heart had already belonged to someone else.

My phone vibrated. I stared at the screen.

Emilio.

For one ridiculous second, something inside me reacted. Habit, perhaps. I opened the message.

Emilio: Don’t wait up. Business ran late. I won’t be home tonight.

I stared at the words. Business. Of course. I glanced toward the clock.

7:13 p.m.

A humorless smile touched my lips.

“What else is new?”

I locked my phone and tossed it onto the table. He wasn’t working. I knew that. The staff probably knew that. The underworld of Central-Bay probably knew as well.

There was only one place Emilio disappeared to when he suddenly couldn’t come home. One woman he made time for. One woman who received the affection everyone believed belonged to me.

His college sweetheart. His first love. The woman he had never truly given up.

Yazmin.

I stood alone beneath the glittering chandelier, surrounded by photographs of a marriage that had never existed, while somewhere across the city my husband was undoubtedly holding the woman he actually loved.

And tomorrow morning? I would put on another beautiful dress. I would fasten diamonds around my neck. I would step in front of another camera and I would smile. Because I was Wilhemina Saldini; and if there was one thing everyone had made certain I understood...

It was how to be a good wife.