Three weeks.For three weeks, Alessandro had been courting me like we were dating instead of married.Breakfast in bed every morning, delivered with fresh flowers and that devastating smile.Dinner reservations at restaurants I’d mentioned wanting to try.Small gifts that showed he’d been paying attention to things I’d said weeks ago.A book by an author I’d loved.Tea from the shop where I’d bought my favorite blend.Earrings that matched a dress he’d seen me admire in a boutique window.All of it was designed to show me I mattered.That he was sorry.That he wanted to earn back my trust.I’d forgiven him days ago, if I were honest.The moment I’d seen him with Aria that morning, when she’d asked if we loved each other and he’d answered without hesitation.When he’d been gentle with my hurt instead of defensive about his secrets.When he’d given me space to process while making it clear he wasn’t giving up.But I wasn’t ready to let him off the hook completely.Alessandro De Luca was
Something warm brushed against my cheek, pulling me from restless sleep.I opened my eyes expecting to see sunlight streaming through my window.Instead, I found Alessandro sitting on the edge of my bed.His dark eyes were studying my face with careful concern.“What are you doing in my room?” I asked, immediately alert. “On my bed?”My voice came out sharper than intended, but waking up to find your husband—your temporary husband—in your private space was jarring.Especially after yesterday’s devastating conversation.Alessandro’s hand moved toward my face, thumb brushing across my forehead.“You don’t look good when you frown.”The gentle touch made my traitorous heart skip.Even after learning the truth about his world, my body still responded to him like we belonged together.I pulled back, needing distance.“That doesn’t answer my question.”Alessandro stood and moved to the small table by the window where I hadn’t noticed he’d placed a silver tray.The smell of fresh coffee and
The envelope arrived with the morning mail, innocuous among the usual bills and business correspondence.Plain white paper.No return address.Nothing to suggest it contained anything more threatening than a dinner invitation.I was sipping my espresso on the terrace when I opened it.The morning was perfect—golden light painting the hills, birds singing in the olive trees, a gentle breeze carrying the scent of lavender.Everything is peaceful and serene.Until I saw what was inside.My hands started shaking so violently that I nearly dropped the photographs.They were surveillance photos.Of me.I walked to my car three days ago.Entering my favorite restaurant in Florence.Shopping at the boutique where I’d bought the dress I’d worn to visit Victoria.Someone had been watching me.Following me.Documenting my every move with professional precision.And also document my secret activities.At the bottom of the stack was a single sheet of paper.Five words typed in block letters:WE KN
I sat in my office for twenty minutes after Victoria left, staring at the closed door.The look on her face when I’d confirmed her worst fears.The way her shoulders had crumpled like I’d physically struck her.The tears she’d tried to hide as she’d walked away from me.Again.I should have told her from the beginning.Should have been honest about my connections the moment I realized she was falling for me all over again.But I’d been a coward.Hoping I could make her love me enough that the truth wouldn’t matter.Hoping I could find a way to explain the complexities of a world she’d never understand.Instead, I’d let someone else tell her.Someone with their own agenda.Someone who wanted to destroy whatever chance Victoria and I had at happiness.Isabella.It had to be Isabella.The timing was too perfect to be coincidental.The day after Victoria agreed to marry me, a mysterious woman appeared at her door with carefully selected evidence of my mafia connections.Evidence that pain
I woke up at five AM, heart racing like I’d been running.The decision had crystallized somewhere in the dark hours before dawn.No more cowardice.No more half-truths and missed opportunities.Today I would ask Alessandro the questions that had been eating at me for days.And I would finally know if the man I’d married was the man I thought he was.Or if I’d been living in a fantasy.I lay in bed listening to the sounds of the penthouse waking up.Mrs. Ciro’s quiet footsteps in the kitchen.The coffee machine is grinding beans.The soft murmur of the morning news from the television.Normal sounds.Domestic sounds.The soundtrack of a life I’d convinced myself could be real.At six-thirty, I heard Alessandro’s bedroom door open.My stomach clenched.This was it.Now or never.I slipped out of bed, pulling on a robe over my pajamas.My hands were shaking as I opened my door.Alessandro was walking toward the kitchen, already dressed for the day.Dark suit, perfectly pressed.His hair
I spent the afternoon rehearsing conversations that never happened.Standing in the gallery’s back office, I practiced different ways to bring up the subject.“Alessandro, someone came to see me with some disturbing information…”Too dramatic.“I need to ask you about your business connections…”Too accusatory.“Are you involved in anything illegal?”Too direct.Every approach sounded wrong in my head.Either too confrontational or too timid.And what if Giulia was wrong?What if asking these questions destroyed whatever fragile peace we’d managed to build in our strange marriage?What if the truth was worse than living with doubt?By five o’clock, I’d convinced myself to wait another day.Maybe another week.Maybe until after the custody hearing when none of this would matter anymore.Then Alessandro’s car pulled up outside the gallery.My stomach dropped.Now or never.Except when I slid into the passenger seat and saw his face, all my carefully planned questions evaporated.He look