The Don’s Wife Disappeared Over the Atlantic

“Aunt Celeste, I need your help erasing my identity. I want to disappear somewhere Damian will never find me.”

“What happened, Elena? Did he hurt you?”

My aunt paused, as though the idea sounded absurd even to her.

“No. He wouldn’t. Everyone in New York knows how well he treats you. Sometimes even I think he understands you better than I do.”

I wanted to tell her what I had overheard outside Damian’s study, but the moment I opened my mouth, my eyes began to sting.

Of course she believed Damian was a perfect husband.

Eight years ago, Damian saw me working at a Manhattan charity auction and began pursuing me soon afterward. He was already the Moretti heir, while I was an ordinary girl from a working family with no connection to his world. Everyone assumed his interest would fade once the novelty wore off. Even I could not believe that a future Don would remain patient for long.

He proved us wrong for two years. When my father returned every gift, Damian came to our house himself. When my parents refused to let him see me, he waited outside until dawn. After he became Don, he still left meetings to sit beside me while I worked on charity projects that meant nothing to his world.

Six years ago, my parents were killed in a car accident. After the funeral, I stood in the empty house and told Damian through my tears that I had no home left.

He pulled me into his arms and kissed the tears from my face.

“Marry me, Elena. Let me give you a home.”

I said yes.

Our wedding drew families from New York, Chicago, and Sicily to the Moretti chapel. Even then, people waited for Damian to tire of me, especially after the years passed and I failed to give him an heir.

Six years later, they were still waiting.

Damian never allowed another woman to challenge my place. At family dinners, the seat beside him always belonged to me. Anyone careless enough to mention an heir in my presence usually lost Moretti protection by the following morning.

There was a saying in his world.

Damian Moretti had no weakness except his wife.

No one who had witnessed our marriage would have believed what I had just heard. I barely believed it myself.

Aunt Celeste had spent years running a private aviation company in Geneva. She had been my mother’s closest friend, and after my parents died, she had asked me to move to Switzerland and live with her. I had refused because Damian was my husband, and I had believed New York was my home.

When I remained silent, she did not press me for an explanation.

“Don’t worry,” she said gently. “I’ll arrange everything.”

Her voice became calm and decisive.

“I’ll send a plane for you the night after tomorrow. Don’t let Damian suspect anything. Once you board that plane, Mrs. Moretti will disappear from New

The call ended, but before I could lower the phone, the unknown number sent another message.

A photograph filled the screen.

Damian stood inside the Moretti chapel with a boy of about one in his arms. The child had one hand wrapped around Damian’s tie and the same gray eyes. Around his neck hung the Saint Michael medallion passed through generations of Moretti men.

Two messages followed.

Did you get a good look, Mrs. Moretti?

Congratulations on finally getting pregnant. Since our children share the same father, perhaps I should teach you a few things about motherhood.

I stared at the words until the conversation from the study arranged itself into something I could no longer deny.

Damian had betrayed me.

We had been married for six years, and his son with Mara was already one. While I had gone through injection after injection and procedure after procedure, he had already become a father with another woman.

The day my fourth round of IVF failed, Damian held me and said it did not matter if we never had a child.

That attempt left me in the hospital for three days. The doctors warned that more treatment could damage my body, but I still begged for another chance. Damian lost his temper with me for the first time. He sent everyone out, sat beside me, and held me while I cried against his shirt.

“I don’t need an heir, Elena. The Moretti line can end with me. I cannot lose you.”

That was the same year his other child was born.

Of course he could say he did not need a child.

He already had one.

Pressure built behind my ribs until each breath hurt. I gripped the edge of the bed and lowered myself to the carpet just as the bedroom door opened.

Damian saw me and crossed the room at once.

“The floor is cold. Why are you sitting here? Are you feeling sick?”

The concern on his face looked exactly as it had every other time I had been unwell. I hid the phone beneath my skirt and managed a small smile.

“I still can’t believe I’m really pregnant. I think I got too excited and stood up too quickly.”

He lifted me into his arms and carried me to the bed. After pulling the blanket over me, he rested his palm gently against my still-flat stomach.

“We’ve only known about you for one day, and you’re already making your mother worry.” His thumb moved gently over my stomach. “When the baby is born, I’ll make sure they know how much their mother suffered to bring them into this world.”

There was real anticipation in his voice.

I studied his face. “Damian, are you hiding anything from me?”

His hand stilled for a moment before he took mine and kissed my wedding ring.

“We’re husband and wife. Why would I hide anything from you?”

I lowered my eyes and did not ask again.

Damian adjusted the pillow behind me.

“I scheduled your appointment for tomorrow morning and canceled the family meeting. We waited six years for this child, Elena. I’m going to make sure both of you are safe.”

If I had not heard him speaking with Luca, I would have believed every word.

Instead, one question pressed against the back of my throat.

Was this really the child you had waited six years for?

I turned onto my side and closed my eyes.

“I’m tired. Stay with me for a while.”

Damian lay down beside me and placed one hand over my waist.

I listened to his breathing and thought of the photograph hidden beneath my skirt, the little boy wearing the Moretti medallion, and the plane Aunt Celeste would send in two days.

For now, I stayed still in my husband’s arms.

Soon, Mrs. Moretti would be gone.