The Don’s Wife Was Never Running

The heavy oak doors of the Capelli mansion creaked open, and the cold marble bit through the soles of my shoes.

I’d flown in from Sicily that morning, then drove two hours from JFK to the mansion.

The air smelled of lilies and cigar smoke, the same scent that had wrapped around me on my wedding day. Now it tasted like ash.

Down the hall, I heard them laughing.

Sofia’s high, tinkling laugh, sharp as broken glass, mixed with Vincent’s deep rumble.

The nursery door was ajar.

I paused in the doorway, my hand tightening around the strap of my handbag until my knuckles turned white.

Inside, Vincent sat in the oak rocking chair, holding one of the twins against his chest.

His face was soft, his eyes filled with a tenderness I’d never seen him show anyone but me.

Sofia stood beside him, her hand resting gently on his shoulder, while the old Don and Donna cooed over the other baby in the cradle.

They looked like a perfect family.

Vincent looked up, and his smile vanished.

He stood so quickly the chair scraped against the floor, handing the baby to Sofia.

"Isabella. You’re here."

Sofia turned, putting on that timid, wide-eyed smile I’d come to hate.

"Mrs. Capelli. It’s so good to see you. The boys have been waiting to meet their godmother."

I said nothing. I looked past them, at the walls.

Everything that had ever been mine was gone, replaced by pastel blankets and stuffed teddy bears.

The old Donna sniffed, turning away from the cradle.

"About time you showed up. We thought you’d hide in Sicily forever, running from your duties as Don’s wife."

"Enough, mother," Vincent said quietly.

The old Don cleared his throat, his eyes never leaving the baby. "It’s good you’re here. The baptism is in several days. You need to be there. It’s your place."

I nodded slowly. "I’ll be there."

Sofia stepped forward, holding out the baby in her arms. "Would you like to hold him? His name is Luca. After your father."

My jaw tightened.

My father had been a respected Capo, killed when I was sixteen. Vincent had held me as I cried over his grave, promising me no one would ever use his name for their own gain.

Before I could answer, the old Don held up a small silver cross on a chain.

"This has been in the Capelli family for three generations. It belonged to my father, and Vincent’s father. Today, it goes to Luca—the future Don of the Capelli family."

He placed it around the baby’s neck, kissing his forehead. "May it protect him from all harm."

Sofia smiled through tears. "Thank you, Don Capelli. It means everything to me."

I turned and walked out of the nursery. I could feel their eyes on my back, but I didn’t look back.

Vincent found me ten minutes later in the study.

"I’m sorry," he said, standing in the doorway.

I turned to face him. "When are you going to send her away, Vincent?"

His face hardened. "You know I can’t. She saved my life in Miami. She took a bullet in the arm for me. And she has my children."

"She saved your life because she knew exactly where you’d be," I said quietly. "She hacked your calendar, followed you to Miami, and waited for the ambush. She planned all of this."

"That’s enough," he said sharply. "I won’t have you speaking about her like that. She’s a good woman."

"And what about me?" I asked, and for the first time, my voice cracked. "I took a bullet in the stomach for you. I lost the ability to have children for you. I gave up everything for you, Vincent. And this is what I get."

He looked away, his jaw clenched. "You’re still my wife. You’re still the only Don’s wife the Capelli family has ever had. Nothing will ever change that."

Before I could respond, Sofia called out softly, "Vincent? The baby’s crying."

He turned and walked back to the nursery.

I stood there, alone, as he leaned down and kissed her forehead, whispering something I couldn’t hear.