The screen lit up. A message from Bianca, sent two weeks ago:"My love, the ultrasound today was perfect. The baby is so healthy. The sunset in Miami is beautiful. Wish you were here to see it with me."Miami?I scrolled up. Every message was a knife in my heart.For the past eight months, Massimo had told me he was in Colombia, handling business.Lies. All of it.He was on his private island in Miami with Bianca, waiting for her to give birth.There were pictures. One after another.Massimo teaching Bianca to shoot, his hand covering hers, correcting her stance.Massimo painting her portrait, making her look like a goddess.Massimo peeling grapes for her, feeding them to her one by one.A killer with blood on his hands, peeling grapes for his whore.And me?I was at home, waiting alone, worrying about him every single day.Every time he called with a "business update," I was too anxious to sleep.I even lit candles for him at church, praying for his safety.What a fool I was.I rememb
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