After betrayed, I abandoned my gangster husband

I shoved my arms into a dark sweater and pulled on a pair of jeans. Catching my reflection in the vanity mirror, I froze.

My shirt slipped off one shoulder. The jagged scar across my collarbone stared back at me. Below it, the burn marks on my ribs formed an ugly map of my loyalty. I twisted slightly, catching sight of the pale, raised lines crisscrossing my back.

Five years. Twenty hospital visits.

Every time a rival cartel wanted to cripple Mike, they came for me. They tied me to chairs, beat me, and left me for dead. And every single time, I fought to keep breathing. I swallowed the agony because I thought my husband's heart would break if I died.

"I'm so sorry, baby," Mike's voice echoed in my memory. He used to sit by my hospital bed, his eyes red and wet. He would press his lips to my bruised knuckles, his hands shaking. "I'll make them pay. I swear it. Nobody touches my queen."

Then came the gifts. The emerald necklaces. The limited-edition sports cars. The extravagant apologies wrapped in velvet boxes.

"I have to go handle the fallout," he would tell me, slipping his hand out of mine while the IV dripped into my arm. "I'll be back as soon as it's safe. Just rest."

I gripped the edge of the vanity, my knuckles turning white.

"You didn't go handle the fallout," I whispered to the empty room. "You went to her."

A violent shiver racked my spine. He left me in intensive care to hold Sophia's hand. He used my broken body to keep the target off her back. While I was screaming through physical therapy, he was probably buying her dinner.

I turned away from the mirror. I didn't believe in love anymore. It was just a weapon people used to keep you in line. And I had been the perfect, gullible soldier.

I stepped into the hallway. The front door was straight ahead, but I pivoted right.

Mike's study sat at the end of the corridor. I never went in there. He called it his sanctuary, claiming the stress of his business was too dark for me. I pushed the heavy mahogany door open. It wasn't locked. He didn't think I was smart enough to snoop.

I moved behind his massive oak desk. I needed my passport, maybe some cash from the safe. I yanked the top drawer open.

No passport. Just a thick, black leather folder.

"What are you hiding?" I muttered, flipping it open.

Boarding passes. Hotel receipts. Private jet manifests.

I traced my finger down the dates, my stomach twisting into tight knots.

"October 14th. " The night I took a bullet to the shoulder in downtown Chicago. Mike flew to Paris.

"February 2nd. " The week the Moretti family held me hostage in a warehouse. Mike booked a luxury suite in Aspen.

"August 19th. " My third heart surgery. Mike charted a yacht in the Mediterranean.

"Two passengers," I read aloud, my voice trembling. "Michael Rossi and Sophia Rossi."

He gave her his last name for the hotel bookings. He played house with her while I bled on concrete floors.

Suddenly, the screen of the tablet on his desk flared to life. A notification chimed, loud in the silent room.

I dropped the folder and picked up the device. It was logged into a fake Instagram account Mike used to monitor his rivals. But the notification wasn't from an enemy. It was a new post from Sophia's private page.

A photo loaded on the bright screen.

Mike's face, clear as day, pressing a passionate kiss against a blonde woman's cheek. She was smiling, holding up a bandaged finger with a tiny spot of blood.

The caption read: "My protector. He leaves his empire just to kiss my boo-boos. Forever mine. "

A strange sound ripped from my throat. It wasn't a sob. It was a laugh. A sharp, ugly, broken laugh.

My knees gave out. I hit the hardwood floor hard, the tablet slipping from my fingers and clattering beside me.

The scars on my back throbbed. The phantom pain of a dozen different weapons flared up all at once. Every cut, every bruise, every broken bone screamed at me. I curled my hands into fists, driving my nails into my palms to ground myself.

"I want to leave," I said.

If this is all a lie, I will never give my heart away again. If Sophia's life is so precious, then my life deserves to be protected as well.

This time, I won't sacrifice myself for love; I want to live for myself.