After Divorce I Left With the Mafia King Babies, Now He Wants Me Back

The very next day, Alessandro arrived at the Castellano estate with his arm locked around my waist, his grip possessive enough to leave bruises beneath the silk of my sleeve. The mansion loomed before us, a fortress of Sicilian limestone and iron-wrought balconies draped in wisteria that had long since stopped blooming. Inside, the grand salon had been dressed for Ginevra's homecoming. Crystal chandeliers threw fractured light across a sea of tailored suits and black dresses, and the air hung thick with Montepulciano, expensive cologne, and the quiet menace that attended every gathering of men who killed for a living.

My body stiffened the moment we crossed the threshold. I recognized faces. Associates. Capos. Men who had watched Alessandro kiss me at our wedding and then whispered behind cupped hands that the Castellano orphan had no business standing beside a Leoni. Their eyes found me now, and the familiar mockery slithered across their expressions as Alessandro pressed his lips to mine in a display that had nothing to do with affection and everything to do with territory.

"You will get along with everyone tonight, Elena." His mouth moved against my forehead, warm and threatening. "Do not embarrass me."

His gaze had already drifted past me. Ginevra was crossing the room.

"Sister!"

She stood before me like a vision carved from sin. A crimson off-shoulder gown clung to her frame, the fabric catching the light so she seemed to glow like a beautiful flame against the dark wood and darker men surrounding her. I looked plain beside her. I had always looked plain beside her. She reached for my hands and clasped them, her fingers cool and deliberate, but her eyes never settled on me. They followed Alessandro, tracking every shift of his weight, every turn of his jaw.

"Do you hate me, Elena?" Her lower lip trembled. Tears gathered at the corners of her lashes with practiced precision. "We are sisters, yet you never called me once after leaving this house. Not once in all those years."

She drew a shaking breath.

"I am sorry for monopolizing all of Papà and Mamma's love and attention. But you must understand that love cannot be forced." Her gaze cut to Alessandro, lingered there with an intensity that bordered on indecent, then returned to me. "Mamma has been ill. Her heart. Did you know that? You never came to visit, not even once. How can I mend what is broken between you and this family if you refuse to make any effort, sister?"

I opened my mouth. No words came.

"Elena does not yet understand how to honor family obligations properly." Alessandro's voice filled the silence I could not. He spoke over me, for me, as though I were a child who had forgotten her manners at the table of her betters. "When I have time, I will bring her to pay her respects to your parents and apologize as she should."

He knew. He knew every bruise, every cold silence, every locked door and skipped meal. He knew I had been raised in that house like a stray the family regretted taking in. And still he stood there, smoothing over my absence as though I were the one who owed a debt, as though my pain were an inconvenience he needed to manage.

My heart did not break. It simply sank, the way a stone sinks in black water, without sound.

I excused myself from the crowd, desperate for a breath that did not taste of perfume and pretense. The hallway leading to the restroom stretched long and dim, the marble floors polished to a mirror sheen that reflected the sconces burning low along the walls.

"Well, if it isn't my poor sister."

Ginevra's voice reached me from behind, stripped of every tremor, every tear. The softness she had worn in the salon had been discarded like a costume.

Her heels struck the marble in a slow, measured rhythm as she closed the distance between us. A glass of red wine rested in her manicured hand, and she swirled it lazily, watching the legs of the wine crawl down the crystal while her gaze traveled from my hem to my collar with open contempt.

"If I didn't know better, I would have assumed that was your Nonna's dress." A smile played at the corner of her painted mouth.

My fists clenched at my sides. Nonna Rosa. The kind old woman who had found me in that orphanage when no one else had come looking. Who had fed me, clothed me, read to me by lamplight, and loved me without condition or agenda. Who had given me everything she had until the Castellano family tracked down her address and dragged me back into this world of blood and silence.

"After throwing your little tantrum and running away from home, how does it feel?" Ginevra's lips curled. "Working as a petty waitress in some rotten old trattoria, scrubbing tables for pocket change?"

She tilted her head, and her voice dropped to something almost tender in its cruelty.

"Your old Nonna is in the hospital, isn't she? To think she exhausted every last cent raising an ingrate like you. A girl who abandoned even her own blood family."

"Shut up!" The scream tore from my throat before I could stop it. My hands shook.

I had worked without sleeping for days. Double shifts. Triple shifts. Pouring espresso and clearing plates in a desolate little restaurant at the edge of the old neighborhood until my feet bled and my vision blurred, all to pay for Nonna Rosa's medical bills. The details of her condition, the hospital, the money I owed, I had shared with exactly one person.

My husband.

Alessandro had handed Ginevra every secret I had ever whispered to him in the dark. He had armed her with the private agonies I had trusted him to protect, and she wielded them now like a stiletto pressed to the soft place beneath my ribs.

The pain of my own biological father looking at me with disappointment. Diana's cold indifference, as though I were furniture she had not ordered. Leonardo and Vittorio, the twin brothers who had hurled insults at me like stones thrown at a stray dog. None of it, none of it compared to the agony of this moment.

Alessandro had given her perfect weapons to destroy me.

"You unlucky wretch." Ginevra's voice was barely above a whisper, yet it cut deeper than any blade. "Why didn't you just die all those years ago? Why did you come back to take my place?"

"Stop it, Ginevra." My voice cracked, but I held her stare. "You already have everything you want. Just leave me alone."

She laughed. The sound was bright and careless and utterly devoid of warmth.

"Everything?" Her eyes narrowed. "You snatched Alessandro from me, and you dare say I have everything?"

She stepped closer. The scent of her perfume, something dark and floral and suffocating, filled the narrow corridor.

"Alessandro and I were always meant to be together. How dare a nobody like you even think of keeping him? You are nothing, Elena. A warm body for his bed while I was away. The kind of woman a man like him could have bought by throwing a few bills on a nightstand."

Her smile widened.

"I will have my man back. Soon."

"Ginevra!" My eyes burned with tears I refused to let fall as she cornered me against the cold stone wall.

She released the wine glass. It slipped from her fingers with deliberate grace and shattered against the marble, red spreading across the white floor like a wound that would not close.

"Tonight he will come to my place." Her voice was silk drawn over a razor's edge. "Tonight he will hold me, kiss me, and love me. Just like he always does."

My eyes widened. The air left my lungs.

"What? Are you surprised?" She tilted her head, looking down at me the way one looks at something small and broken. "Alessandro is always away on a trip the day of your wedding anniversary, isn't he?"

My stomach dropped through the floor.

How did she know that?

"All those trips were spent in your honeymoon suite in Paris." Her voice fell to a whisper, intimate and poisonous. "Only the person sharing his bed was never you." She paused, letting the silence do its work. "It was me."

"Last year. That pink satin dress he brought you as a belated anniversary gift." She leaned in until I could feel the warmth of her breath against my cheek. "Do you know who wore it first, Elena?"

A satisfied smile spread across her face.

"I made sure to let your husband enjoy every inch of me in that dress all night long before he wrapped it up for you."

Bile rose in my throat. My knees threatened to buckle, but I locked them, standing upright through sheer force of will.

"That night he was a beast." She let the word linger. "Sister, it was so damn exhilarating. The way he grabbed my hair, the things he made me do. God." She closed her eyes briefly, savoring the memory like a sip of aged wine. "He said you were too much of a prude to try anything like that. Too vanilla for his taste. That you could never satisfy him."

She laughed again, low and throaty.

"On the other hand, I fulfilled every last one of his fantasies."

The memory of that satin dress twisted inside me like a knife turned slowly in a wound. I saw it all again. Alessandro making love to me while I wore it, his hands gentle, his mouth warm against my neck. The same dress in which he had spent a savage night with Ginevra. The same fabric that had touched her skin before it ever touched mine.

I remembered how he had kissed me and told me he had never seen anyone more beautiful. How his eyes had held mine as though I were the only woman in the world. Every tender word, every soft touch, every whispered promise. All of it played behind my eyes like a reel of film burning at the edges.

I remembered cooking for him in that dress. His arms sliding around me from behind, his chest warm against my back, a melody hummed low against my ear as he tilted my chin up to kiss me.

You are my one true love, Elena.

Those were my husband's sweet words while he was openly betraying me. While the scent of another woman still clung to the gift he placed in my hands. While every vow he had ever made crumbled to ash in the silence of that corridor, surrounded by the shattered glass and spreading wine that stained the marble floor the color of blood.