His Father's Wife

In the top-floor suite of the Golden Palace casino, the heads of the Five Families sat around a green velvet table. Soft light from a crystal chandelier filled the room, which smelled of Cuban cigars and whiskey.

I was there in Vincent’s place, wearing a black silk evening gown and a Rolex I’d won in an earlier hand. The game was going well—I’d just won three rounds in a row, and my chips were stacked into a small mountain.

“The new Mrs. Moretti has quite a talent for the game,” the don of the Colombo family said, raising his glass.

I smiled and raised my glass in return.

Just then, I saw Dante quietly slip away from the table and head down a hallway behind the main room. He was trying to be discreet, but he didn’t escape my notice.

“Excuse me, I need to use the powder room,” I said, rising gracefully.

The hallway was lined with Persian rugs and priceless oil paintings. My heels sank into the carpet as I followed Dante’s silhouette to the end of the hall.

Suite 3508.

A sliver of light shone from under the door, and I could hear muffled voices. I pressed my ear to the wood, listening closely.

“…how is the plan progressing?” a woman’s voice asked, her accent Eastern European.

“Be patient, Natasha,” Dante’s voice answered. “I need more time.”

Natasha? I frowned. Wasn’t that the daughter of the head of the Volkov family? The Russians were our rivals.

"Time?" the woman scoffed. "He's not stepping down. We're done waiting."

"I know! But Isabella's in the house now, and she's a problem. She's smart, and—"

“And what?”

“And she has something. I saw her bring boxes of my father’s old files to the estate. If those files have records of our… deals…”

My blood ran cold. What kind of deals?

“Then silence her. Permanently,” Natasha’s voice was as cold as a Siberian winter. “An accident, a car crash, or—”

“Murder?” Dante’s voice trembled. “If we get caught—”

“We won’t,” the woman purred. “Not if it’s done cleanly. Besides, you’ve always hated her, haven’t you? She stole what should have been yours—your father’s affection, the family’s wealth, your future as Don. Now you have a chance to solve all your problems at once. Why are you hesitating?”

The bed creaked softly.

“You’re right,” Dante’s voice turned firm. “Isabella has to die. But I’ll need your family’s support.”

“Of course, my love,” the woman giggled. “As long as you can deliver the Moretti family’s port operations, the Volkovs will be your strongest allies.”

“Deal.”

The sounds that followed turned my stomach. Kissing, then the tearing of fabric.

I clenched my fists, ready to leave, when I heard footsteps behind me.

“Ma’am? What are you doing here?”

A security guard in a black suit had walked up. Dammit. I’d been caught.

“I was looking for the restroom,” I said, trying to stay calm.

“The restroom is that way, ma’am.” He pointed in the opposite direction, then looked quizzically at the door to Suite 3508. “This suite is supposed to be empty…”

He walked toward the door, raising his hand to knock.

“Wait—” I tried to stop him, but it was too late.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Who is it?” Dante’s panicked voice came from inside.

“Security check, sir. Please open the door.”

After a brief silence, the door opened. A disheveled Dante stood there, his hair a mess and his face flushed. Behind him, a blonde woman was hastily pulling on her clothes.

“What the…” The guard was stunned.

Even worse, the scene was witnessed by several people down the hall. Don Salvatore, the Chairman of the Commission, was walking toward us with the other family heads.

“What’s going on here?” Don Salvatore’s voice was cold and authoritative. He was in his seventies, but his eyes were still sharp enough to cut through steel.

Dante’s face went pale. He was speechless.

Natasha stepped out from behind him, her blonde hair loose, her red lips smudged. Her eyes widened for a second when she saw me, but she quickly recovered.

“Mr. Chairman,” she said in perfect English. “We’ve been framed.”

“Framed?”

“Yes.” Natasha pointed at me. “This woman was eavesdropping at our door, then she deliberately called security. She wants to ruin my… friendship with Mr. Moretti.”

“Friendship?” Don Salvatore sneered. “Do I look like a child to you, Miss Volkov?”

Dante finally found his voice. “Chairman, please, let me explain! Isabella set me up! She’s jealous and she’s trying to destroy my reputation!”

“Set you up?” I stepped forward, my voice as calm as a still lake. “I was looking for the restroom. If that’s a setup, then what do you call what you two were doing in that room?”

“We weren’t doing anything!” Dante denied it frantically. “I was just… I was…”

“Just what? Plotting my murder with the daughter of a rival family?” I looked him straight in the eye. “Or were you planning to sell out the Moretti family’s port operations?”

Don Salvatore’s expression turned grim. “What did you hear?”

“I heard plenty, Mr. Chairman. Including some interesting talk about ‘accidents’ and ‘betrayal.’”

Dante panicked. “She’s lying! She didn’t hear anything! Natasha and I were just—”

“Just what?” a deep voice cut in from the other end of the hall.

Vincent. He appeared around the corner, his face as dark as a thundercloud. He strode toward us, each step a heavy blow against the marble floor.

“Vincent,” Don Salvatore nodded. “You’re just in time.”

“What happened?” Vincent demanded, his eyes blazing as he took in the sight of the disheveled Dante and Natasha.

“Your son was having a private meeting with the Volkov girl,” Don Salvatore said coldly. “And according to Isabella, they were discussing some… unfriendly business.”

Vincent’s gaze shifted to me. “Isabella?”

“They were planning to have me killed,” I said, meeting his eyes. “And they were going to hand over the Moretti ports to the Russians.”

The air turned to ice.

Vincent slowly turned to Dante, the fury in his eyes about to erupt. “Is this true?”

“No! Father, don’t listen to her!” Dante dropped to his knees, grabbing Vincent’s pant leg. “It was her! She framed me! She’s jealous and she’s trying to turn you against me!”

“Then,” Vincent’s voice was a low growl, “explain why you were alone in a room with the daughter of a rival family.”

“I… I…” Dante couldn’t form a sentence.

Natasha stepped forward. “Mr. Moretti, this is just a misunderstanding. Dante and I were discussing business, nothing more.”

“Business?” Vincent scoffed. “Since when does the Volkov family have business with us?”

Suddenly, Dante pointed at me. “Mr. Chairman! I demand justice! This woman isn’t one of us! She’s an outsider! A spy! She’s trying to destroy us! I demand that you punish her!”

Don Salvatore narrowed his eyes. “Punish her? Young man, do you know who you’re talking to?”

“Of course I do! I’m Dante Moretti! I am the—”

“You are what?” the Chairman’s voice dropped to a freezing temperature. “You’re her stepson. And tradition dictates you call her ‘Mother.’”