My Dead Husband Returned With Another Woman

Elena POV

Mia invited us inside.

Of course she did. She was a nurse. She was a savior by trade.

She saw two weary travelers standing on her porch and her first instinct was to offer them tea.

Dante didn't share her hospitality.

I could see the wire-taut tension in his shoulders, the predatory way his eyes tracked Rocco’s every movement.

The house was small.

The living room was a clutter of domestic life—baskets of knitting supplies, stacks of baby books, soft throws.

There were no cold marble floors here. No security cameras blinking in the corners. No guards standing like statues in the shadows.

It was cozy.

It was suffocating.

"I'm Mia," she said, beaming at us with oblivious warmth as she poured hot water into chipped ceramic mugs. "Arthur didn't tell me he had family coming to visit."

She glanced back at Dante.

"You never mentioned them, Artie."

Artie.

I nearly choked on the air in the room.

Three years ago, if anyone had dared to call the Underboss of Chicago "Artie," they would have lost their tongue before the second syllable left their lips.

Dante didn't look at her.

He was looking at me.

His gaze was intense, searching, trying to solve a puzzle that was missing its most critical pieces.

"I didn't know they were coming," he said slowly, his voice rougher than I remembered.

"We didn't want to intrude," I said.

I lowered myself onto the edge of the sofa.

The fabric was soft and worn beneath my fingertips.

"We... heard about the accident. We've been looking for you for a long time."

Mia's face softened into genuine pity.

"Oh, thank God. When I found him... he didn't remember anything. No ID. Nothing."

She sat down next to Dante.

She took his hand.

He let her.

He intertwined their fingers naturally, as if he had done it a thousand times.

His thumb rubbed the back of her hand.

Back and forth.

Soothing her.

I stared at their joined hands, unable to look away.

I was wearing his ring.

A massive diamond that signaled to the world that I belonged to the Moretti crime family. That I belonged to him.

I twisted the band around my finger, turning the stone inward until the diamond bit sharply into the flesh of my palm.

"Who are you exactly?" Mia asked.

Rocco shifted his weight by the door.

He was waiting for my command.

He was waiting for me to drop the blade and tell them the truth.

I am his wife. I am the woman he burned the world for. You are the woman sleeping in my bed.

But I looked at Dante.

He looked peaceful.

He looked sane.

If I told him the truth now—that he was a mass murderer, a kingpin, a monster—it would break his mind.

Or worse.

He would deny it.

He would choose her.

And that rejection would kill me faster than my failing heart ever could.

"I am Elena," I said.

My voice was steady.

Cold.

"I am his cousin."

Mia let out a breath she seemed to be holding.

"Oh! A cousin!"

She laughed, a nervous, tinkling sound that grated against my nerves.

"I was worried... well, never mind. It's so good to meet you."

She squeezed Dante's hand tighter.

"See, Arthur? You have people. You aren't alone."

Dante looked down at her.

He brought her hand to his lips.

He kissed her knuckles, his eyes soft and full of a devotion that made me want to scream until my throat bled.

"You are my family, Mia," he said.

His voice was absolute.

"You're the only one who matters."

I sat there, freezing in the warmth of their living room.

I had been erased.