My Husband Cheated, So I Married His Enemy

To everyone else, I'm the wife of Stefano Pace, the man who runs this city's underworld. To others, I am living the kind of luxury every woman in town envies. But what no one knows is that in three days, I'm leaving my husband for good.

It started when I took Stefano's car to wash and spotted a black stocking that wasn't mine wedged in the passenger seat cushions. It was balled up and still reeked of sickly sweet perfume. The sight of it was like a knife to the heart.

I knew that perfume. It is Isla Torelli's. She's Stefano's underboss, the only woman besides me who's ever taken the passenger seat.

My hand trembled as I gripped the stocking, but I kept my cool.

I thought back to our wedding seven years ago, when Stefano stood in front of the whole family and vowed, "If I ever betray you, then betray me a hundredfold!"

He probably did not think those words would come true.

"This is Sylvie. I'm done being the good little housewife. Tell the Sassis to brace for my return."

I hung up on the last word, ending the call and seven years of swallowed pride.

I threw the black stocking back where I found it, went home, and scrubbed my hands raw, but the sickly sweet perfume still clung to me.

I caught my reflection in the mirror. My lips were pale, and my eyes were so sunken I hardly recognized myself.

I touched the dark circles under my eyes and noticed the tiny tattoo on my wrist. Seven years ago, Stefano Pace and I got matching tattoos. He got the key, and I got the lock.

"You're the only one I'll ever unlock," he had said to me, so earnestly it sounded like a wish.

I could still feel his kiss on my wrist. Now the lock remained, but the key was gone.

Tears fell from the corners of my eyes, drop by drop, into the sink.

"I guess we didn't make it past the seven-year itch after all," I murmured.

Seven years ago, Dad, Don of the Sassi family, held a gun to my head and told me not to marry Stefano.

I married him anyway, for love, for a soldato who had nothing but ambition back then. I gave up my birthright, my crown, and my family's empire to build his instead.

I played the perfect housewife, funneling him money and dealing with his enemies. Step by step, I put him on this city's underworld throne.

Back then, Stefano said I was the only light in his life. Now he couldn't take his eyes off Isla Torelli.

She'd started as a dancer. Now, she was his underboss. She used her body as a weapon, and he worshiped power in any form.

Stefano made Isla his underboss, his right hand, the charm he relied on when things got rough. Meanwhile, I, his wife, was reduced to a trophy.

Rumors about them had been swirling in our circles for a long time. Whenever the doubts ate at me and I confronted him about it, he denied it outright and said he and Isla kept it strictly professional.

I believed him.

Then he started staying out all night and coming home reeking of her perfume. Now there was a black stocking in his car.

This time, I was going to get an answer.

I went full glam, slipped into my priciest dress, and had the driver drop me off at the entrance to Stefano's private club, the place where we first met.

He once pointed at this gilded money pit and said, "I'll own this place someday."

I quietly bought the club and let it go to him for cheap just to make that happen. I never thought he'd turn it into a playground for someone else.

The guard at the door gave me a nod when he saw me. "Mrs. Pace. Don Pace isn't in right now."

I gave him a curt nod, keeping my voice even. "It's fine. I'll wait."

I eased open the door to Stefano's private room. It smelled like whiskey, leather, and smoke. Isla was sprawled on the couch, a cigarette resting between her perfectly manicured fingers.

She froze for a beat when I walked in, then sprang to her feet. "Mrs. Pace, what brings you here? I was just waiting for Don Pace to get back so we could go over the new casino plans."

I let out a short, humorless laugh. "Cut the act, Isla. It's just us."

The fluster in her eyes faded, leaving pure defiance. "Alright, Sylvie. If that's what you want."

She sank into the couch and crossed her legs, slow and deliberate. "What are you doing here, Sylvie? Stefano isn't here right now."

I tossed the photo of the black stocking I'd found in Stefano's car onto the table in front of her. "You left this in his car on purpose, didn't you?"

Isla glanced down, a smug smile tugging at her lips. "Oh, so you found it. That's not on me, sweetheart. That's on Stefano. He says he needs my scent to get hard. Guess you don't do it for him anymore."

Her words hit like a bullet and shattered my heart, but I didn't even flinch.

"No matter what you've done behind my back, I'll always be his wife. And you'll always be the other woman he has to hide," I said calmly.

A laugh burst out of her, and her eyes lit with something wild. "The other woman? Sylvie, remember this. The one he doesn't love is the other woman!"

Then I caught the footsteps I knew by heart.

Stefano had returned.

Isla flashed a wicked grin, snatched the whiskey bottle off the table, and smashed it over her own head without thinking.

The bottle shattered and blood poured. Then, she let out a bloodcurdling scream. "Mrs. Pace! Please don't hurt me! I'm sorry!"

Before I could react, she stuffed the bloody bottle into my hand.

Right then, the door flew open.