My Husband's Secret Mafia Bride

"To the future," I said. My crystal flute chimed against Leo Rossi’s glass.

"To the Salvatore legacy," Leo replied. He kept his eyes locked on mine.

Julian sat to my left. He wore a fresh silver tie, perfectly knotted. He raised his own glass. "And to the harbor expansion. We break ground on Tuesday."

Leo lowered his drink. The amber liquid barely touched his lips. He set the crystal down on the white tablecloth. "We will see about Tuesday, Julian."

Julian’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second. He recovered instantly. "The permits cleared yesterday, Leo. The mayor signed the zoning variances himself."

"Permits change," Marco Romano offered from across the table. He sliced into his veal, the knife scraping the porcelain plate. "Winds shift. Mayors find new friends."

Julian’s jaw tightened. He glanced at me, waiting for me to fix it.

I took a slow sip of my wine. I let the silence stretch.

Every man at this table had received a personal visit from my father’s capos this morning. The message delivered was identical across the board: *Julian Vega is no longer under Salvatore protection.*

Julian didn't know he was pitching to ghosts.

"The shipping lanes are secure," Julian insisted. He leaned over his untouched plate, his voice taking on a desperate edge. "I personally guaranteed the union contracts. The longshoremen are locked in for the next five years."

"Rosa," Leo said. He ignored my husband entirely, turning his massive shoulders toward me. "Your father’s health? He is well?"

"Never better, Leo," I answered. "He sends his warmest regards to your wife. He mentioned her garden is blooming beautifully this season."

"Tell the Don I remain at his disposal. Always."

Julian gripped his napkin. His knuckles turned white under the chandelier light. "Leo, about the union fees. We need to align the percentages before the weekend."

"I need to use the ladies' room," I interrupted. I pushed my chair back. The wood scraped loudly against the marble floor.

Julian stood up halfway. "Hurry back, babe."

"I will."

I walked behind his chair. His navy suit jacket hung over the mahogany backrest. My hand brushed the fabric. Two fingers slid into the inner breast pocket and pinched the smooth edges of his secondary phone. I pulled it out and palmed it in one fluid motion.

Marco saw me do it. He didn't blink. He just took another bite of his veal.

The marble corridor offered complete silence. I locked myself inside the last stall.

I stared at the black screen of the burner phone. I had watched him type his passcode in the reflection of the bedroom window three weeks ago.

*Zero. Eight. One. Five.*

The screen illuminated.

A pregnant stomach filled the wallpaper. A woman's hands resting on the swollen curve, showing off a diamond ring.

A text banner hovered at the top of the screen.

*Elena: Sunday brunch cake ordered. What if she comes?*

I tapped the message. The thread opened.

*Julian: She won't. She knows nothing. I'll handle it.*

I stared at the glowing blue bubbles.

*Elena: I just want you here. Sofia kicks every time you leave.*

*Julian: I'll be there by noon. I promise.*

I locked the device. The screen went dark.

I stepped back into the private dining room. The men were laughing at a joke Leo had just told. Julian sat quietly, nursing a scotch, isolated at the head of the table.

I walked behind him. I dropped the phone back into the silk-lined pocket of his jacket.

I sat down and leaned toward him. My lips brushed his ear.

"I want to go to the Hamptons this weekend," I whispered. "Remember our plans?"

Julian turned his head. His eyes met mine. "Of course I remember. It’s all booked."

"Just the two of us," I added.

"Just us," he agreed. He reached out and squeezed my knee under the table. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

The dinner wrapped at midnight. The waiters cleared the espresso cups.

"A lovely evening, Rosa," Leo said. He kissed both my cheeks. He gave Julian a curt nod. "Julian."

"I'll walk you to your cars," Julian offered.

"No need," Marco replied sharply. "We know the way out."

Julian grabbed his keys from the table. "I'll pull the car around to the front, Rosa. Wait here."

"Actually, I left my compact in the restroom," I lied. "Go ahead. I'll meet you at the valet."

Julian turned and walked out the heavy oak doors. He left his jacket draped over the chair.

I waited three seconds.

I unclasped my clutch. I pulled out the tiny, adhesive-backed GPS tracker Matteo had handed me that afternoon.

I picked up Julian's suit jacket. I flipped the lapel back. I pressed the tracker deep into the bottom seam, right where the heavy silk lining met the wool. I rubbed my thumb over the fabric.

I dropped the jacket back onto the chair.

The parking lot smelled of salt and rain. The Aston Martin idled under the yellow streetlights. Julian stepped out and opened the passenger door for me. He held his jacket in his other hand.

"Cold night," he said.

I slid into the leather seat. I looked up at him.

"Tonight, you were the man I loved most," I told him.

Julian chuckled. He leaned down and kissed my forehead. "And you're the only woman for me."

He didn't catch the past tense.

He shut the door.

I pulled my phone from my clutch. I opened the encrypted messaging app.

A green dot pulsed on the digital map. The tracker was live.

I hit forward. I sent the live link directly to Matteo.

No caption.

Julian slid into the driver's seat and put the car in gear. He drove us toward a future he would never see.