My Mafia Husband Chose His Pregnant Mistress

"A friend of mine is planning her daughter's wedding," I said over breakfast. "She asked me to look at the Bellmont ballroom."

Dominic didn't look up from his espresso. "Today?"

"Just for an hour. They're setting up anyway."

"Fine." He tapped the table once. "Stay out of the east wing. The men will be talking business back there."

"I know the rules, Dom."

"Good girl."

He kissed the top of my head on his way out. He never asked which friend.

---

Black town cars filled the Bellmont courtyard. Men in dark suits patrolled the halls, their eyes sliding over me and moving on. Nobody stopped me. Nobody recognized me.

Inside, a crystal chandelier the size of a car hung over the ballroom. Champagne towers. White roses on every table.

And in the center of it all stood Serena Blake.

She held an iPad and pointed at a waiter. "No. Move the head table six inches left. He wants the light on him."

She wore a cream suit, perfectly tailored. A diamond bracelet glittered on her wrist. Last October, I'd found the receipt for that bracelet in Dominic's coat pocket. He'd told me it was a gift for a capo's wife.

She glanced up. Gave me a polished, empty smile.

Then her eyes widened a fraction.

She walked over, heels sharp against the parquet. "Mrs. Moretti. What a surprise. Can I help you with something?"

"It's beautiful in here," I said. "You've done a lovely job."

"Thank you." Her grip tightened on the iPad. "Is Dominic expecting you?"

I ignored that and nodded toward the center of the room. Two gold chairs. "Are those for the Don and his wife?"

Her smile stiffened. Only for a breath.

"Dominic arranged the seating himself," she said smoothly. "I just carry out his instructions."

"So he has a wife." I tilted my head. "And another woman gets the chair beside him. In front of every family in the city."

Serena stepped closer. Her perfume was the same sweet powder I'd smelled on his collar for three years.

"Some marriages only exist on paper," she said softly. "The woman who's actually by a man's side knows what he needs."

The words slid between my ribs.

I didn't flinch. I smiled.

"Do you really believe," I said, "that a man who can throw away ten years of marriage that easily will stay faithful to you for the rest of his life?"

Her face went cold. The sweetness drained right out of it.

"Don't try to scare me with your title, Mrs. Moretti." She said my name like it tasted bad. "It won't work for much longer."

"Enjoy the party, Miss Blake."

I turned and walked out. My knees held. My hands didn't shake until I reached the hallway.

I stopped behind a marble column to catch my breath.

"—she's *here*, Dominic." Serena's voice, low and furious, carried around the corner. "Why didn't you tell me she might show up?"

A pause.

"No, I didn't tell her anything. She was asking about the seats."

Another pause, longer.

"I don't *know* what she knows! Stop asking me that!"

Even through the phone, I could hear him. Not the words. The pitch. Fast. Rattled.

Dominic Moretti, who'd stared down the Russos without blinking, was panicking.

So he wasn't a man caught up in something he didn't understand. He'd known every single step. He'd built every lie himself.

I pressed my palm to the cold marble and walked out the side door.

---

That night, I set his plate down and sat across from him.

"I stopped by the Bellmont today."

His fork paused. "Oh?"

"It's gorgeous. Your secretary was there." I sipped my water. "Why are there two chairs at the head table?"

He frowned like I'd asked about the weather in Ohio. "That's standard. The planners do that for every event."

"Standard."

"Viv." He reached across and took my hand. His thumb rubbed my knuckles. "After the celebration, I'm taking you and Lily to Florida. The beach house. I swear it this time. We'll make up for every summer I missed."

I looked at him. The scar on his chin. The gray coming in at his temples.

For a second, I saw him at twenty-four, sitting cross-legged on the floor of our first apartment. A greasy five-dollar pizza between us. Rain dripping through the ceiling into a cooking pot.

*One day I'll buy you a palace,* he'd said, cheese on his lip.

*I'd rather have a roof that doesn't leak,* I'd said, and he'd laughed until he choked.

My throat ached.

But that boy didn't excuse this man. Nothing did.

"You know," I said lightly, "I was on the old computer last week, looking for Lily's baby photos. I think I saw a few pictures of Serena in there."

His fingers clamped around mine. Hard.

Then he let go and picked up his wine.

"She's my personal secretary," he said. "Very capable. She's in a lot of work photos."

"Of course."

"Don't start with that look."

"What look?" I stood, rounded the table, and straightened his tie. Smoothed the silk flat against his chest. "There. You always wear it crooked."

He caught my wrist and kissed it. Relief softened his whole face.

He thought I'd believed him.

---

The night before the celebration, I met Margot in her car outside a pharmacy.

I handed her a thick envelope. "Chat logs. The bank transfers. The hotel photos. The seating chart."

She weighed it in her palm. "Copies?"

"Two. Somewhere he'll never look."

"And Lily?"

"My mother's picking her up at noon tomorrow. She thinks it's a sleepover."

Margot nodded once. "Whatever happens in that room, Vivienne, don't go in there alone."

"I've always been alone in there," I said. "I just didn't notice."

---

Back home, I opened the closet.

The black gown hung in its garment bag. Silk, backless, ordered six months ago for our tenth anniversary. I'd imagined wearing it on his arm, his mother's diamonds at my throat.

I ran a finger down the zipper.

Then I pushed it aside and took out a plain navy dress. Simple. Knee-length. No sequins.

I didn't need jewels to prove I was the Don's wife. I didn't need his permission to walk into his world.

I'd built half of it.

Dominic came to bed late. He slid in behind me and wrapped his arm around my waist, the way he hadn't in months.

"After tomorrow," he murmured into my hair, "everything gets easier. We'll start over. You'll see."

I rested my head against his shoulder. His heart beat slow and steady under my ear. The same heart I'd once pressed my hand over in a hospital bed, praying it wouldn't stop.

A tear rolled sideways into the pillow. Then another.

I didn't answer him.

He fell asleep within minutes, his breathing deep and easy. A man with nothing on his conscience.

I stared at the navy dress hanging on the closet door.

Tomorrow, he'd stand under that chandelier and give Serena his surprise.

And whatever he said, I'd be standing there to answer it.