My Mafia Husband's Deadly Secret

Alessia POV:

I returned to the Moretti fortress, a cold, opulent prison of marble and glass overlooking the city. The silence inside was as vast and empty as my marriage. I walked past the guards, their faces impassive, and went straight to our bedroom.

My walk-in closet was a shrine to another woman.

Rows of designer dresses in bold colors I would never choose. Shelves of high heels that were a size too small. A jewelry safe filled with pieces that felt less like adornments and more like costumes. It was Isabella's style, Isabella's preferences. My own identity had been so completely erased, I wasn't sure what was left. I was a ghost haunting a life that was never mine.

Marco's plan was more than just an escape. It was a resurrection. A new identity, perfectly forged papers, a funded placement at a prestigious art academy in Florence, and a safe passage to a life outside the reach of the Famiglias. The thought of holding a paintbrush again, of creating something that was truly mine, was a flicker of warmth in the ice cavern of my chest.

I had to play my part perfectly.

Dante came home hours later. He found me in the library, a book open on my lap, pretending to read.

"I thought you'd be sulking," he said, loosening his tie. He smelled faintly of Isabella's perfume.

I looked up, offering him the small, placid smile he expected from his quiet, dutiful wife. "I was worried about you."

He seemed surprised by my compliance. A flicker of something-maybe relief, maybe suspicion-crossed his face before he masked it. "It was nothing. A small issue with the De Luca alliance."

Pride. That was his greatest weakness. His belief that he was in complete control, that I was a simple, dependent creature who couldn't survive without him.

"I'm sorry I was difficult earlier," I said, my voice deliberately soft. "I know your work is important."

He nodded, accepting my apology as his due. He walked over to the bar to pour himself a drink when his phone buzzed on the counter. Isabella. The name glowed on the screen.

"I'll take this in my office," he said, already turning away, his attention completely captured.

This was my chance.

I followed him a few moments later, carrying a thin stack of documents. He was standing by his desk, back to the door, murmuring into the phone. I waited silently. When he finally hung up, he turned, irritation hardening his expression.

"What is it, Alessia?"

"Just some papers for the shipping subsidiary," I said, keeping my voice even. "Felix said you needed to sign them tonight." Using the name of his Consigliere, Felix, lent my lie a necessary weight of legitimacy.

He held out his hand, not even looking at me. I placed the stack on his desk. The top sheets were innocuous-standard shipping manifests and payroll authorizations. But buried beneath them was a single page, a legal document drafted by a lawyer on Marco's payroll. It was an amendment to the prenuptial agreement for one of our legitimate front businesses. A simple clause that transferred a small but significant percentage of "clean" assets directly to me upon documented proof of infidelity.

My war chest.

He grabbed a pen from the desk, his eyes scanning the top page before he began signing, his signature a sharp, arrogant scrawl. He flipped through them quickly, his mind clearly elsewhere, still on his call with Isabella.

I held my breath, my heart hammering against my ribs.

He reached the page. He didn't pause. He just signed his name at the bottom, the ink bleeding slightly into the expensive paper.

He pushed the stack back toward me without a second glance.

"There. Is that all?"

"Yes, Dante." I picked up the papers, my hands steady despite the tremor that ran through me. "That's all."

The trap was set.