The Mafia Husband Who Never Let Go of His First Love

Gianni let out a relieved breath. "Oh, I forgot. You don't understand the old dialect. My mistake. Lorenzo and I just slip into it out of habit."

I didn't break my gaze, keeping my eyes locked on him. My stare must've been enough to make him squirm because he immediately tensed, rubbed the back of his neck, looked at the floor, then mumbled something and slipped out of the back room.

Two years ago, I wouldn't have understood a word of what they'd been saying. The Sicilian the made men spoke between themselves was meant to lock outsiders out. But I worked hard to learn it, desperate to understand Lorenzo.

And yet, the first words I ever heard spoken in that tongue pierced through me like a dagger.

...

"Adriana, look. I had them make this for you. Try it."

Lorenzo set a bowl of broth in front of me like he was presenting some kind of masterpiece, the kind that simmered all afternoon on the famiglia's Sunday stove. His eyes were wide, full of warmth and anticipation, like I was supposed to be grateful.

How long had he been pretending? Wasn't he tired of all the lies?

"That's very thoughtful of you, but I'm not really in the mood," I said, pushing his hand away and turning over to lie back down, closing my eyes.

I saw the flicker of disappointment cross his face before he quickly masked it. His thumb rolled the wedding band once around his finger. Without saying another word, he set the bowl down and left the room.

It wasn't until later, when I saw the intimacy between him and Bianca in that other room, the house doctor's curtains drawn behind them, that I realized—my heart wasn't even aching anymore.

It was numb.

I turned to leave, but as I did, I locked eyes with Bianca.

She smirked, a mocking glint in her eyes.

Was she laughing at how every man I'd ever loved had walked away?

Or was she savoring the fact that I had given everything, believing in love, in happiness, only to have it all come crashing down as a lie?

I lowered my head, unable to even muster the strength to confront her. I turned back to my room, feeling utterly drained.

Right then, I realized I was just… so tired.

...

I sat on the bed for what felt like hours, lost in thought. After a while, I grabbed the burner line and called Don Adamo, the aging head of the northern Adamo faction.

"Don Adamo, I want in on the raid into the sealed stronghold."

There was a pause on the other end before he spoke. His voice had a cautious edge. "Adriana, are you sure about this? The job's off the books, and it's incredibly dangerous. You've just recovered. I'm not sure your body is ready for something like this."

I glanced down at the ring on my finger. I pressed the pad of my thumb hard against the inside of my wrist, where my mother had once taught me to find a pulse. "I can do it."

"Alright," he sighed. "I'll send word with the schedule and what to watch for. Adriana… you're just as brave as your mother was. Honestly, after everything that happened three years ago, I didn't think you'd ever want to set foot in the north again."

I had thought the same. I had sworn I'd never go back.

But now? I was ready.

Three years ago, our crew, led by Lorenzo, was deep in the snowbound country above the line, scouting an old hideout in a turf war that had no front and no rules.

Out of nowhere, Bianca screamed, a piercing, blood-curdling sound that cut through the silence like a knife.

Before any of us could react, the ground shook beneath our feet. A roar filled the air as the whole ridge came down on us, gunfire and snow and rock swallowing everything in its path.

And then, in that instant, I saw it all.

Marco, my betrothed at the time, the man the Greco line had promised me to, let go of my hand without a second thought.

No hesitation.

No panic.

It's just a cold decision. His eyes had already cut toward the way out.

He turned and bolted straight toward Bianca, his face etched with fear, but it was all for her.

Meanwhile, me? I was forgotten.

The avalanche of snow and debris hit with such force that it knocked me off my feet, throwing me like a ragdoll toward the edge of the drop.

The wind howled in my ears as the snow lashed my face, and I reached out, grasping for something, anything, to hold on to. But all I caught was cold, empty air.

I was about to fall into the abyss when suddenly someone grabbed me.

'Lorenzo…'

He lunged, throwing himself in front of me and pulling me into his arms as we tumbled together.

When we finally came to a stop, we were just inches from the edge.

His face was pale, his lips stained with blood from the impact, but the first thing he asked was—

"Are you okay?"

Since my mother passed, the legendary house physician who kept made men alive in secret, that was the first time anyone had shown me real concern.

Or so I thought.

He played his part too well.