Too Late For Regret: The Mafia Don's Lost Wife

The Vitale Family Anniversary Gala was more than just a party; it was the single most important night of the year.

It was a calculated display of power, wealth, and unbreakable unity.

I stood by the towering crystal champagne display, my spine rigid, wearing a silk dress that cost more than most people's cars.

Bennett was circulating through the crowd, shaking hands, playing the part of the dutiful Underboss to perfection.

And then she walked up to me.

Aria.

She was draped in red. A bold, aggressive crimson that clashed violently with the elegant neutrals of the other wives.

She smiled, and it was like looking into the eyes of a viper.

"Mrs. Vitale," she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "It's so lovely to finally meet you properly."

"I don't believe we've been introduced," I said, my voice pure ice.

"Oh, I feel like I know you," she said, stepping closer, invading my personal space with a cloud of heavy perfume. "Bennett talks about you sometimes."

"Does he?"

"He says you're very... proper." She laughed, a light, tinkling sound that grated against my nerves. "He worries about you. He thinks you're fragile."

"I'm stronger than I look," I said tightly.

She leaned in, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "He's amazing, isn't he? So protective. He cleared my brother's gambling debts last week. Fifty thousand dollars. Just like that."

The floor seemed to tilt beneath my feet.

Fifty thousand.

Bennett had told me money was tight this quarter because of the port strikes.

He had told me we needed to cut back on the gallery budget.

But he had fifty thousand for her brother.

"He's very generous with his employees," I managed to say, though my grip on my glass was white-knuckled.

"I'm not an employee, Kelsey," she said, dropping the pretense. "We both know that."

She looked pointedly at my stomach, then back at my face with a pitying sneer.

"He wants a son," she said cruelly. "It's a shame you couldn't give him one. But don't worry. I'll take good care of his legacy."

I felt bile rise in my throat.

She wasn't just a mistress.

She was his plan.

She was his future.

I was just the placeholder until the baby was born.

"Is everything alright here?"

Bennett's voice cut through the tension like a blade.

He appeared beside us, looking between me and Aria with a flash of genuine panic in his eyes.

"We were just chatting, Bennett," Aria said, beaming at him. "Your wife is charming."

Bennett's jaw clenched hard. "Aria, go find your seat. Dinner is starting."

She pouted slightly but obeyed, trailing a hand across his arm possessively as she walked away.

Bennett turned to me, reaching for my hand.

"What did she say to you?" he demanded, his voice low and urgent.

"She told me about Rico's debts," I said.

Bennett froze.

"That's business, Kelsey. Her brother is a runner for us. I take care of my men."

"Stop it," I said.

I looked at him, really looked at him.

I saw the lies etched into the lines of his face.

I saw the arrogance.

He thought I was stupid.

He thought I was so blinded by love that I would swallow anything he fed me.

"Kelsey, don't start a scene," he warned, his grip tightening painfully around my fingers.

"I'm not starting a scene," I said calmly. "I'm finishing one."

I pulled my hand away from his.

"I'm going to the restroom."

"Hurry back," he said, adjusting his cuffs nervously. "My father is going to make a toast."

I walked away.

I didn't go to the restroom.

I went to the coat check.

I got my wrap.

I walked out the front door of the hotel, past the security guards who nodded at me respectfully.

I stood on the sidewalk, the city noise washing over me like a cleansing tide.

My phone buzzed in my clutch.

It was a text from Bennett.

Where are you? Father is asking for you.

I didn't reply.

I turned off my phone.

I hailed a cab.

For the first time in my life, I didn't care what the Don thought.

I didn't care about the family reputation.

I felt a strange, cold emptiness spreading through my chest.

It wasn't pain.

It was the death of hope.

And God, it was strangely liberating.