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

I refused to cower.

The next day, I went to the gallery as usual.

Aria sauntered in around noon.

She moved through the space like she owned it, carelessly dragging her fingertips across the sculptures, leaving smudges of oil on the patina.

"Bennett told me you fled early last night," she said, examining a bronze bust. "He was very upset. He came over to my place to burn off that frustration."

She watched me, waiting for a reaction, her eyes glinting with malice.

I continued typing on my laptop, refusing to look up. "The price of that piece is twelve thousand. If you break it, you buy it."

"Bennett buys everything for me," she sneered. "You know that."

"He buys things for his mistresses, yes. It's a tax write-off."

Aria's face twisted into a mask of ugly rage.

"You think you're better than me because you have a ring?" she spat. "He doesn't love you. He pities you."

I stood up, walking around the desk to confront her.

"Get out of my gallery, Aria."

"Or what?" she challenged, stepping closer. "You'll call your husband? He won't pick up for you."

Suddenly, a sickening metallic groan echoed from the ceiling.

We both looked up.

The massive, suspended kinetic sculpture-a heavy arrangement of interlocking steel beams-was swaying violently. One of the support cables had snapped.

"Move!" I shouted.

I lunged forward.

At the same moment, the front door burst open.

Bennett.

He had come to check on me, or maybe to intercept Aria. Whatever his reason, he froze.

He saw the sculpture shearing loose.

He saw us both standing in the impact zone.

Time seemed to fracture and slow.

He had a choice.

He was closer to me. He could have reached out and pulled me to safety.

But he didn't look at me.

His eyes locked on Aria.

"No!" he roared.

He sprinted past me, tackling Aria to the ground, shielding her body with his own.

The steel beam crashed down with the force of a guillotine.

It missed them by feet.

It didn't miss me.

The edge of the sculpture clipped my shoulder with bone-crushing force and sent me flying into a glass display case.

The world exploded into shards.

I hit the floor hard, pain white-hot and blinding, radiating through my arm and side.

I lay there, stunned, gasping for air that wouldn't come.

Through the high-pitched ringing in my ears, I heard Bennett's voice.

"Aria! Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

He was frantically checking her, his hands running over her face, her arms, desperate to find a scratch.

She was crying, clinging to him. "My baby! Is the baby okay?"

"It's okay, I've got you," he soothed, his voice trembling. "I've got you."

I lay in the wreckage of my life, bleeding onto the pristine white marble floor.

He hadn't even looked at me yet.

A security guard ran over to me, his face ashen. "Mrs. Vitale! Oh my god. Call an ambulance!"

Only then did Bennett turn his head.

He saw me lying amidst the jagged glass.

His face went pale.

"Kelsey?"

He stood up, helping Aria up first, making sure she was steady before he finally walked over to me.

"Are you okay?" he asked, looking down at me.

He didn't kneel.

He stood there, anchored to the spot, still holding Aria's hand.

"I'm fine," I whispered, though my arm felt like it was on fire.

"I have to take Aria to the hospital," he said, his eyes darting away from my blood. "The stress... the baby."

"Go," I said.

"The ambulance is coming for you," he said, sounding like he was trying to convince himself he wasn't a monster. "I'll meet you there."

He turned and led Aria out of the gallery.

He left me bleeding on the floor.

Later, in the hospital room, my arm was stitched up and in a sling.

My phone buzzed on the bedside table.

It was a photo from Aria.

It was a picture of Bennett holding a cup of soup, blowing on it to cool it down.

He's taking such good care of us. Don't worry about him.

I stared at the photo. The intimacy of it made my stomach turn.

The nurse came in to check my vitals.

"Is your husband coming to pick you up, honey?" she asked kindly.

I looked at the empty chair beside my bed.

I looked at the phone.

I looked at the nurse with dry, clear eyes.

"No," I said. "I don't have a husband anymore."