Too Late For The Mafia King's Regret

Lucien POV

The rain was relentless, hammering against the armored windshield of the SUV like shrapnel.

A knot of unease had been tightening in my gut all morning, a primitive warning system I had learned never to ignore.

I stared at a black van that had just merged past us. It was nondescript, ordinary-invisible to the untrained eye. But for a split second, a strange tension seized my chest. A magnetic snap. It felt as if a piece of my own soul was being dragged away in that vehicle.

"Lucien?" Sophia whined from the seat beside me. "You're getting wet. Get in."

I glanced down at her. She was preening, rubbing her stomach with a performative tenderness that made my teeth ache.

"Shut up," I muttered.

I climbed in and slammed the door, sealing out the storm. Immediately, I pulled out my phone and dialed Nora.

Straight to voicemail.

I dialed again. Voicemail.

"She's probably sleeping," Sophia said, checking her reflection in the tinted window. "Or maybe she's finally realized she's irrelevant."

I turned on her with the speed of a striking cobra, grabbing her jaw in a vice grip.

"One more word," I hissed, my voice dropping to a lethal whisper, "and I will cut that tongue out. You are a vessel for my heir. That is the only reason you still draw breath."

She paled, shrinking back against the expensive leather, her eyes wide with fear.

I released her and dialed the estate.

"Where is my wife?" I demanded the second the line connected.

"Sir... the Donna... she is not in her room."

"Check the garden."

"We checked everywhere, Sir. It's the house... it feels hollow."

"What do you mean, hollow?"

"Her closet. It is full, but... the personal things. The photos. They are gone."

The phone slipped from my hand. It hit the floor of the car with a dull, final thud.

Gone.

Not taken. Gone.

"Drive!" I roared at the driver, the panic finally clawing its way up my throat. "Get me back to the estate! Now!"

"But the doctor appointment-" Sophia started.

"Get out," I said.

"What?"

"Get out of the car!"

I shoved the door open and pushed her out into the downpour. She stumbled onto the wet asphalt, screaming my name in disbelief.

"Take her to the safe house," I barked at the trailing security detail. "Lock her in."

I slammed the door. "Drive!"

We tore through the city, the engine screaming as we blurred past traffic. I ran three red lights, indifferent to the chaos we left in our wake.

When we screeched through the estate gates, I didn't wait for the car to stop fully. I jumped out, my boots skidding on the wet stone, and sprinted into the house.

"Nora!"

Silence answered me. A heavy, suffocating silence.

I ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time. I burst into the master bedroom.

The bed was made. Perfectly smooth. Military tight. And cold.

I ran to the closet. Her dresses were there. The furs I bought her. The jewels. All there.

But the small things-the wooden comb she loved, the old sweater she wore when she studied-were missing.

She hadn't been kidnapped. Kidnappers take the person. They don't let them pack.

I walked to the safe. It was slightly ajar, a deliberate message.

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird desperate for flight.

I pulled the heavy steel door open.

There, sitting on the velvet shelf, was the black box she had given me two days ago.

An anniversary gift.

My hands shook as I opened it.

The Marino Signet Ring gleamed up at me. The symbol of my authority. The one thing I told her to guard with her life.

Underneath it was a folded document.

I unfolded it.

Petition for Dissolution of Marriage.

Signed. Eleonora Vittori.

She had dropped the Marino name.

I fell to my knees. The paper crushed in my fist. A sound tore from my throat, a guttural roar of agony that echoed off the walls like a wounded animal.

She left me.

She knew. She knew everything.

"Boss!"

Giuseppe, my Consigliere, ran into the room, followed by a tech specialist. Giuseppe looked pale. He was holding a plastic evidence bag.

Inside was a smashed phone.

"We recovered it from the roadside," Giuseppe said quietly. "Just before the GPS signal died. It was where the extraction van was spotted on traffic cams."

"Extraction?" I whispered, the word tasting like ash. "Who took her?"

"No one took her, Boss," the tech guy said, his voice trembling. "She hired a private contractor. Ghost Protocol. We can't track her."

"Recover the data," I said, standing up. My voice was dead, devoid of humanity. "Now."

The tech plugged the smashed remains into his tablet. He worked furiously for a minute, sweat beading on his forehead.

"Most is corrupted," he said. "But the last incoming messages... they were restored."

He turned the screen to me.

I looked.

My blood turned to ice.

Screenshots. Ultrasound photos. A picture of me kissing Sophia's stomach.

And the texts.

He finally has a real woman.

It's a boy. You're just a placeholder.

Sophia.

The realization hit me with the force of a freight train.

Nora didn't leave because I worked too much. She didn't leave because she stopped loving me.

She left because my mistress taunted her with my betrayal.

Sophia had driven my wife away.

I looked at the text again. I carry the Marino Heir.

A dark, cold calm settled over me. It was the calm of the executioner.

"Giuseppe," I said.

"Yes, Boss?"

"Bring the car around."

"Where are we going?"

I picked up the Signet Ring and slid it onto my pinky finger. The gold was heavy. Cold. It felt less like jewelry and more like a shackle.

"To the safe house," I said.

I walked out of the room, leaving the divorce papers on the floor.

"I need to have a word with the mother of my child."

Nora was gone.

But someone was going to pay.