A Mafia Wife’s Wrath

After the party ended, Vince made an excuse and left early. I figured he was going back to keep Sophia company—still hidden away in that room.

Bang! Bang—

Two gunshots suddenly rang out from the top of the hill.

I blinked slowly, only to see a group of men from another territory walking straight toward me.

One of them pulled a gun, aimed it right at my forehead.

And just as I thought my time had come, Vince stepped in front of me.

Seeing him rush forward, the gunmen fired several more shots.

He threw his arms around me and tumbled with me down the slope, never once letting go.

A bullet had struck him in the left side of his chest. Sharp stones tore at his skin, and blood soaked his clothes.

Still, he held me close and whispered, "Don't be scared."

The intruders were quickly subdued. Turns out they were scouts from a rival faction, never expecting to run into me face-to-face.

Years ago, Vince had killed the wife of a border gang boss—she was pregnant at that time. That man had gone mad seeking revenge.

In the hospital, I sat in silence, watching Vince lie motionless in his hospital bed.

'You were willing to die for me. So why do you treat me like this?' I wondered.

His injuries were severe. But by the third day, he insisted on getting up, saying he had to attend an important negotiation with a mafia group.

At that, whatever softness had begun to creep back into my heart curdled into nausea.

He caught me staring. Guilt flashed across his face. "It's really important. I have to go."

"Okay," I said flatly.

Lately, wedding decorations had been showing up all over the compound. And last night, Sophia had sent me a wedding invitation.

Of course, I knew where Vince was going.

Maybe, as she'd said, Vince really didn't love me anymore.

And I, whenever I looked at his face now, all I could see was the image of him and Sophia tangled together.

Soon after, I boarded the cruise ship to Sipore.

…

A message from Vince lit up my phone: [I'm at the negotiation site, Isabella.]

As if desperate to prove himself, he even sent a photo of him supposedly mid-negotiation—right around the time he was standing at the altar with Sophia.

I knew the photo was fake, because I was watching the wedding live.

The livestream was a video call, courtesy of Sophia.

The wedding was held in a basement, probably to keep it hidden from me.

Vince stood at the altar in a groom's suit, the bloodstain on his left chest already soaking through the jacket.

Still, he went through with it.

On screen, the priest finished reading the vows. Vince kissed Sophia's hand and said with all the tenderness in the world, "I do."

At that moment, I laughed at myself.

Just this morning, he'd told me he had an urgent meeting. And somehow, stupidly, I still held onto a sliver of hope. Maybe he really did have something critical to deal with.

But that's who Vince is—the more you trust him, the more he plays you for a fool.

After the ceremony, he messaged me again: [The negotiation went smoothly. What do you want to eat tonight?]

[Was it really a negotiation?] I replied.

On the livestream, his expression changed. His face turned pale.

Then came a flurry of calls.

In a panic, he texted: [It really was a negotiation. Let me explain when I get back.]

I ended the livestream.

By then, I was already far from the border of Macallum, sailing quietly across the sea.