Broken Strings: The Mafia Wife’s Exit

The so-called investigation was a farce, a theater of cruelty designed to appease, not to uncover the truth.

Two days later, Dante's Capo hauled a sobbing maid into the courtyard.

They claimed she had stolen the cello to pawn it, only to damage the instrument in a panic when confronted.

It was a lie. I knew it, and they knew it.

Dante didn't blink as he ordered her hands crushed with a hammer.

I watched from the balcony, nausea roiling in my stomach, acid climbing my throat.

I knew the maid was innocent.

I knew with absolute certainty that Sofia had either paid her off or threatened her family into silence.

But Dante didn't care about the truth. He cared about order. He cared about the sanctity of Sofia's reputation.

"Are you satisfied?" Dante asked, his voice materializing directly behind me.

I didn't turn around. I couldn't bear to look at him.

"You punished the wrong person," I said, my voice trembling with suppressed rage.

"The matter is settled," he stated cold and final. "Tonight is the Gala aboard the Lady Anastasia. You will wear the red dress I selected. And you will apologize to Sofia for striking her."

I turned slowly, meeting his gaze.

"I will not."

"You will," Dante countered.

He stepped close, looming over me, sucking the air out of the space between us.

"Because if you don't, I will deploy Mia to the front lines of the territory dispute in the South Side."

He knew exactly where to strike. He knew my sister was my only weakness.

"You are a monster," I whispered.

"I am a husband who expects obedience."

The Gala was a display of grotesque excess.

Champagne flowed like water, diamonds sparked under the chandeliers, and men discussed murder with polite smiles plastered on their faces.

I wore the red dress.

It clung to my skin, heavy and suffocating. It felt like I was wearing blood.

I found Sofia near the railing on the upper deck, holding court amidst a circle of admirers.

Dante stood nearby, watching her like a hawk guarding its prey.

I approached them, my stomach twisting into a knot.

"Sofia," I said.

The circle parted.

Sofia looked at me, her eyes gleaming with triumph.

"Gianna," she smiled, a predator baring its teeth. "Dante said you had something to say."

"I apologize," I said, the words tasting like ash and bile. "For my behavior."

"It's okay," Sofia said sweetly.

She reached out to hug me, a performance for the audience.

As she leaned in, her lips brushed my ear.

"He will never love you," she whispered, her voice a venomous hiss. "You are just the bank account he uses to buy me pretty things."

She pulled back abruptly and stumbled.

It was theatrical, a poorly acted swoon.

She threw her weight backward, tipping over the low railing.

"Gianna!" she screamed.

But as she fell, her fingers locked onto my arm.

I lost my balance. The world tilted violently.

We both went over the side.

The water was freezing. It hit me like a concrete wall, knocking the breath from my lungs.

The dark waves swallowed me whole.

I kicked, fighting the heavy, waterlogged fabric of my gown.

The cold paralyzed my limbs, turning my blood to ice.

I broke the surface, gasping for air.

"Dante!" I screamed.

I saw him.

He had dived in from the deck above, a dark shape cutting through the night.

He was swimming.

He was strong, slicing through the water with terrifying speed.

He was coming toward us.

I reached out my hand, desperation clawing at my throat.

He looked at me.

For a split second, our eyes locked.

He saw me. He saw my terror.

Then he swam past me.

He swam to Sofia.

He grabbed her, pulling her head above water, holding her close against his chest to shield her from the waves.

He didn't look back.

I stopped kicking.

The cold seeped into my bones, but the realization was colder.

He chose.

In the moment between life and death, he chose.

I let the water pull me down.

I didn't want to fight anymore.

A rough hand grabbed the back of my dress.

A crew member. One of the boat's security staff hauled me onto a rescue skiff like a sack of wet laundry.

I lay on the bottom of the boat, shivering violently, vomiting salt water onto the floorboards.

I watched Dante climb onto the ladder of the yacht, holding Sofia in his arms like she was the most precious thing in the world.

He was checking her pulse. He was kissing her forehead.

He hadn't even asked if I was out of the water.

I sat up, wiping the brine from my lips.

"Give me a phone," I rasped to the security guard.

He hesitated, then handed me a satellite phone.

My fingers were numb, clumsy, but I dialed the number I knew by heart.

"Luca," I said when my brother answered.

"Gianna?" His voice was sharp, instantly alert. "Why are you calling on an insecure line?"

"I'm done," I said. My voice was flat. Dead.

"The alliance is over."

"What did he do?" Luca's voice dropped an octave, shifting into the lethal tone of the Capo dei Capi.

"He let me drown," I said, staring at the yacht.

"I want to come home, Luca. Take me back to the Hamptons."

"I'm sending the jet," Luca said, the promise of violence lingering in his silence. "Pack your bags."

"I have nothing to pack," I said, watching my husband fawn over his mistress.

"I have nothing left here."