Erasing Mrs. Moretti

"Baby, you must have eaten something bad," Dante said, gently helping me back into the car and handing me a bottle of water. "We should go to the hospital."

I shook my head, affecting an air of weakness. "No, it's fine. I think I've just been stressed lately."

He made a thoughtful suggestion. "There’s a gala tomorrow night. It could be fun, a good way to relax. Would Mrs. Moretti do me the honor?"

A cold, sharp idea formed in my mind. I smiled. "Of course. Can we have it at the Westin? I love their food."

A flash of panic crossed Dante’s eyes, but he quickly masked it. "Of course, baby. Anything you want. I'll have my guys book it right away."

I knew what he was thinking.

If we both showed up at that hotel, the risk of his mistress being seen was too high.

But he couldn't refuse a "sick" wife's small request, could he?

Back at the mansion, Dante was unusually attentive. He made me chicken soup, insisted I stay in bed, and checked on me every hour. He was playing the part of the perfect husband.

But on his burner phone, I saw the message he sent to Jenna:

"Change of plans. Meet me in the private wine cellar downstairs tomorrow. 8:30 p.m. It's more secluded. More thrilling. Imagine it… making love among all those expensive bottles of red..."

Kitten: "Sounds amazing! I'll wear that red dress you love. And nothing underneath."

The sound of the shower turning off in the bathroom brought me back. I quickly put the phone away.

When Dante walked out of the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around his waist, water tracing paths down his muscular chest, the sight that would have made my heart race five years ago now only filled me with disgust.

"Feeling any better?" He sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out to feel my forehead.

I nodded, then pretended to remember something. "Oh, I almost forgot." I pulled the blue box from the nightstand. "I got you this for our anniversary. I was so excited to give it to you."

He started to open it, but I stopped him.

I stroked his cheek. "I want you to wait a week to open it. Think of it as a little surprise, okay?"

He looked at me, confused. "Why a week?"

I gave him a mysterious smile. "Because by then, you'll understand what the gift truly means."

Dante shrugged, placing the box in his nightstand drawer. "Alright. If that's what my wife wants."

The next morning, Dante was up early, making me breakfast in the kitchen.

Fried eggs, bacon, fresh-squeezed orange juice, and my favorite, a perfect espresso.

A perfect breakfast from a perfect husband.

Just then, the doorbell rang. One of Dante's men, Marco, stood on the doorstep, holding a plain brown paper bag.

"Boss, the thing you asked for." Marco handed it over, his eyes darting around nervously.

But I saw it—a small velvet box peeking out. Probably something for his little tryst.

After Marco left, Dante returned to the table and continued eating as if nothing had happened.

I stirred my coffee, my voice casual. "Dante, can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

I looked up at him. "How important do you think loyalty is in a marriage?"

Dante’s fork paused in mid-air for a second before he continued cutting his egg. "It's everything. Loyalty is the foundation of our world."

"Is it?" I tilted my head, playing the part of the naive wife. "So you've never betrayed me?"

Dante immediately put down his fork and reached for the silver cross he wore around his neck. It was a gift from his father, a sacred object to the Moretti family.

"I swear on my father's grave," he said, looking me straight in the eye, his tone solemn and sincere. "I will only ever be loyal to you, Alessia. You are my wife, my queen, the only woman in my life."

His performance was flawless. If I didn't know the truth, I might have been moved to tears.

"So," I said, lifting my coffee cup, my eyes turning cold as steel, "what happens if you do betray me?"

Dante, completely oblivious, answered with a relaxed smile. "Then let me lose everything. Let me wander this earth like a ghost."

"Of course, my love," I whispered, the coffee bitter on my tongue. "I'll hold you to that."