Lies of the Mafia Husband

Dinner tasted like ash.

Sophia flirted with him openly.

"Oh, my hand hurts from when she pushed me, feed me, Dario."

"Oops, let me get that sauce off your lip." She licked her thumb, then looked at me with wide, innocent eyes. "Habit. Don't overthink it, Elena."

Dario kept glancing at me. Seeing me silently cutting my meat, head down, his eyes darkened.

After dinner, I tried to escape to the church, but my mother-in-law—that greedy old bat—dragged me to the master bedroom.

"Stop acting like a saint," she hissed, eyes gleaming with greed. "Go get pregnant. Tonight. We need a spare heir."

I walked into the bedroom.

Dario was sitting at the old desk, stiff as a corpse. The air was thick with tension.

He looked up, his gaze like a loaded gun.

In his hand was a folded piece of paper.

My flight confirmation. And the divorce papers.

My ears rang.

He slammed the papers on the desk. Bang.

"What is this?"

He laughed, a cold, sharp sound.

"No wonder you acted like a zombie today. I'm flirting with Sophia, and you don't even blink."

"You already lined up your next mark, didn't you? Planning to divorce me and run?"

"You? A simple Jersey girl going to Europe? Who's taking you? Which Family is he from? How long have you been screwing him?!"

It was laughable. He lived in a Manhattan mansion with another woman for seven years, and he was interrogating me?

I walked over calmly and took the papers back.

"I was going to Europe to find a specialist for your mother's illness."

"The divorce papers? Those are for Maria next door. She asked me to print them. Her husband hits her."

Dario scrutinized me, searching for a lie. Seeing my face remain stone cold, the murderous rage slowly faded, replaced by that suffocating arrogance of a made man.

"I knew it. A traditional woman like you? You waited eight years. You wouldn't dare leave me."

I looked him dead in the eye.

"Dario. If you ever betray me, if you have another family... I won't just divorce you. I will vanish. You will never find me."

"I waited because I am your wife. Not because I am a fool."

"So tell me, Dario. In eight years, have you ever betrayed me?"

He froze for a second. Then he smiled, that charming, lying smile, and took my hand. His palm was rough with calluses from handling guns.

"Why bring this up? We have honor."

"How could I betray you? If I did, may God strike me down in a hail of bullets."

He raised his hand to swear, but his eyes didn't look at the crucifix on the wall.

If I hadn't met that drunk mobster, I might have believed this devil.

Now, I just felt sick.

"Elena, you are the only woman I recognize. When I was bleeding out at the border, your photo kept me alive."

"I climbed the ladder for us. To make you the Don's wife."

"Come to New York. No one will ever touch you again."

I wiped a tear from the corner of my eye.

"Okay."

Dario, since you can lie to God, I can lie to you.

That night, we lay in the same bed.

He reached for me. I turned away.

After the second time, he sighed in frustration and gave up.

I dreamt of the past. Him on his beat-up Harley, sharing a stolen pizza. Him giving me his leather gloves in winter.

The open-air cinema showing The Godfather. He whispered, "One day, I'll give you a wedding in Sicily just like Michael Corleone's."

Turns out, the bride in that wedding was Sophia.

Morning came. I walked out to find the family at the table.

My mother-in-law looked guilty. Sophia was leaning on Dario, swirling red wine like she owned the place.

They had told the old woman.

I poured myself black coffee.

"Elena," Dario commanded. "I'm selling this house. It was your dowry, so I need your signature."

I gripped the mug.

"I found a penthouse in Manhattan. Selling this dump covers the renovation costs."

Sophia giggled. "Sister, we picked the Jacuzzi specifically... oops, Dario, stop pinching me."

She smirked at me. "Don't worry, Elena. I tested the mattress for you. It's very soft."

I stared into my coffee.

"Fine. Sell it tomorrow."

Dario looked surprised at my submission.

I stood up, walked to the wall, and took down our engagement photo—black and white, taken in a cheap booth.

I dropped it into the trash can.

Dario lunged, grabbing my wrist. "Are you crazy? Why are you throwing that away?"