Too Late, Mr. Capo: Your Wife Is Gone

"Happy Anniversary," my husband said, sliding the divorce papers across the table. This was the eighteenth time in five years I'd signed these documents. Matteo De Luca, New York's notorious mob boss, was divorcing me again. "Just sign them, Sierra. Bianca's at the cliff's edge again. She needs to see we're divorced, or she'll jump." Bianca. The fragile soul who dominated every moment of my marriage. I signed, and once again, on our anniversary, he left me alone to go save her. But when Bianca pushed me down the stairs, fracturing my spine, I thought Matteo would finally choose me. I was wrong. "The security footage has been deleted," he told me. "You fell, Sierra. That's what happened." He erased the truth. He ignored my pain. He abandoned me to protect the woman who'd crippled me. Two months later, he pushed my wheelchair into a gala, playing the role of the devoted husband. He didn't know I'd already planned my revenge-one that would send him spiraling into the abyss. Chapter 1 Sierra's POV: I stared at the pen hovering above the eighteenth divorce agreement. I fought to suppress the trembling, which came not from fear, but from a profound exhaustion that felt like it was grinding my very marrow to dust. My husband, Matteo De Luca, the most cold-blooded boss in the New York underworld, checked his Rolex impatiently. "Just sign them, Sierra," he said. "Bianca's at the cliff's edge again," he continued, straightening his silk tie, his tone as casual as if he were discussing stock market fluctuations, not the systematic dismantling of our marriage. "If I don't show her the signed papers by noon, she'll jump. I can't have another death on my conscience." Happy fifth anniversary to me. I looked up at him. "Matteo, do you remember what day it is?" I asked. He didn't even blink. "I know what day it is, Principessa," he said, the old nickname now feeling like a brand. He only used it when he knew it would hurt me. "That's why I made reservations at Le Bernardin," he added. "But right now, I have to go save someone." Saving. Always her life. Never mine. I picked up the pen and traced my signature onto the divorce papers. They weren't real divorces. These were rituals performed by the family lawyers whenever Bianca Rossi's fragile psyche decided to splinter. She was the family's ward. The wounded bird. The woman whose father had taken a bullet for Matteo's. The day of our wedding, the day meant to solidify the alliance between my family and his, she'd been kidnapped. Matteo hadn't answered my calls. Hadn't said "I do." I slid the paper across the table. "Go," I said. "Go save her." Matteo snatched the paper, a flicker of something-melancholy, or maybe regret-crossing his eyes for a single moment. "It's just a piece of paper, Sierra," he said, leaning down to kiss my forehead. But I flinched back involuntarily, every muscle in my neck contracting. "It's nothing," he insisted, his tone trying to convince himself as much as me. "Dinner tonight." He turned and strode out of the study. I watched him go. He thought he was protecting me. He thought that by legally severing us every time she spiraled, he was keeping her toxicity away from me. But he didn't understand. Matteo, papercuts still bleed.