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My Mafia Husband Leaked My Intimate Photos So I Ended Our Marriage
Novelix
Completed
On our wedding night, my Mafia husband showed me a video of himself with his mistress—and gave her my private photos as a reward. Then he had his men force me to kneel in the rain. When my mother confronted him, he released the photos to bury the scandal. She died after suffering a stroke. I finally left, taking my evidence to a lawyer and accepting shelter from his rival, Adrian. Now Dante offers money, apologies, anything for another chance. But I'm saving my mother's company, ending our marriage, and choosing who gets near me.
Chapters (3)
第1章
On our wedding night, Dante holds me against him and plays a video of himself with another woman.
Her voice is sickeningly sweet.
Dante looks down at me. "You sound so forced, baby. You're not nearly as uninhibited as she is. You could learn a few things from her."
"See how much I love you? I even got some practice in before the wedding."
Near the end of the video, Dante tosses a stack of photographs onto the bed and runs a hand over the woman's bare back.
"You've been very good this month. Consider these your bonus."
Then I see the photographs.
They're of me.
Private pictures Dante talked me into letting him take.
Now he's giving them to another woman as a reward.
His phone rings, interrupting the video. When he answers, I recognize her voice.
I shove away from him and barely make it to the bathroom before I'm sick.
Dante frowns at me, then turns toward the door, phone in hand.
"If you're not feeling well, stay home and watch. You might learn something."
"I'm spending tonight with Bianca."
The bedroom door opens and closes.
I look at the rose petals scattered across our bed.
A laugh slips out before I can stop it.
I want out of this marriage.
My phone rings before I've even changed out of the silk robe I bought for tonight.
Dante.
For a moment, I watch his name light up the screen.
Then I answer.
Bianca is laughing in the background.
"Tell her," she says.
Dante sounds amused.
"Still awake, Elena?"
"Delete the pictures."
He pauses.
"What?"
"The ones you gave her."
"Is that all you can think about?"
I grip the edge of the bed.
"You promised no one else would see them."
"And you promised to trust me."
I pull the phone away from my ear.
"Hang up," he says, "and I'll send them to people who don't know how to keep their mouths shut."
My hand stops.
He waits until I bring the phone back.
"Good."
Ten years.
I've known his voice for ten years.
I've heard him angry with employees, cold with rivals, impatient with men who owe him money.
Until tonight, I never thought he would speak to me like this.
Dante De Luca is the Don of his family.
People lower their voices when he enters a room.
I thought I was the person he came home to when he was tired of being feared.
Bianca says something I can't make out.
His tone changes as he answers her.
Then he speaks to me again.
"I'm sending you a list. Pick it up and bring it here."
A message appears.
Pain relievers. A cold pack. A few other things from a pharmacy.
Then an address.
"You have people who can do that."
"I'm asking you."
"No."
The silence lasts long enough for me to hear rain striking the windows.
"Your mother has six trucks scheduled at our warehouse Monday morning," he says.
"Don't."
"That contract hasn't been signed."
"She's already hired drivers."
"Then you should get moving."
My father died when I was fifteen.
For years afterward, Mom kept Marino Logistics alive one shipment at a time. She learned the routes, dealt with breakdowns, and sat at the kitchen table after midnight deciding which bills could wait.
Dante's family became her biggest client three years ago.
He called it an investment in our future.
Yesterday, while the seamstress adjusted my dress, Mom caught my hand.
"You can always come home."
I laughed.
She didn't.
"I mean it, Elena. Whatever happens with the company, you come first."
Now I stare at the pharmacy list.
"You wouldn't do that to her."
"Try me."
He hangs up.
I sit still for a moment.
Then I change into jeans and a sweater.
The first car I request cancels.
The second takes fifteen minutes to reach the house. By then, water is running down the front steps.
The driver waits while I go into the pharmacy.
When I come back out, Dante has sent another message.
One hour, Elena.
Traffic barely moves.
I watch the minutes change on my phone.
By the time we reach Bianca's townhouse, rain is blowing sideways beneath the awning.
I tell the driver he can leave.
All I can think about is handing over the bag and getting away from them.
Dante opens the door before I ring a second time.
His shirt is unbuttoned at the collar.
He looks at the bag in my hand.
Then at his watch.
"Five minutes late."
第2章
"Traffic was stopped."
Dante takes the bag.
"I didn't ask about traffic."
Behind him, Bianca appears in a pale silk robe.
"Did she get everything?"
He looks inside the bag.
"Yes."
Bianca smiles at me.
"You didn't have to come out in this weather."
I look at Dante.
He doesn't correct her.
"Can I go?"
His eyes narrow.
"Not until you apologize."
"For what?"
"Keeping her waiting."
I stare at him.
"Your men could have brought it."
"But I asked you."
"And I brought it."
Bianca touches his chest.
"Don't be angry. She's obviously had a difficult night."
I turn toward the steps.
"Elena."
I stop.
Dante comes closer.
"You don't walk away while I'm talking."
"I'm cold. I'm wet. I want to go home."
"Then stop arguing."
Bianca reaches behind the door and picks up an umbrella.
"Here. At least take this."
I don't want anything from her.
But the rain is getting harder, and my phone is damp in my pocket.
I reach for the handle.
Before I touch it, Bianca gives a sharp cry.
The umbrella falls between us.
She drops onto the wet stone with one hand braced against the doorframe.
Dante moves past me.
"Bianca."
She grabs his arm.
"I'm okay."
He looks at her knee.
A thin scrape marks the skin.
Then he looks at me.
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
"I didn't touch her."
"Elena—"
"I didn't touch her."
Bianca pulls her robe closer.
"Please don't fight."
Dante helps her stand.
She leans against him.
"Go inside," he tells her.
She hesitates, watching me.
"Dante, don't be too hard on her."
"Inside."
The door closes.
Two men get out of the car parked at the curb and walk toward us.
I recognize one of them.
He stood near the entrance to the church this afternoon.
"Take me home," I tell him.
He looks at Dante.
Neither man answers.
Dante points to the stone beside the steps.
"Kneel."
I wait for him to take it back.
He doesn't.
"No."
"No?"
"I brought what you asked for. I didn't hurt her. I'm leaving."
I take one step.
A hand closes around my upper arm.
I jerk away, but the second man moves in front of me.
"Don't touch me."
Neither looks at my face.
Dante stands beneath the awning, dry except for a few drops on his sleeves.
"Three hours."
For a moment, I can't make sense of the words.
"Dante."
"You wanted to hurt her. Now you can think about it."
"I'm your wife."
"I know exactly who you are."
He nods to the men.
They force me down.
Pain shoots through one knee when it hits the stone.
I catch myself with my palms.
"Stop."
One man keeps a hand on my shoulder.
The other takes my phone when I try to reach for it.
Dante watches.
I look up at him.
He goes inside.
For a while, I keep expecting the door to open.
I imagine him coming back and telling them to let me go.
I imagine him kneeling beside me, saying he's sorry, helping me up.
Through the window, I hear him ask Bianca whether she wants tea.
I stop looking at the door.
The rain eases, then starts again.
Water gathers around my shoes.
My sweater sticks to my arms.
When I shift my weight, the man behind me tightens his grip.
"Stay still."
He helped carry flowers into the reception hall.
I remember thanking him.
There's a little crescent chipped into the stone in front of me.
I stare at it.
I count breaths.
I lose count.
Years ago, Dante carried me through a flooded street because I'd worn the wrong shoes.
He complained the whole way.
Then he wrapped his jacket around me and laughed when I called him dramatic.
I remember thinking no one would ever take better care of me.
Inside, Bianca laughs.
I press my lips together.
When the man finally lets go of my shoulder, I nearly fall forward.
"Get up."
My legs don't cooperate.
I brace one hand against the wall.
He waits.
He doesn't help.
It takes me two tries to stand.
He gives back my phone.
The screen is wet, but it turns on.
I request a car.
Neither man stops me now.
Behind the door, the house has gone quiet.
I don't knock.
I don't ask Dante to come out.
When the car arrives, I lower myself into the back seat.
The driver glances at me in the mirror.
"Do you need a hospital?"
I look down at my shaking hands.
For a moment, I almost say yes.
Then I think of having to explain whose men did this.
"Just take me home."
第3章
By morning, I can barely bend my knees.
I sit on the edge of the bathtub and ease off the damp jeans.
The skin beneath them is scraped.
Bruises are darkening along my arms.
I open the medicine cabinet.
Dante keeps everything arranged by size.
Bandages.
Pain relievers.
Antiseptic.
I look at the shelves for a long time before taking anything.
My phone rings.
Mom.
I let it ring twice.
Then I answer.
"Hi."
"Did I wake you?"
"No."
"You sound tired."
"It was a long day."
She laughs softly.
"I remember."
I press a clean cloth against my knee.
"Is Dante there?"
"No."
"Oh. Well, I won't keep you. I wanted to tell you something."
I close my eyes.
"The warehouse order came through this morning. Signed and everything. His office called it a wedding gift."
My hand goes still.
"Mom."
"I know. You don't want to talk about work today."
"That's not—"
"It takes such a weight off. I wanted you to know."
I look at my arm.
Four separate bruises show where the man held me.
"Are you happy, sweetheart?"
The question catches in my throat.
I could tell her.
I almost do.
Then I hear how relieved she is.
"I'm exhausted," I say. "Can I call you later?"
"Of course."
"And Mom?"
"Yes?"
"I love you."
"I love you, too."
After we hang up, I stay beside the bathtub.
Then I open the camera on my phone.
I photograph my knees.
My arms.
I save the messages with the pharmacy list and the deadline.
Then I make copies in an account Dante doesn't know about.
When I hear the front door, I pull my robe over my legs.
He finds me on the couch.
For a moment, he just looks at me.
Then his eyes drop to the first-aid supplies on the table.
"Let me see."
"No."
He sits anyway.
"Elena."
I keep my hands on the edge of the robe.
His voice softens.
"Please."
I hate that some part of me still responds to it.
He lifts the fabric from my knees.
His jaw tightens.
"Those idiots."
I look at him.
"You told them to do it."
He picks up the ointment.
"I know."
He applies a little with careful fingers.
The touch is so familiar that my eyes sting.
"I'm sorry about last night."
For one breath, I let myself hope.
Then he says, "But you need to understand what Bianca's given up."
I pull my leg away.
He looks up.
"She's been with me for years. She watched you walk down the aisle yesterday."
"I didn't know she was with you."
"She didn't make a scene."
"You think that makes her kind?"
"I think you can afford to be generous."
"With my husband?"
"She'll never have what you have."
I get to my feet.
Pain catches behind my knees.
I hold the arm of the couch until it passes.
Dante rises, too.
"Sit down."
"No."
"You're hurting yourself."
"You hurt me."
He looks toward the window.
For a moment, neither of us speaks.
Then he says, "You're the only woman I'll ever marry."
I look at the ring on my hand.
Yesterday, that promise meant everything.
"What does that get me?"
His eyes return to mine.
"What?"
"What does being your wife get me, Dante? A different bedroom to wait in?"
"Don't be dramatic."
"You gave her photographs of me."
"She won't share them."
"You threatened to."
"Because you weren't listening."
I take a slow breath.
He knows what he did.
He thinks I made it necessary.
"I want a divorce."
His expression changes so quickly that I step back before I mean to.
"No."
"I'm not asking whether you want one."
"We got married yesterday."
"And last night you showed me what that means to you."
He drops the ointment onto the table.
"You think you can walk out and leave me to explain it?"
"I don't care what you tell people."
"You should."
He moves closer.
I make myself stay still.
"Think about your mother."
"I am."
"Then stop."
He waits for me to lower my eyes.
I don't.
Finally, he steps away.
"I'll give you some time to calm down."
He picks up his phone.
"We'll have dinner tonight. Here. Just us."
I say nothing.
At the door, he turns.
"And don't call your mother and upset her over this."
The door closes.
I stand until I hear his car leave.
Then I find the number Mom sent me months ago when I had questions about the company.
Mara Bennett.
An attorney she trusts.
Mara answers with her name.
For a moment, I can't get the words out.
Then I look down at my wedding ring.
"My husband has private photographs of me," I say. "He gave copies to another woman. Last night, he threatened to publish them."
Mara's voice changes.
"Are you somewhere you can speak safely?"
"He's left."
"Are you injured?"
"Yes."
She lets me tell her.
She doesn't ask what I did to make him angry.
When I finish, she says, "First, we need to get you somewhere safe and have those injuries examined. Then we can deal with the marriage and your mother's business."
"He'll try to stop me."
"We'll plan for that. Is there anyone you trust who can come get you?"
I think of Mom.
Of how quickly she would put down everything and come.
"Yes."
"Can you call her?"
I look at the messages on my screen.
The pharmacy list.
The deadline.
The wedding photograph Mom sent before I left the reception.
I take off the ring and set it beside the ointment.
"Yes," I say. "I can."
