Chapter 3

Staring at that glaring "Love you" on the illuminated screen, an overwhelming wave of sheer absurdity washed over me.

I couldn't help but wonder: how did the man I once loved so deeply turn into this?

But I quickly shook my head in self-mockery.

No.

Perhaps this was simply his true nature all along. Men of the Mafia have greed and predation hardwired into their blood. They demand power and heirs to cement their empires, yet fiercely maintain a facade of absolute devotion just to appease their own pathetic sense of guilt.

I locked the screen, turned back into the bedroom, and pulled open the drawer of the nightstand.

Inside lay a collection of trinkets: the very first hairpin Dante had ever bought me, the thin, flimsy paper of our Las Vegas marriage certificate, and the deformed bullet extracted from his chest after he took a shot for me.

One by one, I tossed these items—things I had once cherished as my absolute most precious treasures—into the metal wastebasket.

Finally, I struck a match.

The flames leaped up, reducing this so-called love, along with our entire past, to nothing but ashes.

 .....

Three days later.

Just as I had instructed, the explosives expert had wired a lethal dose of C4 to the chassis of the SUV.

It was the vehicle I exclusively used when leaving the estate alone; the gate guards couldn't be more familiar with it.

I pulled open the door and slipped into the driver's seat, but I didn't rush to start the engine.

Instead, I pulled the voice recorder from my pocket. Then, I slid the wedding band off my left ring finger.

I placed both items inside a heavy-duty, blast-proof lockbox and set it securely on the passenger seat.

As the SUV slowly approached the estate gates, the guards respectfully raised the barrier and offered a salute.

"Where are you heading, Ma'am? Shall I arrange a security detail for you?" the captain of the guard stepped forward, asking with genuine concern.

"No need," I replied with chilling serenity. "I just want to go out for some fresh air by myself."

Pulling onto the main road, I didn't look back. I drove straight in the direction of Brooklyn. The blast from the C4 would be powerful enough to obliterate the entire vehicle, but that specially crafted lockbox would undoubtedly endure, waiting perfectly intact amidst the smoldering wreckage.

When the news of my tragic demise reached him this afternoon, when Dante pried open that box and pressed play on the recording, he would finally, absolutely understand—

It was his betrayal that bled me dry. It was he who personally murdered his beloved wife.

A cool, liberated smile touched my lips.

Goodbye, Dante.

Holy Trinity Church, Brooklyn.

The melodious swell of the organ echoed beneath the vaulted ceilings. Sunlight filtered through the vivid stained-glass windows, casting a holy, ethereal glow upon the massive crucifix above the altar.

Dante stood beside the baptismal font, cradling the infant in his arms. Camila leaned intimately against his side, her face radiant with a triumphant, smug smile.

Outside the church, rings of identically dressed bodyguards in black had locked down the entire block. The perimeter was so watertight that not even a fly could slip through.

The baptism had reached its most sacred, decisive moment.

The priest's fingers had just dipped into the holy water, poised in mid-air, preparing to solemnly trace the cross upon the infant's forehead.

A catastrophic explosion instantly shattered the solemn sanctity of the church.

The sheer violence of the shockwave rippled across two entire city blocks, blowing out the towering stained-glass windows high above. A torrential downpour of dazzling, razor-sharp shards rained down upon the wooden pews.

Dante spun around violently, shoving the startled, wailing infant into Camila's arms while simultaneously drawing the pistol from his waistband, slipping instantly into combat mode.

"What the hell is going on?!"

His underboss stumbled frantically into the church, practically tripping over his own feet.

His face was ashen, drained of all blood. His hands trembled so violently he could barely keep a grip on his weapon. "D-Don Dante..." he stammered, his voice fracturing into pieces. "Outside... there was a car bombing..."

"Who did it? Bring them to me alive! I'll skin them myself!" A flash of bloodthirsty ruthlessness swept through Dante's eyes, the sheer killing intent radiating off him enough to freeze the blood in anyone's veins.

"No... they didn't attack us..." The underboss shook like a leaf in a hurricane. "It's... it's the missus's SUV! Two blocks away... it blew up!"

In that exact split second, Dante's mind detonated. Everything went into a suffocating, deafening blank.

"What did you say?" His voice was barely a whisper, light as a passing breeze.

Yet the hand gripping his pistol began to shake violently, as if he simply couldn't comprehend the easiest sentence in the world.

The underboss collapsed to his knees in utter despair, choking on a sob as he couldn't bring himself to finish. "Sera... Ma'am was... she was in the car..."