My Mafia Husband Wanted Forgiveness. I Chose Goodbye.

All because I'd upset Lucia, my own brother and my husband had me dumped in the worst part of Naples to be taught a lesson.

Before leaving, Dante had paid the men watching me extra money and told them to make sure I learned my place.

For the next fourteen months, I became their favorite punching bag, a helpless prisoner they could torment whenever they pleased.

Any time I resisted, they made sure I regretted it.

It took three months for me to go from fighting desperately for my freedom to silently taking off my clothes whenever they demanded it.

Then, one afternoon, Toto, the man running the place, stormed into my crumbling apartment.

I instinctively started pulling off the only jacket I had left, knowing what his arrival usually meant.

Instead, he barked, "Put that back on! Your husband's here to take you home."

I stared at him, barely understanding the words.

Home? Did I even have one anymore?

Before I could process the news, a sharp pain shot through my foot.

Toto had slammed the barrel of his gun against it.

He grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him. Spittle flew from his mouth as he hissed, "You know exactly what you can and can't say."

"If we find out you've been running your mouth, those videos of you will end up in the hands of every gossip rag in New York."

His grip tightened.

"Then we'll see how much the great Isabella Falcone's reputation is worth."

I lowered my eyes without a word.

Did he really think Dante would care?

If my husband had cared about me at all, he wouldn't have left me rotting in this hellhole for over a year without a single visit.

I pulled my ragged clothes closer around myself.

Then I caught the greed flickering in Toto's eyes, and my whole body began to tremble again.

Fourteen months was more than enough time to learn what kind of men I was dealing with.

They didn't care about loyalty, family, or honor. They cared about money and how much suffering they could get away with.

As long as I got out of here, I would stay away from Dante and Lucia for the rest of my life.

I never wanted to see either of them again.

I followed Toto out of the cramped apartment.

The afternoon sun hit my face, and for the first time in months, I felt something close to happiness.

Then I saw Dante.

He stood beside a black armored Bentley, immaculate in his tailored suit. His gaze landed on my filthy clothes, and his brow furrowed.

"What the hell are you wearing?" he demanded. "Is this your way of reminding me how badly you've been treated?"

For a moment, Dante had actually felt guilty about leaving me in Scampia.

But Lucia had warned him that I might deliberately make myself look pitiful to win his sympathy.

Now, seeing me barefoot and dressed in rags, he was convinced she'd been right.

I was putting on a show. I was trying to make him feel guilty.

Whatever remorse he'd felt vanished, replaced by disgust.

Apparently, even after fourteen months of hell, I was still the villain in his eyes.

My body reacted before I could think.

I lowered my head and started slapping myself across the face.

"I'm sorry. I was wrong. I shouldn't have—"

I struck myself again and again, hard enough that my cheeks quickly began to swell.

Dante stared at me, startled. For one brief second, he seemed ready to stop me.

Then he noticed the blood gathering at the corner of my mouth.

Toto hurried forward and grabbed my wrists, putting on an expression of concern.

"Miss Falcone, what's gotten into you?"

But beneath his feigned concern, his eyes flashed with a warning.

I flinched so violently that my entire body shook.

Dante's expression hardened. "Enough. Get in the car. Stop putting on a show."

He waved me away as though I were something filthy he didn't want touching him.

I stumbled toward the Bentley and climbed inside.

The faint scent of Dante's expensive cologne filled the cabin, a cruel contrast to the sour smell clinging to my clothes.

He didn't look at me again.

He simply ordered the driver to move.

We drove in silence for several minutes before Dante finally spoke.

"I wasn't planning to bring you back this soon. But Lucia has a good heart, and she was the one who convinced me to give you another chance."

His voice carried the condescending generosity of a man handing a beggar a few dollars.

"Don't mistake this for forgiveness. If you cause Lucia trouble again, don't expect me to show you any mercy."

My throat tightened.

I wanted to explain that I'd done nothing wrong. That I hadn't deserved any of this.

But the words died before they could leave my mouth.

And I was finally starting to understand that this marriage had been a mistake from the very beginning.