Mafia Boss Left His Wife Alone as Her Mother Died for His Mistress—By Dawn, His Own Mother Had Disappeared With Her

The rain soaked through Marco’s coat, but he didn't feel the cold.

He stared at the red ink on the back of the photograph.

Ask your mistress what she took from the clinic seventeen years ago.

Marco looked up at Sabrina.

Sabrina was shivering, her eyes darting toward the street, looking for an escape.

“What clinic?” Sabrina stammered, backing away. “I don't know what you’re talking about! I was fifteen years old seventeen years ago!”

Marco didn't yell. He stepped forward with terrifying, predatory calmness.

“My mother doesn't play games, Sabrina. She doesn't write riddles. If she says you were at the clinic, you were there.”

“I wasn't!”

Marco grabbed Sabrina’s left wrist. Not hard enough to break it, but hard enough to ensure she couldn't move.

As he pulled her arm up, the sleeve of her expensive silk blouse slid back.

Gleaming against her pale skin was a heavy silver bracelet.

Marco stopped breathing.

The bracelet was unique. Wrought silver, shaped like intertwined olive branches.

He recognized it instantly.

Because he had bought it in Italy twenty years ago.

And he had given it to Elena.

“Where did you get this?” Marco’s voice was a hoarse, devastating whisper.

Sabrina tried to yank her arm away, genuine terror finally breaking her composure.

“Let me go! It’s vintage! I bought it at an estate sale!”

“You’re lying.” Marco’s grip tightened. “Elena was wearing this the night she died. The night I left her at the clinic.”

Answer one: Sabrina wasn't just a random woman he had met at a charity gala. She was intimately connected to his darkest sin.

Open two: If Sabrina was fifteen when Elena died, how did she get the bracelet? And why was she targeting him now?

“You left her to die!” Sabrina screamed, the truth finally tearing out of her. Tears of absolute rage mixed with the rain on her face. “You chose your rich, connected wife over my sister!”

The world stopped spinning.

“Your sister?” Marco breathed.

“Elena was my older sister!” Sabrina sobbed, no longer trying to pull away. “She raised me! When she got pregnant, she thought you were going to leave your wife for her. But when the other families found out and came for her, you abandoned her!”

Marco stared at the woman he had been sleeping with for six months.

The woman who had answered his phone while his wife’s mother died.

“You orchestrated all of this,” Marco realized, disgust rolling through his stomach. “You sought me out. You seduced me.”

“I wanted to destroy your marriage!” Sabrina spat. “I wanted Catherine to feel the exact same abandonment my sister felt! I wanted to watch your perfect life crumble!”

“And the photograph?” Marco asked, holding up the picture of Catherine with the FBI agent. “You staged this to make me think Catherine turned rat.”

“I didn't stage it!” Sabrina laughed bitterly. “Your wife is singing to the Feds, Marco. She’s trading your empire to save herself.”

Marco looked at the photograph again.

Then, a detail caught his eye.

The man in the dark coat standing with Catherine... his left hand was visible.

He was missing half of his index finger.

Marco’s heart hammered against his ribs.

The FBI agent he had been dodging for three years had all ten fingers.

The man in the photograph wasn't a federal agent.

It was Daniel. His own security chief.

Sabrina had taken a picture of Catherine handing an envelope to Daniel, knowing the grainy image and the dark coat would look exactly like a clandestine FBI meetup.

She had tried to frame Catherine to trigger Marco’s paranoia.

“You’re pathetic, Sabrina,” Marco said coldly, dropping her wrist.

He turned his back on her, walking toward his car.

“It’s over, Marco!” Sabrina screamed after him. “Your mother left you! Your wife hates you! You have nothing!”

Marco didn't look back.

He got into his car and dialed Daniel’s secure number.

“Boss,” Daniel answered immediately.

“Sabrina tried to frame Catherine,” Marco said, cutting straight to the point. “She showed me a photo of Catherine handing you an envelope yesterday.”

Daniel was quiet for a fraction of a second.

“I know about the photo, sir.”

Marco frowned. “What was in the envelope, Daniel?”

“I can't tell you that, Mr. Bellini.”

Marco’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “You work for me.”

“I work for the family,” Daniel corrected smoothly. “And right now, your mother is the head of this family.”

Marco’s jaw clenched. “Where are they?”

“They are safe. But Rosa instructed me to tell you that the family council is assembling in one hour at the estate. If you want to see your wife again, you will be there.”

The line went dead.

Marco threw the phone onto the passenger seat.

He drove back to the sprawling mansion overlooking the Hudson River. The house he had shared with Catherine for twenty-three years felt like a mausoleum.

When he walked through the heavy front doors, the silence was suffocating.

He walked into the grand dining room.

The long mahogany table was set for the family council. Ten chairs.

But sitting at the head of the table, in the seat reserved for the Don, was Rosa.

Catherine sat to her right.

She wore a simple black dress, mourning her mother. She didn't look at Marco when he entered.

“Mother,” Marco said, stopping at the edge of the room. “You’re sitting in my chair.”

Rosa didn't move. She folded her hands on the table.

“A chair is only yours as long as you have the respect to hold it, Marco.”

Marco looked at Catherine.

“Sabrina is Elena’s sister,” Marco said, wanting to clear the air. “She targeted me for revenge. The photograph of you was a setup.”

Catherine finally raised her eyes. They were completely dry, and terrifyingly calm.