The Mafia Boss Promised His Wife He Would End His Affair That Night—But When His Mistress Walked Away, He Begged Her to Stay

The cold wind coming off Lake Michigan felt like ice against my skin.

“Who took them?” Richard roared, grabbing Camille by the collar of her raincoat and hauling her to her feet. “Give me a name!”

Camille was hyperventilating. “He said he would kill me if I told you. He said he’d finish what you started with my family.”

“I am going to throw you into this lake right now if you don't answer me!” Richard screamed, shaking her violently.

I placed my hand on Richard’s arm. He froze, looking at me.

“Let me,” I said quietly.

Richard hesitated, but he let go. Camille slumped against the hood of the Mercedes, sobbing into her hands.

I stepped closer to the woman who had slept in my husband's bed. I didn't feel hatred anymore. I felt the terrifying clarity of a mother who needed her child back.

“Camille,” I said, keeping my voice terrifyingly calm. “You thought you were avenging your father. You thought Richard was the villain. But right now, my six-year-old granddaughter is locked in a box, running out of air.”

She refused to look at me.

“Look at me!” I snapped.

She flinched and raised her tear-streaked face.

“If you don’t give me a name,” I promised her, my voice dropping to a deadly whisper, “I won’t let Richard kill you. I will do it myself. And I will make it hurt.”

Camille stared at me. She believed me. Because it was the truth.

“It was Marcus,” she choked out.

The name hit Richard like a physical blow. He stumbled backward, his face turning pale in the headlights.

“No,” Richard whispered. “No, that’s impossible.”

Marcus wasn’t a rival boss. Marcus was Richard’s underboss. His right-hand man. The man who had stood beside Richard at our daughter’s wedding. The man who came over for Sunday dinners.

“He found me three months ago,” Camille confessed, shivering violently. “He knew who I was. He told me he wanted to take over the syndicate, but he needed Richard distracted and broken. He told me to seduce Richard. To make him fall in love with me. And tonight, he told me to keep you both at the restaurant while his men went to the lake house.”

My stomach churned. The affair. The late-night texts. The desperate begging at the restaurant. It had all been orchestrated by the man Richard trusted most.

“Why would Marcus do this?” Thomas asked, stepping forward.

Richard didn’t answer. He pulled his phone from his pocket. He dialed a number.

He put it on speaker.

The line rang twice before a smooth, calm voice answered.

“Did she talk, Richard?” Marcus asked.

“Where are they, Marcus?” Richard demanded, his voice a low, lethal growl.

“They are safe. For now. But they have about three hours of oxygen left in that container. Less, if the little girl keeps crying.”

A sob ripped from my throat. “Don’t you touch her, Marcus!”

“Eleanor,” Marcus said, his tone dripping with fake sympathy. “I’m sorry you had to find out about Camille this way. I really am. But business is business.”

“What do you want?” Richard asked.

“I want the ledger, Richard. The red leather book you keep locked in your private safe. The one that contains the bank accounts, the political payoffs, and the blackmail files on every judge in Chicago.”

Richard’s jaw tightened. “If I give you the ledger, I lose all my leverage. You’ll kill us anyway.”

“You don’t have a choice,” Marcus laughed softly. “Bring the ledger to the old steel mill on 4th Street in one hour. Come alone. If you bring your men, the container stays locked forever.”

The line went dead.

Richard stared at the phone, his chest heaving.

“I have to go,” Richard said, turning toward his car.

“You can’t go alone,” Thomas argued. “It’s a suicide mission, Rich. He’s going to take the ledger and put a bullet in your head.”

“I don’t care!” Richard shouted, the composure finally shattering. “It’s my daughter! It’s my granddaughter! I will die before I let them suffocate in a box!”

“Richard!” I yelled, grabbing his arm.

He looked at me, his eyes filled with a desperate, agonizing fear.

“I don’t have the ledger,” Richard whispered to me, his voice breaking.

I stared at him. “What do you mean you don’t have it? You keep it in the safe at the house.”

“I moved it,” Richard confessed, burying his face in his hands. “When the threats started three days ago, I panicked. I knew Marcus had the combination to my safe. I took the ledger out.”

“Where is it?” I demanded.