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

“We have to call him,” Thomas said, immediately pulling out his phone.

He dialed Richard’s number. It went straight to voicemail.

“He turned his phone off so they couldn’t track him,” Thomas cursed, slamming his hand against the wall. “If he walks into that steel mill, he’s a dead man.”

I stared at the blank red book in my hands.

Marcus had played all of us. The affair, the kidnapping, the demands—it was all a beautifully orchestrated distraction to lure Richard into a fatal ambush without his security detail.

“We have to get to the steel mill,” I said, running for the door.

“Ellie, wait!” Thomas grabbed my arm. “If Marcus didn’t take Sarah and Mia to the mill, where are they?”

The question stopped me in my tracks.

If this was a trap, Marcus wouldn’t have risked transporting hostages across the city. He would have hidden them somewhere close. Somewhere he controlled.

I thought about the lake house. The broken furniture.

“When I came here earlier,” I said, my mind racing. “I drove up the gravel driveway. The gates were locked. There were no tire tracks in the mud leaving the property.”

Thomas frowned. “You think they’re still here?”

I ran out the front door, sweeping my flashlight across the dark, sprawling property. The lake house sat on ten acres of private woodland.

At the edge of the property, near the water, was the old boathouse.

Richard had taken my key three months ago, claiming the foundation needed repairs. He hadn't allowed anyone inside since.

“The boathouse,” I gasped.

Thomas drew his gun. We sprinted across the wet grass, the cold wind whipping off the lake.

The massive wooden doors of the boathouse were padlocked shut. But as we got closer, I could hear a faint, rhythmic thumping coming from inside.

Someone was kicking the metal wall of a shipping container.

“Sarah!” I screamed, hitting the wooden door with my fists. “Sarah, I’m here!”

A muffled, terrified voice echoed back. “Mom! Help us! We can’t breathe!”

Tears of pure relief flooded my eyes. They were alive.

Thomas raised his gun and shot the heavy padlock. It shattered. We threw the doors open.

Inside the dimly lit boathouse sat a rusted metal shipping container. The heavy locking bar was jammed into place.

Thomas strained against the metal bar, his muscles bulging as he forced it upward. With a loud screech, the doors swung open.

My daughter tumbled out, gasping for air, clutching six-year-old Mia to her chest.

“Mom!” Sarah sobbed, falling into my arms.

I held them both on the damp wooden floor, weeping into their hair. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

Mia looked up at me, her face pale and streaked with tears. “Grandma, bad men put us in the box.”

“I know, baby,” I kissed her forehead. “But Uncle Thomas is here. We’re safe now.”

Thomas knelt down beside us. “Ellie, you need to take my truck and get them out of here. Drive straight to the police station.”

“What about you?” I asked.

“I’m going to the steel mill,” Thomas said, his face hardening into a mask of pure determination. “I owe Richard my life. I’m not letting him walk into a firing squad.”

But before Thomas could stand up, a red laser dot appeared on his chest.

“Nobody is going anywhere,” a smooth voice echoed from the doorway of the boathouse.

I looked up.

Standing in the entrance, holding a suppressed rifle, was Marcus.

Behind him stood two heavily armed guards.

“You’re supposed to be at the steel mill,” Thomas snarled, shielding me and the girls with his body.

Marcus smiled, stepping out of the rain.

“I sent my men to the steel mill to welcome Richard,” Marcus said casually. “But I knew the red book wasn’t in the diaper bag, Eleanor. Because I checked it myself before I locked your daughter in the box.”

My blood ran cold.

“You knew I would come back here,” I realized.

“I counted on it,” Marcus smiled. “Richard is dying at the steel mill as we speak. But I couldn't let his wife and heirs survive to contest my takeover. Loose ends are bad for business.”

Marcus raised his rifle, aiming it directly at my daughter’s head.

“Say goodbye, Eleanor.”

I didn’t scream. I didn’t beg.