My Mafia Husband Cheated on Me Again, My Revenge

In the second year of our renewed alliance, I caught Rocco Marchetti with another woman for the third time.

He expected me to throw a fit, maybe even petition the Commission for a formal dissolution.

What he didn't expect was for me to do the opposite. No hysterics. No interrogation. Instead, I personally bought him a hundred condoms and a hundred sets of lingerie.

Afterward, Rocco came to me on his own. "She threw herself at me that time..."

"I know." I cut him off, all understanding. "I didn't see anything. Didn't hear anything. Don't worry about me."

My indifference made him frown.

He studied me for a long moment before letting out a cold laugh. "Serafina Valente, what game are you playing now? Playing hard to get?"

"I'm telling you, that trick doesn't work on me."

I looked at him, face blank, and said nothing.

Then his phone rang. Whatever he heard drained the color from his face. He stormed past me, shoulder clipping mine hard enough to knock me sideways. He didn't even notice.

I stumbled, barely catching my balance.

Once I was sure he was gone, I pulled out my phone and called the independent operative I'd retained outside Marchetti influence.

When the line connected, I made myself clear: "The photos need to be high-resolution. Ideally, I want video of the affair and clear shots of their faces. Ten million dollars will be wired to your account when it's done."

No hesitation on the other end. He agreed immediately.

I hung up and let out a slow breath.

I'd been with Rocco since high school. Ten years, from hallway crushes to a ceremony so grand the old families still talked about it. And in the end, he'd beaten me black and blue over his personal advisor, until I had no choice but to petition for a dissolution of the alliance.

All I'd wanted was to end that wreck of a marriage. I never noticed I'd been maneuvered into walking away with nothing. Not a single racket, not a square foot of territory, not one piece of the Valente legacy my parents had brought into the union.

Two years of scraping by later, Rocco came looking for me again, demanding I donate blood for his precious little advisor. I agreed to the renewed alliance without a second thought.

Not for love. Only to reclaim the territory and tribute rights that were rightfully mine.

——

I turned and headed upstairs to clear out the villa.

After I'd left, Rocco never set foot in this place again, so nearly everything I owned was still here. The security detail that had once guarded every door was long reassigned. The house sat in the outer ring of Marchetti territory like a forgotten outpost.

I threw every piece of couple's merchandise and clothing into the trash. When I looked up and saw the wedding portrait above the headboard, I froze.

Six years ago, Rocco had thrown me a ceremony so lavish it drew every Don on the Eastern Seaboard. The Marchetti estate had been draped in white silk and guarded by a hundred armed soldiers standing shoulder to shoulder along the garden path.

Under a thousand spotlights, he'd dropped to one knee, his gaze burning with sincerity, and made me a promise: "Sera, from the moment I first saw you in high school, I knew you were the only one for me. From this day forward, I will treasure you above all else. I will never betray you."

But beautiful things never last. Four years into the marriage, I walked in on him and Gianna Corsini in a compromising situation in the back room of the social club. I stormed in demanding answers, and she accused me of assaulting her.

Rocco slapped me across the face without a word. Ten years together, and that was the first time he'd ever raised a hand to me. Over another woman.

The shrill ring of my phone cut through the memory. I steadied myself and answered.

"Serafina, I underestimated you. I thought you genuinely didn't care, but it was all an act. You have fifteen minutes to get to the hospital and apologize to Gianna Corsini. Otherwise... you won't like the consequences."

He hung up before I could get a single word in.

Not half a sentence. He wouldn't hear it.

I assumed Rocco was just running his mouth. I was wrong. Fifteen minutes later, two of his soldiers dragged me to the hospital entrance and forced me to my knees.

I tried to stand. Two massive enforcers pinned me down.

My kneecaps cracked against the concrete. The pain was sharp enough to steal my breath.

"Rocco said he wanted to see me," I ground out. "What the hell is this?"

One of the soldiers sneered. "The Boss says you have zero manners. Seeing as you're the girl who got both her parents killed, and nobody ever taught you how to behave, he figured he'd teach you himself."

The words "got both her parents killed" hit me like a fist to the chest.

Of course. My parents died young. Both of them, gunned down in what the Families still called an unsolved hit. It was the deepest wound I carried, and he knew exactly where to press.

I knelt in the blazing sun for six full hours before Rocco finally granted me permission to enter the hospital room.

He noticed my cracked, bloodless lips. Not a flicker of pity crossed his eyes.

"Have you learned your lesson?" he asked, voice like ice.

My lips moved twice. I thought of the unsigned dissolution papers sitting in my locked drawer and forced the words out. "I've learned my lesson."

Rocco scoffed. "Good. Now go apologize to Gianna."

Every muscle in my body locked. My fingers curled into fists. My thumb pressed against the inside of my left ring finger, where my wedding band used to sit, and I held it there.

"Apologize for what?" I couldn't stop myself. "What exactly did I do wrong?"

Rocco's eyes went wide. "You hired a driver to run Gianna down, and you're going to stand there and play dumb? The driver already gave you up. What's left to argue?"

Attempted murder. That was a charge I could never accept. A stain like that would destroy any future I had left. In this world, an accusation like that didn't go to a courtroom. It went to a sit-down. And the sentence would be final.

Before I could open my mouth, Gianna let out a pitiful whimper. "Don Marchetti, please don't put yourself through this. After all, no one ever admits to the crimes they've committed."

"Stubborn, are we?" Rocco's lips curled. "I have plenty of ways to deal with stubborn."

He ordered the soldiers to haul me to the precinct where the Family's bought cops ran their shifts, and right in front of me, he told them to give me "special treatment."

That night, I was shoved into a cramped, pitch-black room. Several heavyset women filed in after me.

They didn't say a word. Fists knotted in my hair, nails raked across my skin, hands tore my clothes to shreds. The moment I tried to fight back, a storm of blows rained down.

After three hours of beating, I heard a voice ask: "Are you ready to confess?"