Chapter 2 - The Husband I Never Chose
When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was a ceiling I didn’t recognize.
White.
Bright.
Blurred.
The second thing I noticed was the pain.
It wasn't a single pain.
It was everywhere.
My chest.
My side.
My stomach.
My throat.
Even breathing hurt.
I tried to move my hand.
Something heavy rested around my finger.
A ring.
I stared at it.
Gold.
Beautiful.
Completely unfamiliar.
“Mom?”
The word came out as a broken whisper.
A nurse rushed into the room.
“You're awake.”
Within seconds, doctors surrounded me.
Questions came quickly.
What was my name?
What year was it?
Did I know where I was?
Did I remember the shooting?
I remembered Isabella.
I remembered the gun.
I remembered Dominic.
Then everything became fragmented.
Hours later, after they finally left me alone, a man walked through the door.
Tall.
Dark suit.
Broad shoulders.
Controlled expression.
I recognized him immediately.
“Dominic?”
He stopped.
“You remember me.”
“You caught my glass.”
A small smile appeared.
“You threw yourself in front of my mother.”
“I remember that too.”
He came closer.
I looked down at my hand.
My stomach tightened.
“Why am I wearing a wedding ring?”
Silence.
Dominic pulled a chair beside the bed.
“You were unconscious.”
“That doesn't answer my question.”
“No.”
He inhaled slowly.
“I married you.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“I'm sorry.”
“You were in surgery.”
“I know.”
“You were dying.”
“I know.”
“You thought marrying me was a good idea?”
“I thought protecting you was necessary.”
My heart raced.
“You married a woman who couldn't consent?”
His jaw tightened.
“It was a legal religious ceremony, but it isn't recognized as a civil marriage without additional filing.”
I stared at the ring.
“So I'm not actually your wife?”
“Legally? Not fully.”
“Then why did you do it?”
“Because people were trying to kill you.”
“That doesn't make sense.”
“It will.”
He leaned forward.
“You saved my mother.”
“I saved a woman who needed help.”
“Which is exactly why you're in danger.”
I looked at him carefully.
“I don't know you.”
“I know.”
“That sounds like a problem.”
“Yes.”
Something about the honesty in his answer disarmed me.
Then the door opened.
Isabella entered.
The moment she saw me, tears filled her eyes.
She approached slowly.
“You saved my life.”
I shook my head.
“I just reacted.”
“You reacted by taking seven bullets.”
I almost laughed.
“Seven?”
Her face fell.
“You don't remember all of them?”
“No.”
“You almost died.”
I looked at her.
“I’m glad you’re okay.”
She took my hand.
“You should hate my son.”
I glanced at Dominic.
“He seems very determined to give me reasons.”
For the first time, Isabella smiled.
But the smile disappeared when another man walked in.
Enzo.
He placed a tablet on the table.
“We found the man who ordered the attack.”
Dominic stood.
“Victor Costa.”
I had heard that name in the hallway.
Something about it made Dominic’s entire expression change.
I asked quietly, “Why does he want me dead?”
No one answered.
That frightened me more than anything.
Finally, Dominic said, “Because you saw something.”
“What?”
“The shooter.”
“That happens in an attempted assassination.”
“It does.”
“But there’s more.”
He looked at me.
“Yes.”
I waited.
He didn't continue.
“I'm tired,” I whispered.
Dominic nodded.
“We'll talk tomorrow.”
He turned to leave.
“Wait.”
He looked back.
I lifted my hand.
“Take the ring.”
His expression froze.
“You don't want it?”
“I don't even know why it's there.”
He approached.
Then he gently removed it.
I expected relief.
Instead, something inside me tightened.
When he reached the door, I said, “Why does it feel like you're hiding something?”
He paused.
“Because I am.”
Then he left.
That night, I couldn't sleep.
The nurse had given me medication, but my thoughts kept circling the same questions.
Who was Dominic Rossi?
Why did he know about me before the shooting?
Why did he have a file containing my mother's medical history?
And what had my father promised his family eighteen years ago?
At three in the morning, I heard voices outside my door.
Dominic.
Enzo.
Isabella.
I couldn't make out every word.
Then I heard mine.
“She can't leave the hospital.”
“Why?”
“Because Costa's people have been asking questions.”
“Then move her.”
“Move her where?”
Silence.
Dominic said, “My house.”
My heart began pounding.
I pushed the nurse button.
The door opened.
Dominic looked at me.
“You heard?”
“Yes.”
“You're coming home with me.”
“I don't have a home with you.”
“You do now.”
“I live in Queens.”
“Your apartment was searched two hours ago.”
I froze.
“What?”
Enzo showed me the tablet.
A photograph of my apartment door.
The lock had been broken.
Inside, my mother's old photographs were scattered across the floor.
My savings notebook was gone.
My father's photograph had been removed from the wall.
I stared.
“Why would they take that?”
Dominic's answer came quietly.
“Because they weren't looking for money.”
“What were they looking for?”
“Something your father left behind.”
I looked at him.
“My father died when I was eight.”
“I know.”
“Then what could he have left?”
Dominic's eyes remained fixed on mine.
“A secret.”
The next morning, I was discharged.
Dominic's convoy arrived outside.
Three black SUVs.
I stared at them.
“This is ridiculous.”
“It's necessary.”
“You always say that.”
“And so far, I've been right.”
We drove to the Rossi estate outside Manhattan.
The property was enormous.
Iron gates.
Security cameras.
A stone mansion surrounded by trees.
I stepped out of the vehicle and looked around.
“This isn't a home.”
Dominic stood beside me.
“It is for you.”
I turned sharply.
“For me?”
“For as long as you need protection.”
“I don't want to live in your prison.”
He looked directly at me.
“You won't be a prisoner.”
“Then why are there armed men everywhere?”
“Because I have enemies.”
“And now I'm one of your weaknesses.”
His face changed.
“You're not my weakness.”
He paused.
“You're the reason I'm willing to become ruthless.”
I didn't know what to say.
Inside the mansion, Isabella greeted me.
She insisted I have soup.
Then dessert.
Then tea.
She treated me like family.
That made everything more confusing.
Later that evening, I wandered into the library.
Thousands of books lined the walls.
I was looking for something to distract myself when I noticed a locked cabinet.
A photograph on top caught my eye.
Two men stood in front of an old Rossi restaurant.
One was Dominic's father.
The other was my father.
I touched the frame.
A voice came from behind me.
“You shouldn't be here.”
I turned.
Dominic.
“Why?”
“Because that photograph belongs to a past that should stay buried.”
I held it up.
“My father knew yours.”
“Yes.”
“How well?”
Dominic looked at the picture.
“Too well.”
“Then tell me.”
He walked closer.
“My father and yours made a deal.”
“What deal?”
He looked at me.
“You were part of it.”
I laughed nervously.
“I was eight.”
“You were eight.”
“So what does that mean?”
Dominic didn't answer.
Instead, he unlocked the cabinet.
Inside was a black leather box.
He lifted it out.
Then he placed it on the table.
“This was supposed to be given to you when you turned twenty-seven.”
I looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because that's what your father wanted.”
“What's inside?”
Dominic stared at the box.
“Proof.”
“Proof of what?”
“That your father's death wasn't an accident.”
I stopped breathing.
My father had died in what my mother always described as a car accident.
I stared at Dominic.
“Who killed him?”
He didn't answer.
His silence was enough.
Then the mansion lights went out.
A gunshot exploded somewhere outside.
Security alarms screamed.
Dominic grabbed my wrist.
“Down!”
He pulled me behind the desk.
Another gunshot.
Glass shattered.
Men shouted outside.
I clung to the box.
Dominic drew his gun.
His body covered mine.
“Stay behind me.”
My heart pounded.
Then a bullet punched through the window.
Dominic looked down.
A red line appeared across his shoulder.
“Dominic!”
“I’m fine.”
“You've been shot.”
“I've been shot before.”
Another explosion shook the mansion.
Enzo shouted from the hallway.
“Boss!”
Dominic looked at me.
“Do not let go of that box.”
“Why?”
“Because now we know Costa found out where it is.”
I held it tighter.
And in that moment, I understood something terrifying.
May you like
The shooting at the hotel wasn't the beginning of my nightmare.
It was the beginning of the truth.
