Chapter 1 - Take Her Instead
A mafia boss thought his pregnant wife would forgive another betrayal like she always had, but the night she placed two honeymoon tickets in front of him and said, “Take her,” he never realized he was watching his marriage die.
Matteo Rossi believed he controlled everything around him, yet the woman carrying his child had already begun building a life where he no longer existed.
A loaded gun resting on a marble dining table was nothing compared to the meaning behind a single packed suitcase standing beside it.
For years, Matteo had ruled his criminal empire through fear, loyalty, and calculated violence, but that night, he was about to discover that losing his family would hurt more than losing any enemy.
The ice in my glass had melted twenty minutes earlier, leaving water trails across the dark granite kitchen island.
At seven months pregnant, my ankles were swollen and painful, and I sat alone inside a mansion built like a fortress, surrounded by bulletproof glass and security cameras that watched every corner.
At exactly 2:00 a.m., the heavy oak front door opened.
Matteo never stumbled.
Men like him never showed weakness.
He entered the house with the controlled confidence of a predator returning to its territory, his footsteps disappearing into the expensive rugs covering the hallway.
When he stepped into the kitchen, the dim lights highlighted the exhaustion on his face.
His charcoal shirt was slightly undone, his tie was loose, and he looked like a man who believed the world would still be waiting for him exactly where he left it.
Then he saw me.
“You’re awake,” he said quietly.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
I didn’t look away from my glass.
As Matteo walked toward the refrigerator, a familiar scent reached me.
It wasn’t the smell of gunpowder or the cold metallic trace that followed him home from his dangerous world.
It was softer.
Vanilla and gardenia.
For three months, that same perfume had appeared on his collars.
Harper’s perfume.
My eyes slowly moved toward the kitchen counter, where two glossy airline ticket sleeves were waiting.
First-class tickets to Santorini.
They were supposed to be for our babymoon, the trip that would finally become our honeymoon after our wedding had been interrupted three years earlier by a federal investigation that nearly destroyed everything.
Matteo poured himself a drink, keeping his back toward me.
He was waiting for a fight.
Arguments were easy for him.
He knew how to twist words, intimidate people, and later buy forgiveness with diamonds, apologies, and promises whispered in the dark.
“The flight leaves Thursday at noon,” he said. “The pilot is ready. Dr. Evans said you can still fly for another two weeks.”
Then his phone buzzed.
Not mine.
His burner phone sat near the edge of the island.
The screen lit up the dark kitchen.
Harper.
Miss you already. Still tasting you.
Matteo turned.
He saw the message.
Then he saw me reading it.
The silence became heavier than any argument we had ever had.
He sighed and rubbed his forehead.
He didn’t hide the phone.
He didn’t panic.
He only looked annoyed.
“Norah, don’t start. I’ve had a week that would put most men in the ground. I just want to sleep.”
“I’m not starting anything.”
My voice surprised even me.
There was no screaming.
No tears.
No anger left.
Only exhaustion.
I stood slowly, placing one hand over my stomach as the baby kicked beneath my ribs.
I walked toward the tickets, picked them up, and slid them across the granite until they stopped beside his glass.
“Take her.”
Matteo frowned.
“What?”
“Take her on our honeymoon.”
His expression hardened.
“Norah, stop being dramatic.”
“I’m not going to Greece with you while I can still smell her on you.”
I looked directly at the man I once believed would protect me from anything.
“I’m too tired to pretend anymore.”
His glass slammed against the counter, the sound of breaking crystal echoing through the mansion.
“I provide everything for you. You live in a palace. You have everything you need. You don’t get to dictate terms to me.”
“I’m not dictating.”
My voice stayed calm.
“I’m conceding.”
That frightened him more than anger ever could.
He stared at me for a long time.
Then something changed.
His eyes moved from my face to my stomach.
“You’re upset.”
“Yes.”
“Because of a text?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
I gave him a tired smile.
“Because it’s not a text.”
He didn’t understand.
Not yet.
“It’s three months of perfume on your shirts.”
His jaw tightened.
“It’s the restaurant in Midtown where she knows your table.”
Silence.
“It’s the hotel receipts.”
“Norah—”
“It’s the fact that you stopped coming home until after midnight and started calling me at seven in the morning to ask whether I slept well.”
I swallowed.
“It’s the way you apologize before I even accuse you.”
Matteo looked away.
“You don’t know what you're talking about.”
“I know everything.”
That made him look at me.
“Then you know I love you.”
I stared at him.
That sentence might have broken me once.
Tonight, it only made me tired.
“Love without loyalty is just a word men use when they want the consequences to stop.”
He walked around the island.
“Who put these ideas in your head?”
“No one.”
“Is there someone else?”
I almost laughed.
“Even now, that’s what you think?”
“I asked you a question.”
“And I’m answering it.”
I took the ring from my finger.
His expression changed.
I placed it beside the tickets.
“I’m not leaving tonight.”
“Good.”
“I’m leaving after our daughter is born.”
His face froze.
“You think I’m going to let you take my child?”
I looked at him.
“Our child.”
He clenched his fists.
I continued.
“I’m not asking for your permission.”
He stepped closer.
“You are my wife.”
“Tonight.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means tomorrow I’m still your wife.”
“And?”
“And I’m done being yours.”
He stared as if I had spoken another language.
The truth was simple.
Matteo had spent years believing that forgiveness was proof of love.
He never understood that sometimes forgiveness was simply the last kindness someone gave before walking away.
He finally reached for the tickets.
“You planned this.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
I looked toward the hallway.
“The same week I learned about Harper.”
His eyes sharpened.
“How long have you known?”
“Long enough.”
“Then why didn’t you confront me?”
“Because I needed to know if you would ever choose me without being forced.”
“And?”
“You didn't.”
His face became unreadable.
For a second, the old Matteo appeared.
The ruthless man who made men lower their eyes.
The man who could destroy businesses before breakfast.
Then his gaze fell to my belly again.
He softened.
“Norah.”
I nearly wished he hadn’t.
Because tenderness from Matteo had always arrived after damage.
Never before it.
“Go to bed,” I whispered.
“What about these?”
“Take them.”
He didn't.
He stood there until dawn.
I slept in the guest room.
At 6:30 a.m., I woke to a strange silence.
Matteo was gone.
The tickets were gone too.
So was the ring.
I sat on the edge of the bed.
For the first time in three years, I felt peace.
It wasn't happiness.
Not yet.
But it was the absence of waiting.
I pulled my phone from beneath the pillow and opened a secure application.
One message waited.
TRANSFER COMPLETE.
A second appeared.
ACCOUNTS 7 AND 11 SECURED.
A third.
THE BOSTON PROPERTY IS READY.
I stared at the screen.
Then at the suitcase beneath the window.
Everything was moving exactly as planned.
Matteo thought he had gone to Santorini.
He had no idea the woman he'd betrayed had spent the previous year preparing for a life beyond his empire.
And perhaps the most dangerous thing of all was that I wasn't taking his money.
May you like
I was protecting myself with evidence.
Evidence he would soon need more than I ever had.
