"Baby, you must have eaten something bad," Dante said, gently helping me back into the car and handing me a bottle of water. "We should go to the hospital."

I shook my head, affecting an air of weakness. "No, it's fine. I think I've just been stressed lately."

He made a thoughtful suggestion. "There’s a gala tomorrow night. It could be fun, a good way to relax. Would Mrs. Moretti do me the honor?"

A cold, sharp idea formed in my mind. I smiled. "Of course. Can we have it at the Westin? I love their food."

A flash of panic crossed Dante’s eyes, but he quickly masked it. "Of course, baby. Anything you want. I'll have my guys book it right away."

I knew what he was thinking.

If we both showed up at that hotel, the risk of his mistress being seen was too high.

But he couldn't refuse a "sick" wife's small request, could he?

Back at the mansion, Dante was unusually attentive. He made me chicken soup, insisted I stay in bed, and checked on me every hour. He was playing the part of the perfect husband.

But on his burner phone, I saw the message he sent to Jenna:

"Change of plans. Meet me in the private wine cellar downstairs tomorrow. 8:30 p.m. It's more secluded. More thrilling. Imagine it… making love among all those expensive bottles of red..."

Kitten: "Sounds amazing! I'll wear that red dress you love. And nothing underneath."

The sound of the shower turning off in the bathroom brought me back. I quickly put the phone away.

When Dante walked out of the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around his waist, water tracing paths down his muscular chest, the sight that would have made my heart race five years ago now only filled me with disgust.

"Feeling any better?" He sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out to feel my forehead.

I nodded, then pretended to remember something. "Oh, I almost forgot." I pulled the blue box from the nightstand. "I got you this for our anniversary. I was so excited to give it to you."

He started to open it, but I stopped him.

I stroked his cheek. "I want you to wait a week to open it. Think of it as a little surprise, okay?"

He looked at me, confused. "Why a week?"

I gave him a mysterious smile. "Because by then, you'll understand what the gift truly means."

Dante shrugged, placing the box in his nightstand drawer. "Alright. If that's what my wife wants."

The next morning, Dante was up early, making me breakfast in the kitchen.

Fried eggs, bacon, fresh-squeezed orange juice, and my favorite, a perfect espresso.

A perfect breakfast from a perfect husband.

Just then, the doorbell rang. One of Dante's men, Marco, stood on the doorstep, holding a plain brown paper bag.

"Boss, the thing you asked for." Marco handed it over, his eyes darting around nervously.

But I saw it—a small velvet box peeking out. Probably something for his little tryst.

After Marco left, Dante returned to the table and continued eating as if nothing had happened.

I stirred my coffee, my voice casual. "Dante, can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

I looked up at him. "How important do you think loyalty is in a marriage?"

Dante’s fork paused in mid-air for a second before he continued cutting his egg. "It's everything. Loyalty is the foundation of our world."

"Is it?" I tilted my head, playing the part of the naive wife. "So you've never betrayed me?"

Dante immediately put down his fork and reached for the silver cross he wore around his neck. It was a gift from his father, a sacred object to the Moretti family.

"I swear on my father's grave," he said, looking me straight in the eye, his tone solemn and sincere. "I will only ever be loyal to you, Alessia. You are my wife, my queen, the only woman in my life."

His performance was flawless. If I didn't know the truth, I might have been moved to tears.

"So," I said, lifting my coffee cup, my eyes turning cold as steel, "what happens if you do betray me?"

Dante, completely oblivious, answered with a relaxed smile. "Then let me lose everything. Let me wander this earth like a ghost."

"Of course, my love," I whispered, the coffee bitter on my tongue. "I'll hold you to that."

"I want to sit in the back."

On the way to the hotel, Dante looked at me, confused. "Why? You always sit up front."

Because I couldn't stand to sit in the passenger seat his little whore had occupied countless times. The thought of Jenna sitting there, cooing at him, begging him to pull over so they could fuck, made me want to vomit.

But I just said, "I feel like having more space."

Dante thought nothing of it.

As Dante led me into the hotel, his arm around my waist, other patrons stared with a mixture of envy and awe. In our world, being Mrs. Moretti was a dream for countless women.

If only they knew the price.

Several of the family's Capos came over to greet us.

Dante kept his hand on the small of my back, poured me wine, and whispered in my ear, "This bottle is worth twenty thousand dollars, but even it can't compare to your beauty."

Once, words like that would have made me blush.

Now, they just made me want to laugh. In his mind, my worth was clearly less than that of a twenty-two-year-old bartender.

Dinner went smoothly, at least on the surface.

Dante talked about family business, occasionally turning to me for my opinion. I played the part of the perfect wife: elegant, intelligent, involved just enough but never overstepping.

At 8:20, Dante glanced at his watch. "Darling, I need to go downstairs and meet a business associate. Shouldn't be more than half an hour."

"Of course," I said with a smile. "Take your time."

A few minutes later, I excused myself, claiming to feel unwell. Once out of the ballroom, I called Dante.

He answered on the third ring.

"Hey, baby. What's up?" Dante's voice sounded a little rushed.

"I'm feeling a bit dizzy," I said, feigning weakness. "When will you be back?"

"Soon. Just give me... fifteen more minutes." His voice suddenly became muffled, as if he was struggling to control something.

And then I heard it.

A woman's low giggle, soft and seductive. And the distinct, metallic jingle of small bells on some kind of toy. Jingle, jingle.

"Dante? Where are you?" I kept my tone worried.

"In... in the office," he answered, panting. "The associate just arrived."

"Mmm… Dante…" a woman moaned in the background.

My hand tightened around the phone, my knuckles turning white. The voice was unmistakably Jenna's.

"Baby, you sound strange," I said, deliberately dragging out the call. "Are you sure everything's okay?"

"Of course... ah..." Dante struggled to keep his voice steady, but I could tell exactly what he was doing. "This associate is just... difficult to handle."

"Oh yes, Dante... right there..." Jenna's voice came through, muffled. She clearly had no idea he was on the phone.

"Come on, kitten," Dante's voice dropped to a growl. "I want you right now..."

Jingle, jingle. The damn bells were getting faster.

I quickly hit the record button, calmly documenting it all.

"Dante? Dante?" I called out, pretending to be anxious.

"What? Oh, sorry, baby," he said, breathless, back on the line. "Bad signal. I'll be right up."

"Okay. I love you," I said in my sweetest voice.

"I love you too."

The lie rolled off his tongue so easily, so practiced.

After hanging up, I saved the recording and walked back to our table as if nothing had happened.

Forty minutes later, Dante returned to the restaurant. His hair was a little messy and his tie was crooked, but he had a satisfied smile on his face.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, baby." He sat down beside me. "That associate was a tough nut to crack."

I turned to him and offered a perfect smile. "It's fine. Business is important."

He reached out and took my hand. "You're the best wife in the world."

Just then, my phone buzzed.

Passport and ticket confirmed. Activates in five days. All set.

I quickly locked the screen, but Dante caught a glimpse of the words.

"Passport?" He looked at me, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. "Alessia, are you going somewhere?"

I let out a small laugh, as if he'd asked a silly question. "My friend Maria wants to go to Europe, but her passport expired. She was asking me about the renewal process. You know how she is with these things."

My tone was light and natural, with no hint of a lie.

Dante's expression immediately relaxed, and he even looked a little sheepish. "Sorry, baby. For a second there, I thought you were planning on leaving me."

His words made the other wives at nearby tables shoot me looks of pure envy. See how devoted Dante is to her.

I hid a cold smile behind my wine glass.

To the outside world, we were still the perfect, enviable couple.

At ten-thirty, the dinner party was winding down.

When we were the last two left in the restaurant, Dante came to my side, reaching out to hug me. "Tonight was perfect."

As he moved closer, a mix of scents hit me—cigar smoke, expensive whiskey, and… that damn cheap jasmine perfume.

Jenna's scent.

The sickeningly sweet fragrance was radiating from my husband's collar and cuffs. He hadn't even tried to hide it. Or maybe he just didn't realize he reeked of her.

The churning in my stomach returned, stronger this time.

I shoved him away, clapped a hand over my mouth, and ran for the restroom.

"Alessia? Baby?" Dante followed, his voice laced with concern.

I knelt before the toilet, dry-heaving violently. My stomach was empty, but the bitter bile and uncontrollable rage kept coming.

"What's wrong? Are you allergic to the seafood?" Dante knelt beside me, trying to help me up. "Or did you have too much wine?"

The scent of him, of her, washed over me again, and another wave of nausea hit.

"Don't... don't touch me!" I pushed his hand away, my body trembling.

"Is it the smoke on me?" Dante frowned. "Sorry, I had a few cigars during that meeting."

Hearing that lie, the fire inside me finally exploded.

I slowly stood up, splashing cold water on my face, and met his eyes in the mirror. He stood there, the picture of innocent concern, as if he truly had no idea what he'd done.

"Cigars?" My voice was a low growl. "You know damn well what this is about!"

Dante froze, stunned. He had never seen me lose control like this. "Alessia, what are you talking about?"

I realized I'd gone too far and forced myself to calm down. "Nothing. My stomach just hurts."

The next morning, Dante insisted on taking me to the hospital.

The doctor examined me. "Based on your symptoms, it seems to be stress-induced gastritis. It’s often caused by emotional distress or pressure. Has Mrs. Moretti been under any particular stress lately?"

Dante frowned. "No. We had a wonderful time just yesterday."

"Well, perhaps it's seasonal," the doctor said, starting to write a prescription. "I'll give her something to settle her stomach."

Just then, Dante's phone rang.

He glanced at the screen, his expression tensing. "Sorry, it's an important call."

"Go ahead," I said flatly.

Dante stepped into the hallway to take the call, and I could hear his hushed voice. "What? Now? No, I'm with my wife at the doctor's... Alright, I get it."

He came back, an apologetic look on his face. "Baby, I am so sorry. One of my men needs to drop off some important documents. I have to run downstairs to get them. I'll be back in five minutes."

"Go," I said, nodding with fake understanding.

Dr. Ricci continued his diagnosis, but my attention was elsewhere. I walked to the window, pretending to admire the view, but my eyes were locked on the street below.

A few minutes later, I saw Dante.

But he wasn't waiting by the entrance for any documents.

Instead, he strode quickly across the street and straight into the building opposite us—a private OB-GYN clinic.

As I watched him disappear inside, the anger I felt was replaced by a cold, numb sense of release.

Just then, my phone vibrated.

A text from an unknown number.

[Sorry, Mrs. Moretti. Looks like he can't be with you today. All it takes is one call from me, and he comes running like a dog.]