Traded To The Bratva: My Husband's Betrayal

na Viti

th a practiced, detached efficiency that told me everything I needed to know. I was a problem

voice scraping against my

fixed entirely on her clipboard. "Family emergency.

od perfectly. Lucia fell out of bed; I fell off a roof. One of us

man who had signed his name to Lucia's fabricated medical

e title sound like an epithet. "We

g myself to sit up despite the room spin

exactly what Dante was worried about. The paranoia. The delusions. The t

lood rushing in my

pping the file rhythmically. "You believe there is a conspiracy to kill you. These a

They were painting over the blood with whi

hands balling into fists on the s

igned your discharge papers. Dante insists you recover at the Estate, under fa

e word taste

l. Two hours later, a black SUV deposited me at the Vitiello iron ga

of lemon polish and old secrets. My father, Don Vitiello, stood

Old Testament god

iced through the silence. "Dr. Evans tells me you are unstable. That

glass," I said. I looked des

a is on bed rest because of you. The stress almost cau

th," I spat, the venom in m

of me. He didn't raise his hand. He didn't need to

ly. "She endures. She supports. You have failed." He turned to

the underboss. I saw the boy who used to sneak me extra can

Capo to

nte said, his eyes going dead.

the guards stand

ce devoid of paternal warmth. "We will pray for he