The Vanished Wife's Revenge: No Turning Back

a silent ornament gathering dust o

ning steel and glass into something that could touch the sky. Dante had crushed those dreams on

wings. He didn't know I had

ner phone I had lifted from a careless maid. I accessed offshore accounts I had helped Dante set up during the honeymo

s understoo

unding errors in a ledger of blood money. Enough

tober 15th. My m

ressing room. My dress was emerald green, backless

s dry and cold. "You think you own me. You're

he Vitiello and Moretti families were ce

of expensive perfume masking the stench of moral decay. Dante stood in

m was Sofi

s kind of glamour. She was laughing, her hand resting possessively on Dante's forearm. Dante didn't pu

. No one looked at me. I was the wif

up to greet her, a

u look mag

k you for th

iellos are luck

ty shifting in real-time. I forced

nce before smoothing into a mask of strained

ying," I s

me for weakness. "Elena, darling," she purred. "I hear

ents of pain. "I have a surprise for you," she said, her voice loud enough to carry

ively. It was my mother's brooch.

ching her eyes. "I think it would look better on me.

ed talking. They watched. This wasn't about jewelry. This

oid of any husbandly affection. He nodded

s voice smooth as oil. "It's just a

front of everyone. He was t

and. I looked at her manicure

" I

nshot in a library. Sofia's

y despite the trembling in my knees. "It is not a

is grip bruising. He didn't step on my f

d to the room, his tone brooking no argu

g to the Sicilian dialect, a language she

ow," she hissed. "She died s

ckered. "*Puttana*," one m

nd I memorized the shape of her malice. I looked at

my dress. It contained the routing numbers for Dante's entire laundering operation in the Caymans. I had bu

arm from D

sweet, terrifyingly calm. "I am confused. I think

ned a

e warned, low

r me, not out of respect, but out of discomfort. They wer

d out of the foyer. I walked out of t

me, confused. "Mrs.

art Dante had written for me. "No," I said, fe

driveway. My heels clicked on the asphalt, a co

the mansion, glowing

the subway to a locker I had rented three weeks ago. I changed in

the trash. I walke

and. A calendar h

ber

birthd

fr