Ashes Of Betrayal: My Ex-Husband's Regret

Rossi, the ruthless Don

otect me, especially after his ex-lover pushed me down t

eland, his encrypted phone lit up with a

thday wish. He wants his

hold a picture of our dead daughter, but a p

e the aurora weren't to mourn Serafina; they w

e intercepted me at the ai

to a secret facility, and even held my dead daughter

shes, burying half in a church wall to build karm

my nightmares use my dead baby as a

ied to me for four years, th

e phone and ca

ke team. I am tearin

pte

nna

it had passed beyond feeling, when the encrypted telephone belonging to my husband, the

the dark glass: Angelo is making his birthda

orld with an iron fist. He was a predator in bespoke wool, commanding an

lish enough to believe his ter

y bones. I remember the slowly widening pool of blood spreading across the veined white floor. And I will never forget the quality of quiet in the delivery room, a quiet so profound I

small, inert body. Then, he used his unquestioned power as Don to silence everyone. He exiled Valentina out of the country,

I believed his

inter to see the Northern Lights because I once told him our daughter would have loved the colors. Whenever I woke

s not the woman w

to grab his heavy cashmere coat from the chair. His St. Jude protectio

as no picture of me. There

t me: a four-year-old boy with Da

ated on the table wi

had died in late November. But every single one of these trips-every winter for four years-had b

There was no slow

is was colder. Cleaner. It felt like a switch being thrown, like the woman who had been Dante Rossi's mourning wife was being se

watched Dante negotiate, threaten, and destroy.

ess settled

medal from the floor and placed it, face-up, on the table

eady in the bag. I moved without hesitation, without trembling hands. From the false b

el where no cameras watched. He was the son of my mother's oldest mafia ally, a ruthless underworl

mething that was not pity, not duty, but a quiet, banked fire that he did not na

ood what ready me

changing shifts. I bought a one-way commercial ticket back to New York. I was running fro

I reached the boardi

For a long second,

t was sharp-a scalpel wrapped in silk. "I would like to know pr

n apology. He did not

i Family only issue

f you board that commercial flight, Sienna," he continued, and his throat worked, a difficult motion, and the words he produced were more like air forced

words would have

y a cold, clari

ave been holding me hostage with things I love f

an's pleasant voice began announcing a departure over the terminal's public address system. I held

JFK Airport, the realit

ds flanked him, their gazes cutting through the crowd like searchlights, and any

t his eyes would not meet mine-and said, "The

g. "Then the Boss can

up to the curb. The heavy door swung open, an

a focused intensity. He walked straight toward me. He took off his

thout breaking strid

-just enough to stop me. "

exposed wrist. I po

y voice did not shake. It cut. "I

away, and the ruthless Mafia Boss took his place. He stared down

o his Capo.

the small, white marble urn that contained Serafina's as

looked at me, wielding the remains of our

n the freezing shadow of JFK,

back at the man who had

ly. "Because now, Dante, I am going to take apart everythi

past his guards. No

ack in his silence-a single, ra

not lo