Chapter 2 - MY MAFIA HUSBAND LET ME BELIEVE HIS BROTHER WAS DEAD—BUT WHEN I FOUND A HIDDEN LETTER IN HIS OFFICE, I DISCOVERED WHY HE HAD BEEN PUSHING ME AWAY
I spent the night at Clara's apartment overlooking the Chicago River.
I didn't sleep.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Mateo standing beside the conference table.
My wedding ring between us.
His expression when I asked about Adrian.
The silence.
The fear.
The guilt.
***
Clara brought me tea at sunrise.
She sat beside me.
"Vivienne."
I looked up.
She hesitated.
"Are you okay?"
I laughed bitterly.
"No."
She nodded.
"Fair."
***
For a long moment, we sat quietly.
Then I asked:
"Did you know Adrian might be alive?"
Clara froze.
My stomach tightened.
"Clara."
She looked down.
"I heard rumors."
I stared.
"Rumors?"
She swallowed.
"My husband mentioned something months ago."
I felt sick.
"And you didn't tell me?"
Her eyes filled.
"I didn't know if it was true."
I stood.
"Everyone keeps deciding what I deserve to know."
Clara looked devastated.
"I'm sorry."
I turned away.
***
For three years, I had believed Mateo's younger brother died in a warehouse explosion.
The story was simple.
Adrian had been investigating stolen shipments.
Someone planted explosives.
He never came home.
Mateo rarely spoke about him.
When he did, his voice became cold.
I assumed grief had hardened him.
Now I wondered whether grief was only part of the story.
***
That afternoon, Mateo called.
I let it ring.
He called again.
Then sent a message.
Please tell me you're safe.
I stared at the screen.
Then replied:
I'm safe. I need space.
He answered immediately.
I understand. I'm sorry.
I looked at the words.
For the first time in weeks, he had apologized without explaining why I should forgive him.
It should have comforted me.
Instead, it made me cry.
***
The next morning, I contacted my attorney.
Her name was Eleanor Shaw.
She had represented me before my marriage and handled several family matters.
I explained that I wanted to understand my legal options.
Not necessarily divorce.
Not yet.
But separation.
Financial independence.
Protection.
And clarity.
***
Eleanor listened carefully.
Then asked:
"Has Mateo threatened you?"
I shook my head.
"No."
"Restricted your access to money?"
"No."
"Prevented you from leaving?"
I hesitated.
"Not physically."
She nodded.
"Then we can begin by documenting your assets and establishing boundaries."
I swallowed.
"I don't want his money."
Eleanor looked at me.
"Vivienne, this isn't about wanting his money."
She leaned forward.
"It's about understanding your rights."
***
I left her office feeling strangely steadier.
For the first time in weeks, I had done something for myself.
Not to hurt Mateo.
Not to make him jealous.
Not to win.
But because I needed to remember who I was.
***
Before I married Mateo, I had been a successful art conservator.
I restored paintings.
Studied provenance.
Worked with museums and private collections.
I loved my career.
But after our wedding, Mateo's world slowly consumed mine.
There were charity events.
Family obligations.
Security concerns.
Social expectations.
And eventually, I began turning down projects.
Not because Mateo explicitly demanded it.
But because everything in his life seemed more urgent than anything in mine.
***
Now I realized how much I missed the woman I had been.
***
Three days later, Lorenzo called.
I almost ignored him.
Then answered.
"Hello?"
His voice was serious.
"Vivienne."
I swallowed.
"What?"
"Mateo wants to speak with you."
I closed my eyes.
"I know."
Lorenzo hesitated.
"He's not doing well."
Anger rose.
"Neither am I."
Silence.
Then Lorenzo said:
"You're right."
I froze.
He continued.
"He handled this badly."
I swallowed.
"Then why are you calling?"
Lorenzo took a breath.
"Because there's something you need to know."
My heart tightened.
"What?"
He hesitated.
"Adrian may be alive."
I closed my eyes.
***
Lorenzo explained carefully.
Six years earlier, Adrian had been investigating a network of stolen shipments moving through the docks.
The operation involved several rival organizations.
One of them was connected to Declan Fitzpatrick.
Adrian discovered evidence that someone inside the Duca organization was helping the network.
Then the warehouse explosion happened.
***
Authorities found remains.
But identification was complicated.
Mateo believed Adrian had died.
For years.
Then, three months earlier, an anonymous message arrived.
It contained a photograph.
Adrian.
Older.
Thinner.
But alive.
***
I sat motionless.
"Where?"
Lorenzo hesitated.
"We don't know."
I swallowed.
"Why didn't Mateo tell me?"
Lorenzo was quiet.
Then said:
"Because the message also mentioned you."
My blood ran cold.
"What?"
He continued.
"It said that if Mateo involved his wife, she would become part of the price."
***
I stared at the wall.
For several seconds, I couldn't breathe.
Then whispered:
"Show me."
Lorenzo hesitated.
"Vivienne—"
"Show me."
***
An hour later, Lorenzo arrived at Clara's apartment.
He brought a sealed folder.
Inside was a photograph.
A man standing outside a small building.
Dark hair.
Sharp features.
A scar near his eyebrow.
Adrian Duca.
Alive.
***
My hands trembled.
Then I saw the message printed beneath it.
KEEP YOUR WIFE OUT OF THIS, MATEO. YOU ALREADY LOST ONE PERSON YOU LOVED.
I stared.
For the first time, I understood why Mateo had been afraid.
But understanding wasn't forgiveness.
***
I looked at Lorenzo.
"He should have told me."
Lorenzo nodded.
"Yes."
I swallowed.
"He should have trusted me."
"Yes."
I stared at the photograph.
Then whispered:
"Where is Mateo?"
***
I returned to the penthouse that evening.
Not because I was ready to come home.
Because I needed answers.
Mateo stood in the living room when I entered.
He looked exhausted.
Dark circles shadowed his eyes.
His hair was disheveled.
And for the first time since I met him, he looked uncertain.
"Vivienne."
I placed the folder on the table.
"I know."
His face changed.
He looked at Lorenzo.
Then back at me.
I crossed my arms.
"Sit down."
Mateo blinked.
"What?"
"Sit."
He obeyed.
***
For the next two hours, I asked questions.
Every question I had been afraid to ask.
Every question he had avoided.
About Adrian.
Declan.
Evelyn Cross.
The docks.
The threats.
The silence.
***
Mateo answered.
Not perfectly.
Not easily.
But honestly.
***
Evelyn Cross was a federal attorney who had previously worked on organized-crime investigations.
She was helping coordinate legal counsel and information related to Adrian's disappearance.
There was no affair.
No secret romance.
No hidden relationship.
But Mateo admitted he had allowed me to believe something was wrong because he thought emotional distance might make me less vulnerable.
***
I stared at him.
"Do you hear yourself?"
He looked down.
"I know."
"You punished me for something I didn't even know existed."
His eyes filled.
"I know."
I swallowed.
"You made me feel unwanted."
His voice broke.
"I'm sorry."
***
For a long moment, we sat quietly.
Then I asked:
"Do you still love me?"
Mateo looked up sharply.
"Vivienne."
I held his gaze.
"Answer."
His eyes filled.
"More than anything."
I swallowed.
"Then why did you stop acting like it?"
He closed his eyes.
When he opened them, tears slipped down his cheeks.
"Because I was afraid."
***
The admission stunned me.
Mateo Duca.
The man feared by half of Chicago.
Afraid.
***
He continued.
"I lost Adrian."
"I thought I'd never see him again."
"Then someone sent me proof he was alive."
His voice shook.
"And suddenly, I was terrified of losing you too."
I looked down.
He continued.
"I thought if I kept you away from me, away from the investigation, you'd be safer."
I swallowed.
"And you never considered asking what I wanted?"
He shook his head.
"No."
***
I stood.
Mateo immediately rose.
I looked at him.
"I'm not coming home tonight."
His face fell.
But he nodded.
"Okay."
I swallowed.
"I need time."
He nodded again.
"I understand."
***
As I walked toward the door, Mateo spoke.
"Vivienne."
I turned.
He looked at me.
"I won't make another decision about your life without you."
My eyes filled.
I wanted to believe him.
But trust doesn't return because someone finally says the right words.
It returns when their actions become different.
***
That night, I returned to Clara's apartment.
For the first time in weeks, I slept.
***
The next morning, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered cautiously.
"Hello?"
A man's voice replied.
"Vivienne Mercer?"
My stomach tightened.
"Yes?"
He hesitated.
"My name is Adrian Duca."
The world stopped.
Then he whispered:
May you like
"Please don't tell Mateo I called."
END OF CHAPTER 2
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