Too Late For Regret: The Mafia Don's Lost Wife

For five years, my husband Bennett refused to give me a child, claiming a "Blood Curse" would kill me during childbirth.

I believed him. I thought his refusal was the ultimate act of love.

That illusion shattered the day I found the surrogacy contract hidden in the gallery archives.

There was no curse.

There was just Aria-the mistress he paid to carry his legacy while I played the role of the immaculate, barren trophy wife.

The truth turned violent when a massive steel sculpture snapped from the gallery ceiling.

Bennett had a split second to choose who to save.

He didn't look at me.

He roared and dove to shield Aria, leaving me to be crushed by the falling beam.

I lay bleeding on the marble floor, watching him frantically check her for scratches, completely ignoring my broken body.

Even in the hospital, he didn't come. He was too busy playing house with the mother of his future heir.

I didn't wait for an apology. I left my wedding ring on the table and vanished to Paris.

Six months later, when Bennett finally found me and fell to his knees begging for a second chance, he didn't realize who he was talking to.

I wasn't his wife anymore.

I was the woman holding the hand of the rival billionaire who had just bought Bennett's empire out from under him.

Chapter 1

I stood frozen in the suffocating silence of the gallery archives, clutching the document that proved my husband wasn't protecting me from a family curse. He was replacing me.

The paper in my hand felt heavy, the edges biting into the pad of my trembling thumb.

It was a surrogacy agreement.

But it wasn't just a standard contract. It was a comprehensive payout plan for a woman named Aria Diaz.

Mere minutes ago, I had been out there in the main hall, playing the role of the immaculate trophy wife to Bennett Vitale, the Underboss of the most feared crime family in New York.

I had smiled at the Capos. I had laughed at their wives' dull jokes.

I was the golden ornament on Bennett's arm, the woman who kept his public image pristine while he broke fingers and ordered hits in the shadows.

For five years, I had begged him for a child.

For five years, he had cradled my face in his rough, blood-stained hands, swearing he loved me too much to risk it.

He had christened it the Vitale Blood Curse.

He claimed the men in his line were poisoned by violence, that every son born to a Vitale destroyed the mother during birth. He told me he would rather die than watch me suffer.

I believed him. I loved him for his sacrifice. I thought his refusal was the ultimate act of devotion.

My eyes scanned the document again, burning as the words blurred into a sickening gray.

The stipend was astronomical. The background check was waived by order of the Don.

But it was the handwritten note clipped to the back of the folder that severed the strings holding me upright.

I sank onto the cold concrete floor, my silk dress pooling around me like spilled ink.

The handwriting was feminine, looping and confident.

Bennett,

Thank you for the apartment. It is more than I deserve, but exactly what our future needs. I promise to keep our secret until the baby is born. You are so generous to take care of Rico, too. I know you say it is just business, but I feel your heart.

Yours,

Aria

The air in the room suddenly felt too thin to breathe.

I gasped, clutching my chest as if I could physically force my heart to keep its rhythm.

There was no curse.

There was no danger.

There was just me-the arranged wife from a strategic alliance-and Aria, the woman he actually wanted to carry his legacy.

I remembered the day we married. It was a transaction between my father and Don Randolph Sr., a way to secure shipping routes in Jersey.

Bennett had looked at me with those dark, intense eyes and promised that we would make it work. He promised loyalty. He promised protection.

The sharp click of dress shoes echoed outside the archive door.

I scrambled up, shoving the folder into the wrong box, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

I smoothed my dress. I checked my reflection in the darkened window.

I looked pristine. I looked like a beautiful, well-crafted lie.

I walked out of the archives and stepped back into the gala, spotting Bennett across the room.

He was talking to his father, the Don. He looked devastatingly handsome in his tuxedo, a lethal kind of power radiating off him that drew eyes from every corner of the room.

He saw me.

He smiled-that small, rare curve of lips that used to make my stomach flip. Now, it looked like a predator baring its teeth.

He walked over, sliding a hand around my waist, pulling me flush against his side.

"Where did you go?" he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. "I missed you."

"Just fixing a display," I lied, my voice steady, betraying nothing.

"You work too hard," he said, kissing my temple. "We should go home. I have business to attend to later."

"Business," I repeated, the word tasting like ash.

"Yes. A shipment coming in at the docks. I might be late."

He was lying.

I could smell the deceit on him, acrid and sharper than his expensive cologne.

"Go," I said, pulling away slightly. "Don't let me keep you from your duties."

He looked at me, a flicker of confusion crossing his face at my sudden coldness, but he masked it quickly.

"I'll make it up to you, Kelsey. I promise."

He turned and walked away, disappearing into the night.

I watched him go, knowing exactly whose bed he was heading to.

The curse wasn't in his blood.

It was standing right here, wearing diamond earrings and a fake smile, realizing that the man she worshipped was nothing but a common liar.

Bennett didn't return until the sun was already bleeding through the sheer curtains of our bedroom.

I was awake.

In fact, I hadn't slept at all.

I lay perfectly still, feigning deep slumber, my ears straining against the silence as I listened to the heavy sound of the front door closing, followed by the muffled thud of his boots being kicked off in the hallway.

He entered the bedroom quietly, moving with the practiced stealth of a predator trying not to wake the wife he thought was asleep.

The mattress dipped under his weight as he sat on the edge.

A wave of nausea rolled over me. He smelled of stale smoke, the metallic tang of gunpowder, and something floral that wasn't me.

He leaned down, brushing a kiss against my cheek.

"Sleep well, bellissima," he whispered.

It took everything in me not to recoil from the heat of his breath.

I kept my breathing even, a skill I had perfected over four years, waiting until he went into the bathroom to shower off the evidence of his betrayal.

When the water started running, I opened my eyes.

They felt dry, gritty from hours of staring into the dark.

I got up and went to the walk-in closet, my fingers hovering over the handle of a suitcase.

No.

Not yet.

If I left now, he would haul me back. I was a Vitale wife. I was property.

I needed a reason that the Don would accept, or I needed to disappear so completely that his reach couldn't find me.

Bennett walked out of the bathroom with a towel slung low around his waist, water dripping from his dark hair.

He looked refreshed. He looked sated.

"You're up early," he said, reaching for me.

I stepped back, pretending to look for earrings on the dresser to avoid his touch.

"I have a headache," I said, keeping my voice flat. "I didn't sleep well."

He frowned, his hand dropping to his side. "I'm sorry I wasn't here. The shipment had complications."

"I'm sure it did," I said.

He paused, sensing the shift in the air like an animal scents a storm. "Is something wrong, Kelsey?"

"Just the headache," I said, finally turning to look at him.

I looked at the man I had spent four years trying to please.

I looked at the scars on his chest, earned in wars for his family. I used to trace them with my fingers, believing they were maps to his soul.

Now, I just wondered how many of them were lies, too.

"I'm going to the gallery," I said. "I want to redecorate the private lounge. It feels... stale."

He nodded, seemingly relieved to avoid a confrontation. "Do whatever you want, baby. It's your space."

I left before he could try to touch me again.

At the gallery, I went straight to the private lounge.

It was a space Bennett used for meetings when he didn't want to go to the warehouse, a room that reeked of masculine authority.

I started moving cushions, stripping the room of its warmth, needing to purge his presence.

I reached under the sofa to pull out a rug, but instead, my hand brushed against silk.

I pulled it out.

It was a scarf.

Hermès.

Bright orange and garish.

Decidedly not my style.

I brought it to my nose, and there it was. It smelled like the floral scent I had detected on Bennett's skin.

I didn't cry.

I didn't scream.

I just folded the scarf neatly and placed it on the coffee table, a silent accusation.

That evening, we had to attend a dinner at the Capo's house.

I wore black, like a widow in mourning before the body was even cold.

Bennett wore a matching suit, his hand possessively on my lower back as we entered.

The room was filled with the acrid smoke of cigars and the murmur of dangerous men.

I saw her immediately.

Aria Diaz.

She wasn't supposed to be here. She was a nobody, an outsider.

But she was standing near the bar, laughing at something a soldier said.

She was young. Vibrant.

And she had a hand resting protectively over her flat stomach.

My breath hitched in my throat.

Two of the Capo's wives were standing near me, their backs turned, sipping champagne.

"That's the one," one whispered, her voice dripping with gossip. "The new girl. Bennett set her up in the penthouse on 5th."

"Bold," the other said. "Does Kelsey know?"

"Please. Kelsey is a statue. Pretty to look at, but hollow. Bennett needs a legacy, not a decoration."

I felt the blood drain from my face.

I looked across the room at Bennett.

He was looking at Aria.

His expression wasn't the cold, calculated mask he wore for business.

It was soft. It was open.

He saw me looking, and his face hardened instantly, but the damage was done.

He walked over to me, grabbing my elbow a little too tightly.

"Smile," he hissed, his voice a lethal command. "You look like you're at a funeral."

"Maybe I am," I said.

He narrowed his eyes. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I'm tired, Bennett. I want to go home."

"We just got here."

"I said I want to go home."

He glared at me, asserting his dominance, waiting for me to fold like I always did.

"Go then," he said dismissively, releasing my arm as if I were a burden. "Take the driver. I have things to discuss with the Capo."

He turned his back on me.

He turned back to her.

I walked out of the house, the night air biting against my skin.

I didn't go home.

I went back to the gallery.

I went to the lounge.

I picked up the scarf.

I picked up the wedding photo I kept on the desk.

I looked at the smiling girl in the white dress.

I didn't know her anymore.

I dropped the photo into the trash can.

The glass shattered.

It was the most satisfying sound I had heard in years.

The Vitale Family Anniversary Gala was more than just a party; it was the single most important night of the year.

It was a calculated display of power, wealth, and unbreakable unity.

I stood by the towering crystal champagne display, my spine rigid, wearing a silk dress that cost more than most people's cars.

Bennett was circulating through the crowd, shaking hands, playing the part of the dutiful Underboss to perfection.

And then she walked up to me.

Aria.

She was draped in red. A bold, aggressive crimson that clashed violently with the elegant neutrals of the other wives.

She smiled, and it was like looking into the eyes of a viper.

"Mrs. Vitale," she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "It's so lovely to finally meet you properly."

"I don't believe we've been introduced," I said, my voice pure ice.

"Oh, I feel like I know you," she said, stepping closer, invading my personal space with a cloud of heavy perfume. "Bennett talks about you sometimes."

"Does he?"

"He says you're very... proper." She laughed, a light, tinkling sound that grated against my nerves. "He worries about you. He thinks you're fragile."

"I'm stronger than I look," I said tightly.

She leaned in, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "He's amazing, isn't he? So protective. He cleared my brother's gambling debts last week. Fifty thousand dollars. Just like that."

The floor seemed to tilt beneath my feet.

Fifty thousand.

Bennett had told me money was tight this quarter because of the port strikes.

He had told me we needed to cut back on the gallery budget.

But he had fifty thousand for her brother.

"He's very generous with his employees," I managed to say, though my grip on my glass was white-knuckled.

"I'm not an employee, Kelsey," she said, dropping the pretense. "We both know that."

She looked pointedly at my stomach, then back at my face with a pitying sneer.

"He wants a son," she said cruelly. "It's a shame you couldn't give him one. But don't worry. I'll take good care of his legacy."

I felt bile rise in my throat.

She wasn't just a mistress.

She was his plan.

She was his future.

I was just the placeholder until the baby was born.

"Is everything alright here?"

Bennett's voice cut through the tension like a blade.

He appeared beside us, looking between me and Aria with a flash of genuine panic in his eyes.

"We were just chatting, Bennett," Aria said, beaming at him. "Your wife is charming."

Bennett's jaw clenched hard. "Aria, go find your seat. Dinner is starting."

She pouted slightly but obeyed, trailing a hand across his arm possessively as she walked away.

Bennett turned to me, reaching for my hand.

"What did she say to you?" he demanded, his voice low and urgent.

"She told me about Rico's debts," I said.

Bennett froze.

"That's business, Kelsey. Her brother is a runner for us. I take care of my men."

"Stop it," I said.

I looked at him, really looked at him.

I saw the lies etched into the lines of his face.

I saw the arrogance.

He thought I was stupid.

He thought I was so blinded by love that I would swallow anything he fed me.

"Kelsey, don't start a scene," he warned, his grip tightening painfully around my fingers.

"I'm not starting a scene," I said calmly. "I'm finishing one."

I pulled my hand away from his.

"I'm going to the restroom."

"Hurry back," he said, adjusting his cuffs nervously. "My father is going to make a toast."

I walked away.

I didn't go to the restroom.

I went to the coat check.

I got my wrap.

I walked out the front door of the hotel, past the security guards who nodded at me respectfully.

I stood on the sidewalk, the city noise washing over me like a cleansing tide.

My phone buzzed in my clutch.

It was a text from Bennett.

Where are you? Father is asking for you.

I didn't reply.

I turned off my phone.

I hailed a cab.

For the first time in my life, I didn't care what the Don thought.

I didn't care about the family reputation.

I felt a strange, cold emptiness spreading through my chest.

It wasn't pain.

It was the death of hope.

And God, it was strangely liberating.