The Wife He Used to Bury the Truth - Chapter 1: Chapter 1
You are reading The Wife He Used to Bury the Truth, Chapter 1: Chapter 1. Read more chapters of The Wife He Used to Bury the Truth.
Alessandra's POV
My fiancé betrayed my father—exposing him as an undercover agent—just to marry his first love. They tortured him for a full day and night before hanging him. Then they cut off his legs, gouged out his eyes, and threw him into a metal cage, setting him on fire while he was still alive.
I lost my mind with grief. I swore I'd make my fiancé pay.
That's when Vincenzo Costa, the Godfather of Sicily, returned from overseas in a show of power. He used his influence to hire the best lawyers, promising justice for my father and vowing to clear his name.
I believed him.
After the funeral, I broke things off with Raffaele and married the man who had stood by me in my darkest hour.
Five years later, I overheard a conversation that shattered everything.
"Alessandra looks at me like she wants to tear me apart every time we meet," Raffaele said, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. "But what do you think would happen if that poor, delusional woman found out the man who sold out her father is the same one she shares a bed with every night?"
My hand froze on the door handle.
"You're ruthless, Vincenzo," Raffaele sneered. "You really do deserve that title."
He kept going, his tone laced with cruel amusement.
"Alessandra treated you like family when you were kids. And now? She worships you. Massages you. Takes care of you. Hell, she'd carve out her own heart and hand it to you if you asked. But do you think she'd still love you if she knew you were the one who handed her father over to be butchered?"
My fingers trembled as Raffaele's words sliced through the air.
"You pushed the man who raised you—the man you called uncle—straight into the grave, all for Bianca's sake."
The sound of glass shattering made me flinch. Vincenzo's voice was ice.
"Stay out of it."
"Oh, so the mighty Godfather does have a heart?" Raffaele mocked. "How touching. But do you really think Bianca gives a damn about you? To her, you're just a bloodstained monster."
Another crash—this time, a bottle smashing against the table.
"What I did to Alessandra and Uncle Ruso is a debt I'll carry to my grave," Vincenzo growled. "But I had to do it. I had to do it so Bianca could live. If you lay a finger on her, I'll make your existence worse than death."
"Oh, the great Godfather is in love," Raffaele taunted. "Too bad Alessandra still thinks you're her savior. Little does she know, you're her worst nightmare."
I stumbled back, my entire body shaking with rage. I barely made it to the rooftop bar before slamming back a glass of whiskey—normally, I couldn't handle alcohol, but tonight, I didn't care. The burn in my throat matched the fire in my chest.
It wasn't Raffaele who betrayed my father.
It was Vincenzo.
The man who fought for justice. The man I married. The man who stood there at the funeral, staring at my father's mutilated corpse with that cold, unreadable expression.
I was a fool.
All those years of tenderness, of whispered I love yous in the dark—just a lie. A way to ease his guilt. To keep me blind.
Hatred coiled inside me, white-hot and vicious. My grip tightened around the glass—
Then his arms wrapped around my waist, his breath warm against my neck.
"Sandra," he murmured, his voice thick with alcohol. "Where have you been? I missed you… Let's go home."
Just like always.
Every time he was drunk, he'd pull me close, whispering I love you like it meant something.
And for years, I believed him.
My fiancé betrayed my father—exposing him as an undercover agent—just to marry his first love. They tortured him for a full day and night before hanging him. Then they cut off his legs, gouged out his eyes, and threw him into a metal cage, setting him on fire while he was still alive.
I lost my mind with grief. I swore I'd make my fiancé pay.
That's when Vincenzo Costa, the Godfather of Sicily, returned from overseas in a show of power. He used his influence to hire the best lawyers, promising justice for my father and vowing to clear his name.
I believed him.
After the funeral, I broke things off with Raffaele and married the man who had stood by me in my darkest hour.
Five years later, I overheard a conversation that shattered everything.
"Alessandra looks at me like she wants to tear me apart every time we meet," Raffaele said, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. "But what do you think would happen if that poor, delusional woman found out the man who sold out her father is the same one she shares a bed with every night?"
My hand froze on the door handle.
"You're ruthless, Vincenzo," Raffaele sneered. "You really do deserve that title."
He kept going, his tone laced with cruel amusement.
"Alessandra treated you like family when you were kids. And now? She worships you. Massages you. Takes care of you. Hell, she'd carve out her own heart and hand it to you if you asked. But do you think she'd still love you if she knew you were the one who handed her father over to be butchered?"
My fingers trembled as Raffaele's words sliced through the air.
"You pushed the man who raised you—the man you called uncle—straight into the grave, all for Bianca's sake."
The sound of glass shattering made me flinch. Vincenzo's voice was ice.
"Stay out of it."
"Oh, so the mighty Godfather does have a heart?" Raffaele mocked. "How touching. But do you really think Bianca gives a damn about you? To her, you're just a bloodstained monster."
Another crash—this time, a bottle smashing against the table.
"What I did to Alessandra and Uncle Ruso is a debt I'll carry to my grave," Vincenzo growled. "But I had to do it. I had to do it so Bianca could live. If you lay a finger on her, I'll make your existence worse than death."
"Oh, the great Godfather is in love," Raffaele taunted. "Too bad Alessandra still thinks you're her savior. Little does she know, you're her worst nightmare."
I stumbled back, my entire body shaking with rage. I barely made it to the rooftop bar before slamming back a glass of whiskey—normally, I couldn't handle alcohol, but tonight, I didn't care. The burn in my throat matched the fire in my chest.
It wasn't Raffaele who betrayed my father.
It was Vincenzo.
The man who fought for justice. The man I married. The man who stood there at the funeral, staring at my father's mutilated corpse with that cold, unreadable expression.
I was a fool.
All those years of tenderness, of whispered I love yous in the dark—just a lie. A way to ease his guilt. To keep me blind.
Hatred coiled inside me, white-hot and vicious. My grip tightened around the glass—
Then his arms wrapped around my waist, his breath warm against my neck.
"Sandra," he murmured, his voice thick with alcohol. "Where have you been? I missed you… Let's go home."
Just like always.
Every time he was drunk, he'd pull me close, whispering I love you like it meant something.
And for years, I believed him.
End of The Wife He Used to Bury the Truth Chapter 1. Continue reading Chapter 2 or return to The Wife He Used to Bury the Truth book page.