The Wife He Used to Bury the Truth - Chapter 2: Chapter 2

They always said the Sicilian Godfather never lied. That when Vincenzo told me he loved me, he meant every word.
Now the very thought made me sick.
I mechanically helped him into the bulletproof car, my movements numb. Vincenzo collapsed against me, his furrowed brow finally smoothing as he drifted into unconsciousness—looking for all the world like an innocent boy.
But all I felt was disgust.
"Bianca… why… it should have been me."
At last, I understood the name he'd whispered in drunken dreams.
Bianca De Luca. The woman who destroyed my life. His first love—the one he could never let go. I'd been a fool to think his obsession with her had faded. Even now, after all these years, she still owned him.
A gold-engraved satellite phone slipped from his tailored suit. When I picked it up, an encrypted message flashed on the screen:
"Godfather, thank you for resolving tonight's conflict with the three families. But I can't accept the Sicilian territory you promised—it's too generous!"
Right below it, a private post from Bianca: "Only a true queen deserves the crown."
Attached was a photo of a ruby-studded ring—an ancient relic from Sicily's oldest crime family. That ring meant power. Absolute, unchallenged power.
And Bianca wanted me to see it.
Last week, Vincenzo had taken a bullet to the chest in a brutal family war. He could barely stand, yet he'd boarded a plane days later, ignoring my pleas to recover. I'd thought he was risking his life for the family's honor.
I was wrong.
He'd gone for her coronation.
Even bleeding, he'd fought for that ring—for the crown—just to lay it at Bianca's feet.
My hands shook as I entered his passcode. The screen unlocked, and there she was—Bianca, radiant in a designer gown, set as his wallpaper.
Of course.
Vincenzo never let me near this phone. "Godfather's business," he'd say. Now I knew why. Every time he turned it on, her face was the first thing he saw.
I scrolled through his gallery, my stomach twisting. Folders labeled with her name:
Bia at the Opera. Bia in the Vineyard. Bia's Coronation.
Thousands of photos—Bianca laughing at underworld galas, Bianca glowing in candlelight, Bianca draped in jewels. Not a single picture of me. Not even of himself.
Only her.
Because from the beginning, his heart had never been mine.
The car rolled up to the old castle. A cold dread settled in my bones as I stared through the tinted window at the darkened vault below.
Once, that room had held my father's crest and the evidence he'd gathered during twenty years undercover. Seeing it used to make me feel like he was still out there, fighting to finish what he started. Then one morning—gone. The police called it an anonymous destruction of evidence.
Vincenzo had held me as I sobbed, staying awake for three days, refusing to leave my side.
Now I knew the truth.
He was the one who erased my father's legacy.
A new message lit up the screen:
"Godfather, the will is ready for your signature. As requested, all Sicilian assets and succession rights will transfer to Miss Bianca upon confirmation."
"Sandra, I swear on my honor as the Godfather of Sicily—I'll protect you. My home is yours. Everything I have is yours."