The Wife He Used to Bury the Truth - Chapter 5: Chapter 5
You are reading The Wife He Used to Bury the Truth, Chapter 5: Chapter 5. Read more chapters of The Wife He Used to Bury the Truth.
Vincenzo's POV
Vincenzo was savoring a glass of wine with Bianca in the sun-drenched vineyard of his family's ancient castle when his private phone shattered the peaceful moment.
"Don, your wife is missing! She left... something on the nightstand. You need to see this!"
His hand stilled mid-pour, the rich crimson liquid halting in its descent.
"What did she leave?"
"The doctors said she was discharged early this morning. She... she filed for divorce."
The glass in Vincenzo's grip trembled as fury and disbelief tore through him. He stood abruptly, his expression turning deadly.
Divorce? After everything—after all the power, the loyalty, the unspoken rules of their world—she dared to threaten him? The Don of the most feared mafia family? This wasn't just defiance. It was war.
Bianca's fingers brushed the lapel of his tailored suit, her voice dripping with faux concern. "Did something happen to Alessandra? Should I come with you? Maybe I can help."
Vincenzo barely spared her a glance before striding toward his Rolls-Royce. Bianca hurried after him, but the moment her hand grazed his arm, he jerked away with a low, warning growl.
She flinched, her nails biting into her palm. This was the first time he'd ever rejected her touch.
Stealing a glance at his stormy expression, she quickly pulled out her phone and fired off a message. The reply came instantly:
[Don't worry. Everything is handled.]
The head doctor stood frozen in the VIP suite, his knees nearly buckling under the weight of Vincenzo's wrath. Losing the wife of a mafia boss under their care wasn't just negligence—it was a death sentence.
The door slammed open with a deafening crack.
"Start talking."
The doctor scrambled to his feet, clutching a file like a lifeline. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he avoided Vincenzo's gaze, the air in the room turning arctic.
Later, back in the hollow silence of the Sicilian castle, Vincenzo collapsed onto the leather couch. Everything was untouched—her perfume still lingered, her books still stacked neatly on the table. As if she had never left.
His eyes landed on their wedding photo. There they stood, bathed in the kaleidoscope of stained-glass light, exchanging vows like a fairytale. But if you looked closely, you'd see the sorrow buried deep in their eyes.
Now, he understood.
From the beginning, they had been strangers—two guarded souls orbiting each other in cold detachment.
Until that night.
Drunk on power and whiskey, he had pinned her beneath him, murmuring her name like a prayer. She had shattered his icy façade, and for the first time, two broken hearts had burned as one. After that, they became the mafia's golden couple—a carefully crafted illusion.
He had protected her. Shielded her from bullets. Carried her bleeding body through enemy territory when assassins nearly took her from him.
He told himself it was duty. Responsibility.
But now, with her gone, the truth clawed at his chest.
Somewhere between the gunfire and the quiet mornings, between Bianca's manipulations and the family's endless schemes, he had fallen for the daughter of his greatest enemy.
Vincenzo squeezed his eyes shut, Alessandra's face seared into his mind. The agony she must have endured—the betrayal—ripped through him like a blade.
Then his gaze dropped to the medical report in his hand.
His breath hitched.
His child.
Vincenzo was savoring a glass of wine with Bianca in the sun-drenched vineyard of his family's ancient castle when his private phone shattered the peaceful moment.
"Don, your wife is missing! She left... something on the nightstand. You need to see this!"
His hand stilled mid-pour, the rich crimson liquid halting in its descent.
"What did she leave?"
"The doctors said she was discharged early this morning. She... she filed for divorce."
The glass in Vincenzo's grip trembled as fury and disbelief tore through him. He stood abruptly, his expression turning deadly.
Divorce? After everything—after all the power, the loyalty, the unspoken rules of their world—she dared to threaten him? The Don of the most feared mafia family? This wasn't just defiance. It was war.
Bianca's fingers brushed the lapel of his tailored suit, her voice dripping with faux concern. "Did something happen to Alessandra? Should I come with you? Maybe I can help."
Vincenzo barely spared her a glance before striding toward his Rolls-Royce. Bianca hurried after him, but the moment her hand grazed his arm, he jerked away with a low, warning growl.
She flinched, her nails biting into her palm. This was the first time he'd ever rejected her touch.
Stealing a glance at his stormy expression, she quickly pulled out her phone and fired off a message. The reply came instantly:
[Don't worry. Everything is handled.]
The head doctor stood frozen in the VIP suite, his knees nearly buckling under the weight of Vincenzo's wrath. Losing the wife of a mafia boss under their care wasn't just negligence—it was a death sentence.
The door slammed open with a deafening crack.
"Start talking."
The doctor scrambled to his feet, clutching a file like a lifeline. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he avoided Vincenzo's gaze, the air in the room turning arctic.
Later, back in the hollow silence of the Sicilian castle, Vincenzo collapsed onto the leather couch. Everything was untouched—her perfume still lingered, her books still stacked neatly on the table. As if she had never left.
His eyes landed on their wedding photo. There they stood, bathed in the kaleidoscope of stained-glass light, exchanging vows like a fairytale. But if you looked closely, you'd see the sorrow buried deep in their eyes.
Now, he understood.
From the beginning, they had been strangers—two guarded souls orbiting each other in cold detachment.
Until that night.
Drunk on power and whiskey, he had pinned her beneath him, murmuring her name like a prayer. She had shattered his icy façade, and for the first time, two broken hearts had burned as one. After that, they became the mafia's golden couple—a carefully crafted illusion.
He had protected her. Shielded her from bullets. Carried her bleeding body through enemy territory when assassins nearly took her from him.
He told himself it was duty. Responsibility.
But now, with her gone, the truth clawed at his chest.
Somewhere between the gunfire and the quiet mornings, between Bianca's manipulations and the family's endless schemes, he had fallen for the daughter of his greatest enemy.
Vincenzo squeezed his eyes shut, Alessandra's face seared into his mind. The agony she must have endured—the betrayal—ripped through him like a blade.
Then his gaze dropped to the medical report in his hand.
His breath hitched.
His child.
End of The Wife He Used to Bury the Truth Chapter 5. Continue reading Chapter 6 or return to The Wife He Used to Bury the Truth book page.