The Wife He Used to Bury the Truth - Chapter 8: Chapter 8

He stared at the case files she'd handled, his jaw clenching as the details sank in.
Had she forgotten his promise—the vow to stand by her as she became the greatest forensic specialist? Or had she already moved on, leaving him behind in the dust?
"Get the jet ready. Now. I'm bringing her back myself. I want eyes on her every second."
"She's mine. She always will be."
After ten grueling hours in the air, Vincenzo landed in Milan. He stood frozen outside the forensic lab, hand raised, knuckles inches from the door—but he couldn't bring himself to knock.
Defeated, he slumped against the wall, sliding to the floor in silence.
By morning, the lab director arrived with the news: She was already gone.
His heart plummeted into an abyss. Staggering out of the building, he barely kept his footing.
Following the intel team's trail, he raced through Milan's labyrinth of narrow streets, panic clawing at his chest—one second too late, and she'd vanish forever.
Then, in front of an ancient cathedral, he stopped dead.
There she was.
Perched on the steps, she snapped the final photograph of a victim's body. Sunlight streamed through stained glass, painting her white lab coat in hues of gold.
Focused. Composed. Utterly in her element.
Vincenzo's lips twisted into a bitter smile.
She looked so damn independent—so sure of herself. And it gutted him to realize she'd become this woman without him.
After an eternity of hesitation, he stepped forward—but kept his distance. His voice was raw, trembling with regret:
"Sandra… I'm sorry. I was a bastard."
"All these years, I told myself it was just guilt. But when you left—" His breath hitched. "I realized I'm in love with you. Madly. Irrevocably. Without you, I don't know how to fucking breathe. I regret it—every second I hurt you. I owe you more than I can ever repay. Just… let me stay. Let me make it right. Everything I have—my empire, my life—it's yours."
"Please. Let me protect you. Like I should have from the start."
The church bells tolled, their mournful chimes reverberating through the cavernous hall as the pipe organ swelled into a requiem.
Silence stretched between them.
Then, slowly, she turned to face him.
Alessandra's POV
"You lost the right to stand by my side, Vincenzo. None of it belongs to me—it's Bianca's. You even wrote her into your will, didn't you?"
My voice was steady. Inside, I was shaking apart.
"I lived in your lie for years. Do you have any idea how much I hated myself when I found out? Hated myself for loving the man who murdered my father?"
I studied the face I'd woken up beside for five years—the ruthless godfather of Sicily. Maybe everyone meets someone like him once in their life—someone you'd give your soul to, only to have them carve it out of you.
From the top of the steps, I looked down at him, my smile hollow. Beneath the calm, my heart was a wasteland.
"I will never forgive you. Not in this lifetime."
The sun blazed overhead, but Vincenzo shuddered, his lips curving into a shattered smile.
"But I… I still love you, Sandra." His whisper dissolved into the church's silence.
I lifted my camera, framing the mourners inside—all but one.
A man sat slumped in the corner, head bowed as if the sky itself crushed him.
"Miss?" A frail voice.
I turned. An elderly woman held out a faded photograph—her lost son, grinning at the center.
"Would you take his last picture?"
"Of course." My smile was faint as I raised the camera.
The shutter clicked.
One final moment, frozen in time.