Chapter 2
Aurora’s POV
I didn’t sleep a wink all night.
Every time I closed my eyes, I imagined Enzo and that woman lying in bed.
But I could only lie there, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the sound of his car pulling into the driveway.
However, the car never did.
At three in the morning, I had checked my phone forty-seven times, finally accepting what my intuition had been telling me for hours.
He wasn’t coming back.
In five years of marriage, Enzo had never left me for a single night.
Not once. Even in the fiercest turf wars, even after late-night negotiations with the other family, even when he had a three-hour drive home, he always came back.
He would crawl into bed, smelling of coffee and exhaustion, hold me in his arms, and fall asleep with his face buried in my hair.
I used to think there must be a reason.
Now I understood. What brought him home wasn’t love, but responsibility. It was this sense of responsibility that made him marry me in the first place. The Don kept his promise.
But Sophie came back, and duty was far from enough to overcome the feelings she evoked in him.
I buried my face in the pillow and screamed until my voice was hoarse.
The phone rang.
I grabbed it, thinking he might be calling to explain, to apologize, to tell me it was all a misunderstanding.
It was my father.
“Aurora,” his voice was hoarse. “It’s your mother. She had a heart attack. We’re at St. Michael’s Hospital.”
The world seemed to stand still.
“I’m coming right away.”
I immediately got up and ran. I ran all the way down the hospital corridor before stopping.
My father was waiting for me outside the ICU. He looked haggard—this man who once commanded hundreds of people was now pacing the hospital corridor in a rumpled coat.
“She’s stable,” he said before I could speak. “The doctors said she’ll be fine.” I collapsed into his arms, and he caught me, steadying me like he did when I was a child.
“What happened?”
“She was cleaning this morning and then she fell.” His voice choked with emotion. “If I hadn’t been there—”
“But you were.” I gripped his arm tightly. “She’ll be alright.”
He nodded, but his eyes were vacant.
We weren’t the same people we were before. We’d lost everything. Our families were slaughtered by rival gunmen, our territory was taken over, our people scattered—some joined other families, others were buried in nameless graves.
Although my parents received better treatment thanks to Enzo’s support, the enormous disparity left my father often anxious.
When the doctor finally allowed us to see her, she was awake. Her eyes immediately met mine, her face filled with guilt.
“Oh, baby. I’m so sorry.”
“Mom, no—”
“Your wedding anniversary.” She reached out and grabbed my hand. “I ruined your wedding anniversary. You should be with Enzo, not stuck here with me.”
Mentioning his name sent another sharp pain through my chest.
“You didn’t mess anything up,” I said, forcing a smile. “Enzo understands. He’s just busy with family matters.”
My mother scrutinized my face. Married to a mob boss for thirty years, she was a master of social maneuvering, with a shrewdness she’d used to survive at the negotiating table all those years.
“Aurora, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I squeezed her hand. “I was just worried about you.”
She didn’t believe me, but she was too weak to press for answers, and I was too exhausted to be honest.
So we sat in silence, her thumb circling my palm, both pretending everything was normal.
That afternoon, Enzo arrived.
The hospital director greeted him at the door. I watched them shake hands through the window; the director almost bowed respectfully. Of course.
Enzo wasn’t just any mob boss. He was the head of the Crimson family, one of the most powerful criminal organizations on the East Coast.
Half of the hospital’s newly built cardiology building was constructed with money from the Crimson family, laundered through three charitable foundations. His word could decide a person’s fate.
Within minutes, my mother was moved to the hospital’s best suite. A group of specialists suddenly appeared, vying to assure Enzo that his mother-in-law would receive the best care.
“Your son-in-law is fantastic,” a nurse whispered to my father. “You’re so lucky to have him.”
My father beamed with pride.
I wanted to scream.
None of them knew. What they saw was a powerful mob boss, a generous husband, a dutiful son-in-law. What they couldn’t see was that last night, while his wife waited alone, he had spent the night in another woman’s bed.
Enzo approached me, deliberately maintaining a calm expression. “Are you alright?”
“Fine.”
He frowned. “You look tired. Did you sleep?”
Did I sleep? I almost laughed out loud.
“I’m worried about my mother.”
He nodded, took a step closer, and gently placed his hand on my waist. It was his usual caress.
I saw a relieved smile on my mother’s face. Perhaps she believed that even though this marriage was fraught with self-interest, her daughter would still be happy.
But alas, Mother, things didn’t go as planned.
Enzo married me not out of love, but as part of an arrangement. The Serrano family’s attack nearly wiped out my family, and my father chose to marry me into Enzo’s family to ensure my safety.
I knew all this all along.
But Enzo and I had grown up together. We had played in the same garden of the old manor, trained with the same soldiers at the same shooting range, and attended the same family gatherings—baptisms, banquets, funerals. On our wedding day, he looked at me, and I thought I saw genuine affection in his eyes.
What a fool I was.
The return of his first love shattered all my illusions. Sophie returned, and her return was proof of where Enzo’s true feelings lay.
“Aurora?” Enzo’s voice pierced my thoughts. “Are you sure you’re alright?”
I turned to face him, but froze.
Just below his shirt collar was a pink lipstick mark.
He’d actually come to the hospital wearing her lipstick. To play the role of a considerate husband in front of my family, he’d even skipped a shower.
I smelled a faint scent of another woman’s perfume, and my stomach churned.
That pink lipstick mark mocked everything between us like a ghost. The vows we exchanged in front of our families, my ten-year-long crush on the boy from the neighboring estate, and our five years of so-called marital bliss—all so fragile, shattered by a single lipstick mark.
“I’m sorry,” I stammered, then fled into the bathroom.
I vomited as soon as I reached the toilet. I threw up everything, and only one thought occupied my mind:
Divorce.
