She Disappeared On Their Wedding Anniversary—The Mafia Boss Finally Learned Why She Left

CHAPTER 3

The penthouse felt different when I finally returned. Colder. Emptier. Marcus’s absence was no longer just an inconvenience. It was a statement. He’d chosen not to be here. Again. On our anniversary. Knowing I’d be waiting.

I stripped off my wet clothes, leaving them in a pile on the bathroom floor. The pregnancy test sat on the counter where I’d left it that morning. Those two pink lines still screaming their truth.

I picked it up, studying it in the mirror’s reflection. A baby. Our baby. Except there was no “our” anymore, was there? There was Marcus, living his separate life in his separate world. And there was me. Invisible and forgotten.

I pulled on dry clothes—leggings, an oversized sweater, thick socks—and made myself tea. Chamomile, because the pregnancy book said it was safe. I’d bought them secretly, hiding them under the bed where Marcus wouldn’t find them. Where Marcus wouldn’t bother to look, even if they were sitting on the kitchen table.

The morning stretched ahead, empty. It was Saturday. Marcus rarely came home on Saturdays anymore. “Work,” he’d say. “Important clients.” As if I didn’t know the truth. As if I couldn’t smell the perfume. Couldn’t see the hotel charges on credit card statements. He thought I didn’t check.

I sat on the couch with my tea and Dante’s card, watching the city wake up through floor-to-ceiling windows. People rushed along sidewalks below, purposeful and alive. I used to be one of them. Before Marcus. Before I’d traded my studio apartment in Brooklyn and my waitressing shifts for this gilded cage.

You can vanish.

My phone rang. Vivien again. This time I answered.

“Amelia, thank God.” Her voice was sharp, cultivated. Everything I wasn’t. “Where is Marcus? He’s not answering his phone.”

“I don’t know, Vivien. He didn’t come home last night.”

A pause. Then, carefully: “He told me you two had dinner plans.”

“We did. He never showed up.”

Another pause. Longer this time. I could practically hear her calculating, deciding how to spin this into somehow being my fault.

“Well, I’m sure he had a good reason. The merger has been very stressful.”

“It’s our anniversary.”

“Yes. Well, marriage is about understanding, Amelia. About supporting your husband’s career. Perhaps if you made more of an effort—”

I hung up.

My hands shook as I set the phone down. Three years of her subtle criticisms, her carefully worded suggestions that I wasn’t quite good enough for her son. Three years of swallowing my pride, my anger, my self-respect.

The card felt like a lifeline. Or a noose. I couldn’t decide which.

I picked up my phone again, this time opening a new contact. My thumb hovered over the keypad. Just ten digits. That’s all it would take.

When you’re ready to stop being invisible.

I was so tired of being invisible.

I typed in the number before I could overthink it. But I didn’t hit call. Not yet. Instead, I sat there, staring at it, wondering what kind of woman I was becoming. The kind who called strange men. The kind who ran away from her problems instead of facing them. Or the kind who finally chose herself.

The door opened.

I jumped, nearly dropping my phone. Marcus walked in, still wearing his suit from yesterday, looking exhausted and rumpled. He didn’t see me on the couch. He never saw me anymore.

“Marcus.”

He startled, turning. “You’re awake.”

“It’s ten in the morning.”

“Yeah.” He ran a hand through his hair, not meeting my eyes. “Listen, about last night—”

“Where were you?”

“The office. I told you.”

“Don’t lie to me.” The words came out stronger than I felt. “Not today. Not anymore.”

Something flickered across his face. Guilt. Annoyance. It was gone too fast to tell.

“I had a late meeting. It ran long. I crashed on the office couch.”

“On our anniversary.”

“It’s just a date, Amelia. It doesn’t mean—” He stopped, seeming to realize how that sounded. “Look, I’m sorry. I should have called. I should have been here. But this merger is important, and—”

“I’m pregnant.”

The words hung between us like a bomb.

Marcus’s face went blank. All the color draining away. He took a step back as if I’d struck him.

“What?”

“I’m pregnant.” I stood up, holding my ground even though my legs felt weak. “Eight weeks. I found out two days ago.”

He stared at me. For a long moment, he didn’t speak.

“Then… are you sure?”

“I took three tests. Yes, I’m sure.”

“Jesus.” He turned away, hands on his head. “Jesus Christ. This is—we can’t—”

He spun back. “You need to take care of it.”

The room tilted.

“Take care of it?”

“We’re not ready for a baby. My career is just taking off. And you?” He gestured vaguely at me. “This isn’t the right time.”

“The right time.” I repeated the words slowly, tasting their poison. “When would be the right time, Marcus? When you actually come home? When you stop sleeping with your assistant?”

His face hardened. “I don’t know what you think you know—”

“Her name is Jessica. She wears Chanel Number Five. You’ve been seeing her for six months.” The words felt good. Powerful. “Did you think I was stupid? Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

“This isn’t about her.”

“No, it’s about you. About the fact that you can’t be bothered to show up for your own wife, but you expect me to just—what? Erase our baby because it’s inconvenient?”

“Don’t be dramatic.” His voice went cold. The tone he used in business meetings. “We both know this marriage isn’t working. A baby won’t fix that. It’ll only make things worse.”

The truth of it hit harder than his words. He was right. Our marriage was a corpse we’d been pretending was still breathing. But hearing him say it—seeing the disgust in his eyes when he looked at me—that was something else entirely.

“Get out.”

Marcus blinked. “What?”

“Get out. Go to Jessica’s. Go to the office. I don’t care. Just get out of my sight.”

“This is my apartment.”

“Then I’ll leave.”

I grabbed my phone, my purse, the coat that was still damp from last night. “File the divorce papers. I won’t fight you.”

“Amelia, wait—” He reached for me, but I jerked away. “Let’s talk about this. Let’s be rational.”

“Rational?” I laughed, high and sharp. “You want rational? Fine. Rationally, our marriage is over. Rationally, you’re a cheating bastard who can’t even pretend to love me anymore. Rationally, I’m worth more than this.”

I walked past him, heading for the door.

He caught my arm. “Where are you going?”

I looked at his hand on my arm, then at his face. “I’m vanishing.”

His grip tightened. “Don’t be stupid. You have nowhere to go.”

“Let go of me, Marcus.”

“Not until you calm down and we discuss this like adults.”

The slap happened before I’d consciously decided to do it. My palm connected with his cheek, the sound sharp in the quiet apartment. Marcus released me immediately, his hand flying to his face, shock written across his features.

“Don’t ever touch me again.”

I walked out. Down the hallway. Past the doorman, who carefully avoided looking at me. Out into the November morning, that smelled like rain and new beginnings.

My heart hammered against my ribs, adrenaline making my hands shake. I pulled out my phone, found the number I’d entered earlier, and this time I didn’t hesitate.

The phone rang once. Twice.

On the third ring, a voice answered. Not Dante. Someone else. Younger, with a thick accent.

“Sì?”

“I need to speak to Dante.” My voice cracked. “He gave me this number last night at Valentino’s. He said—” I took a breath. “He said to call when I was ready to stop being invisible.”

A pause. Then: “Aspetta.”

The line went quiet but not dead. I could hear voices in the background speaking rapid Italian. Footsteps. A door closing.

Then: “Piccola.”

His voice sent a shiver down my spine.

“Dante.” I sounded small. Broken. “I need help.”

“Where are you?”

“Outside my building. I left. I told him about the baby and he—” My throat closed. “He wants me to get rid of it.”

Silence. When Dante spoke again, his voice was soft, deadly.

“Give me the address.”

I rattled it off, my brain on autopilot.

“Don’t move. Someone will be there in five minutes. Do you understand? Don’t go back inside. Don’t speak to anyone. Just wait.”

“Okay.”

“Amelia.”

The sound of my name on his lips made my breath catch. He knew. Somehow he’d found out.

“You did the right thing.”

The line went dead.