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

CHAPTER 7

The new safe house was a cottage on the coast of Maine. No staff. No neighbors for miles. Just the Atlantic Ocean crashing against rocks and a sky that seemed bigger than any sky I’d ever seen.

Dante drove me himself. No guards, no convoy. Just the two of us and a car that ate up the miles as we talked about nothing and everything.

“Why Maine?” I asked as the city gave way to forests and then to coastline.

“Because no one will look for you here.” He glanced at me. “Because it’s beautiful. Because I have a house here that no one knows about.”

“A secret house.”

“For a secret woman.”

I should have been alarmed by how easily he said it. Instead, I felt something warm spread through my chest.

The cottage was small but perfect. A fireplace. A kitchen with a view of the water. A bedroom with a window seat where I could watch the sunrise.

Dante stayed for three days.

We walked on the beach, bundled against the cold. We cooked together in the evenings, his Italian accent thickening when he argued with Lucia over the phone about recipes. We sat by the fire and didn’t talk about Marcus, or the baby, or the future. We just existed, together, in a space that felt suspended from time.

On the third night, we were sitting on the porch, wrapped in blankets, watching the stars.

“Sophia,” I said quietly. “You said she killed herself.”

Dante went still beside me.

“I’m sorry,” I continued. “I know it’s not my story. But I want to understand. Why you saved me. Why you’re still saving me.”

He was silent for a long time. When he spoke, his voice was rough.

“I couldn’t save her. I was young. Reckless. I thought my love was enough to protect her, but I didn’t understand that the world doesn’t care about love. It cares about power. About money. About family names and family honor.” He turned to look at me. “When I saw you in my restaurant, I saw her. Not because you look like her. But because you had the same light in your eyes. The same light that was dying, because someone was trying to convince you that you didn’t deserve to shine.”

I felt tears on my cheeks.

“This time,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “I was going to be enough. I was going to protect you, even if it meant burning down the world.”

“You can’t burn down the world for me.”

“Watch me.”

The next morning, Dante left. He had business in the city, he said. Things he needed to handle. He would be back in a week.

I watched his car disappear down the long drive, feeling a strange emptiness settle in my chest. I’d been alone for three years of marriage. But somehow, three days of Dante had made me forget how to be alone.

I threw myself into the cottage. I cleaned, I cooked, I read the stack of books Dante had left on the shelf. I called Lucia every evening, letting her check on me, letting her fuss.

I was six weeks away from my due date when the knock came.

I opened the door to find Marcus standing on my porch.

“Amelia.” His voice was soft, placating. “Please. Just let me explain.”

I backed into the cottage, my hands instinctively going to my belly. “How did you find me?”

“I hired someone. It took months.” He stepped forward, his eyes dropping to my stomach. “You’re… you’re really pregnant.”

“Yes, Marcus. I told you. Eight months ago.”

“I know. I know.” He ran a hand through his hair, looking more disheveled than I’d ever seen him. “I was an ass. I was a coward. I should never have said what I said.”

“Why are you here?”

“Because I want you to come home. I want to fix this. I want to be a father to our child.”

I stared at him. “You want to be a father. After telling me to abort our baby.”

“I was scared. I panicked. But I’ve had time to think. I’ve changed.”

“People don’t change in eight months, Marcus.”

“I have. I swear. I ended things with Jessica. I told my mother to stop calling you. I’ve been going to therapy, for God’s sake.”

I wanted to believe him. A part of me—the part that had loved him, the part that had imagined a future with him—wanted to believe that he could be the man I’d thought I married.

But then I remembered Dante. The way he looked at me like I was precious. The way he’d held me when I cried. The way he’d said, Watch me, as if burning down the world was a small price to pay for my safety.

“You should go, Marcus.”

“Amelia—”

“I’m not coming back.”

“Because of him?” Marcus’s voice sharpened. “Because of that mafia thug you’ve been hiding out with?”

I felt something cold settle in my chest. “Yes. Because of him. Because he showed me what it feels like to be valued. To be seen. To be loved without conditions.”

“You love him?”

“I don’t know.” I shook my head. “But I know I don’t love you anymore. And that’s not going to change.”

Marcus’s face crumpled. For a moment, he looked like a lost child.

“Please,” he whispered. “Don’t do this.”

“Goodbye, Marcus.”

I closed the door.