Before She Became Moretti Again

The most reckless thing I had ever done was turn my back on the Moretti name and leave St. Clair Harbor with Lucian DeLuca when the Commission pushed his family out and he had nothing left.

For three years, we lived in a drafty Brooklyn loft and ducked black Chevrolets on winter nights. Then Lucian fought his way back to the East Coast table. Everyone started calling him Mr. DeLuca again,and I became Mrs. DeLuca, the woman he swore he would always protect.

Then Clara Voss appeared.

She had once saved his life as a night nurse at an underground clinic, and Lucian never forgot it. He bought her a clinic, protected her family, and let her step, inch by inch, into the middle of our marriage.

He said he still loved me, but he also said I was spoiled, jealous, and needed to learn my place.

So I did.

I signed the divorce papers and left New York behind.

Mrs. DeLuca was dead.

Evelyn Moretti had come back.

That day, I went to the Red Room with rain in my hair.

I was about to push open the private room door when low laughter spilled out.

"Lucian, you heading home to smooth things over or what? Aren't you worried your Moretti princess will tear up the East Side again?"

"She wrecked Clara's old clinic last time. If she finds out you bought her a new place, she might set fire to your whole garage."

After a short silence, Lucian spoke. There was no mockery in his voice, only a kind of exhaustion I had never heard from him before.

"Evelyn wasn't always like this. She used to be thoughtful. She understood what I carried. Now I help the woman who saved my life, and she acts like I betrayed her."

"Clara saved me. I can't stand by and watch debt and enemies drag her under. But Evelyn won't listen. All she sees is me taking Clara's side."

"I love my wife. That has never changed. I'm just tired."

"I spoiled her too much. Now she's demanding, stubborn, jealous over every little thing, and she always expects me to be the first one to apologize. She has to learn that marriage doesn't mean everyone else disappears whenever she feels wronged."

Someone sighed. "Still, boss, she went through hell with you."

Lucian did not answer for a long time. When he finally did, his voice was lower.

"That is why I keep trying. But a man gets tired."

A draft swept down the corridor and cut through my coat. I stood in the shadows outside the door, my fingers slowly going numb.

The Red Room was Lucian's most private club, all black marble, dark gold light, and DeLuca men posted at every entrance with guns hidden under their jackets. Ordinary people did not walk in uninvited, but I was Mrs. DeLuca. Once, no one dared stop me.

For the first time, I felt like a stranger there.

Inside, someone tried to