Replaced by His Mistress

The mahogany doors of the downtown law firm felt heavy against my palms.

Inside, the air was stale, smelling of old paper and expensive cologne.

Mr. Davis, a seasoned attorney who had seen his fair share of messy divorces, stared at the document on his desk. Then, he looked up at me.

His eyes swept over my oversized knit sweater, my messy bun, and my worn sneakers. I looked exactly like what I was—a twenty-two-year-old grad student who had wandered into the wrong building.

I certainly didn't look like the wife of Dante Ferraro.

The ruthless head of the city's most powerful Mafia syndicate.

"Mrs. Ferraro," Mr. Davis began, his voice dropping to a cautious, almost fearful whisper. "Are you absolutely certain? A man like your husband... he doesn't just let things go."

He tapped the divorce petition. The blank signature line mocked me.

My hands were trembling slightly, tucked safely inside my pockets where he couldn't see them. But my voice was dead calm.

"Just notarize it," I said, meeting his skeptical gaze. "The signature will come."

***

The ride back to the Ferraro estate was a blur of gray skies and bare trees.

By noon, I was climbing the grand, sweeping staircase to the third floor.

To Dante’s domain.

I didn't bother knocking. I just pushed the heavy oak doors open.

The scene inside froze me in my tracks, though it shouldn't have surprised me anymore.

Dante was seated behind his massive mahogany desk, his dark, tailored suit hugging his broad shoulders. He was reviewing a ledger, his sharp jawline tense with concentration.

And sitting right on the edge of his desk, her long legs crossed, was Sera.

Sera, his beautiful, untouchable "associate." The woman who was always there.

She was holding a small piece of toasted crostini topped with shaved white truffle, leaning intimately into his space. The rich, earthy scent of the truffle drifted across the room, thick and suffocating.

As I walked in, she brought the food to his lips.

Dante parted his lips and took the bite right from her fingers.

He didn't even lift his eyes from the ledger. He didn't acknowledge his wife standing in the doorway.

Sera finally turned her head, her perfectly glossed lips curving into a sweet, venomous smile.

"Oh," she said, her voice dripping with fake pity. "There's not enough for three."

I stared at her.

*There's not enough for three.*

I carved those words into my memory. She was right. This marriage was far too crowded, and I was the one suffocating in it.

Without a word, I walked up to the desk.

I placed a stack of papers right over his ledger. On top was a brightly colored sheet with my school's crest.

"I need your signature," I said, my voice flat. "University Safety Liability Form. For my upcoming field research."

Beneath it, perfectly aligned so only the signature line showed, was the paper Mr. Davis had stamped just hours ago.

Dante finally paused. He didn't