The Don’s Wife Was Never Running

For eight years, I was Vincent Capelli's wife, his right hand, and the only person who ever saw the man beneath the Don's cold mask.

Then he got drunk at a negotiation, and slept with his secretary.

He called me first, voice shaking with guilt. "Bella, I made a mistake. I paid her off. She'll never come back."

I believed him.

Six months later, he was ambushed in Miami. His secretary drove through a hail of bullets to save him. And she was three months pregnant.

When she gave birth to twin boys, the whole Capelli family celebrated.

Framed for stealing the family heirloom, I asked for a divorce.

Vincent, desperate to keep me, dared me to drink a bottle of 150-proof spirit. He thought I'd never do it.

I reached for the bottle.

He stopped me, and gave me all the freedom I wanted. "Come back when you're done running," he said.

I left and never looked back.

Until the night three killers cornered me in an alley.

The heavy oak doors of the Capelli mansion creaked open, and the cold marble bit through the soles of my shoes.

I’d flown in from Sicily that morning, then drove two hours from JFK to the mansion.

The air smelled of lilies and cigar smoke, the same scent that had wrapped around me on my wedding day. Now it tasted like ash.

Down the hall, I heard them laughing.

Sofia’s high, tinkling laugh, sharp as broken glass, mixed with Vincent’s deep rumble.

The nursery door was ajar.

I paused in the doorway, my hand tightening around the strap of my handbag until my knuckles turned white.

Inside, Vincent sat in the oak rocking chair, holding one of the twins against his chest.

His face was soft, his eyes filled with a tenderness I’d never seen him show anyone but me.

Sofia stood beside him, her hand resting gently on his shoulder, while the old Don and Donna cooed over the other baby in the cradle.

They looked like a perfect family.

Vincent looked up, and his smile vanished.

He stood so quickly the chair scraped against the floor, handing the baby to Sofia.

"Isabella. You’re here."

Sofia turned, putting on that timid, wide-eyed smile I’d come to hate.

"Mrs. Capelli. It’s so good to see you. The boys have been waiting to meet their godmother."

I said nothing. I looked past them, at the walls.

Everything that had ever been mine was gone, replaced by pastel blankets and stuffed teddy bears.

The old Donna sniffed, turning away from the cradle.

"About time you showed up. We thought you’d hide in Sicily forever, running from your duties as Don’s wife."

"Enough, mother," Vincent said quietly.

The old Don cleared his throat, his eyes never leaving the baby. "It’s good you’re here. The baptism is in several days. You need to be there. It’s your place."

I nodded slowly. "I’ll be there."

Sofia stepped forward, holding out the baby in her arms. "Would