The Wife He Left for Dead

I was bleeding out in a corner after a hit from a rival family. My husband, Dante—the Torrino family’s underboss—was in his car, holding his best friend's little sister.

He gave me one cold look and said, "Leave her. She's a nobody."

Later, after someone else saved me, I walked home, soaked in my own blood.

I found Dante cradling Seraphina, fussing over her.

All she had was a scraped knee.

The blood covering my clothes? He didn't even see it.

I just watched. Said nothing.

Then I pulled out my phone and called my mother.

"Mom, I need to come home."

I was bleeding out from a stab wound when Dante and his "little sister," Seraphina, happened to drive by. I screamed for help, but he just looked at me and said, "Leave her. She's a nobody."

In that second, something inside me died. I knew I had to get away from him, away from the Torrino family.

"Help! Dante!"

Blood poured from the gash in my shoulder, my voice tearing through the rainy alley. Three masked men had just vanished into the dark, leaving me on the cold asphalt. The pain was so sharp I could barely breathe.

Then I heard the familiar growl of an engine.

Dante’s black Maserati slowed as it passed the alley, the window half-down. I used my last bit of strength to wave.

"Dante! It's me! Isabella!"

The car stopped for a few seconds.

I could see a head of long, blonde hair in the passenger seat—Seraphina Gallo. She was clutching Dante’s arm, practically melting into the leather seat.

"I thought I heard someone calling for help..." I heard her say.

"Dante, I'm so scared," she whispered, her voice trembling. "What if they're still around?"

Dante glanced in my direction, then his eyes snapped back to her.

"Just some nobody. Don't be scared, I've got you." He squeezed her hand. "I won't let anyone hurt you."

The engine roared back to life, and the taillights disappeared around the corner.

I closed my eyes, letting the rain wash over my wounds.

Fifteen minutes later, Marco found me. He was an old friend from college, now an ER doctor.

"Jesus, Isabella! Who did this to you?" Marco quickly checked my injuries. "We have to get you to a hospital, now."

"No," I said through gritted teeth. "Take me home. The family doctor will handle it."

Two hours later, I pushed open the door to our apartment.

The crystal chandelier in the living room cast a warm glow. On the couch, Dante was holding Seraphina tight. She was in a thin dress, her soft curves pressed against him, but neither of them seemed to think anything of it.

"Isabella?" Dante looked up, his brow furrowed. "Why are you back so late? And why are you soaked?"

I looked down at myself—my coat stained with a mix of rain and blood, my face pale as a ghost.

"Hit a little trouble," I said flatly, walking straight to