Chapter 2

Evelyn Carlson POV

The next day, I did something I had never done in three years—I followed my husband.

Sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? The wife of a mafia godfather, hiding in her car like some bitter housewife from a trashy romance novel, spying on her own man.

But I needed to see it with my own eyes.

I needed that truth to slice cleanly through the last pathetic thread still clinging to my heart.

Vincent’s car headed toward the outskirts of New York. I knew that road well—the Moreno family owned several private properties out there, used for handling matters that couldn’t see the light of day.

I kept a safe distance, watching his black Bentley pull into the driveway of a standalone villa.

And then I saw her.

Grace Bennett.

She stood beneath the porch in a red dress, her long hair cascading over her shoulders, looking like a painting under the warm golden light.

When Vincent stepped out of the car, she threw herself into his arms.

And then they kissed.

It wasn’t some perfunctory greeting. It wasn’t the hollow gesture of a political alliance. It was a real kiss—hungry, consuming, as if they wanted to devour each other whole.

I sat in my car, watching, feeling as though someone had torn a piece right out of my chest.

So that’s how it is.

I finally understood.

Grace Bennett. Vincent’s old flame from his youth. I had heard of her—the entire New York underworld had heard of her.

She was the woman Vincent had loved before his rise to power, the only time he had ever lost his head over love.

They had broken up later. Some said the family opposed it; others said Grace had climbed to a higher branch.

But now she was back.

And Vincent had never truly forgotten her.

I watched Grace’s hand slide up to his shoulder. I watched her deliberately turn her head toward my car—

That glance was filled with provocation. And triumph.

She knew I was watching.

Maybe she had known all along.

My hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white.

But I didn’t storm out and make a scene. I didn’t scream accusations. I didn’t do any of the things a “normal wife” would do.

I just sat there in silence, watching them walk hand in hand into the villa, watching the door close behind them, watching the light in the second-floor bedroom flicker on and then go dark.

So that’s all I had ever been—a wife who needed to be “handled.”

A symbol that could be handed off to Luca to manage.

I sat in the car until dawn.

By the time Vincent emerged, straightening his clothes, I had already left.

Back at the manor, I showered, changed, and sat before the mirror to apply a flawless face of makeup.

When the butler came to ask about my schedule for the day, I answered in my usual tone: “Same as always.”

No one noticed anything amiss.

Because I had made up my mind.

Since this marriage had been a lie from the start, there was no reason for me to keep playing the deceived fool.

Grace Bennett wanted Vincent Moreno?

Fine.

Let her have him.

And I, Evelyn Carlson, would take back the life that belonged to me.