Chapter 1
Four nights before our twelfth wedding anniversary, the Valenti estate in Chicago was full of guests. Twenty-six senior figures from allied families filled the long table, but Dominic Valenti's chair remained empty. "Mrs. Valenti, the Don may still be dealing with a problem at the docks," the butler said quietly. I nodded and told him to continue.
For twelve years, I had been responsible for keeping Dominic's life presentable. I changed the seating plan so two men with an old feud would not sit together. I asked the kitchen to remove the heavy spices because Dominic's stomach had been bothering him, and I told the staff which senior member could not drink. Nobody had asked me to do any of it. They simply believed those duties belonged to a wife.
They had forgotten that twelve years earlier, I had been the only heir to the Moretti family and one of the youngest negotiators in New York's underworld. Everyone had known me as Isabella Moretti. Then I removed the Moretti signet, left my father's family, and became Mrs. Valenti because I loved Dominic.
At eleven that night, the guests left. Dominic still had not appeared, and the anniversary cake remained untouched. I was about to go upstairs when my phone vibrated with a notice from the Valenti private clinic. The name on the record was Helena Costa, the Valenti family's finance director and one of Dominic's most trusted employees.
The report said she was fourteen weeks pregnant. The next line named Dominic Valenti as the father. I did not cry. I stared at the words and tried to understand how they could belong to my life. The man named on the record was my husband.
I drove to the private hospital. Nobody stopped me, and every employee still called me Mrs. Valenti. The door to Helena's room was not fully closed, and I heard her ask, "What happens when she finds out?"
Dominic waited before answering. "She will not leave me." Helena asked whether he was sure. He gave a quiet laugh and said, "It has been twelve years. She gave up everything for me. She will not leave over this."
His words made the truth clear. Dominic was not certain that I would never be hurt. He was certain that I would never walk away.
I returned to the estate at one in the morning and opened the safe in our bedroom. I had not touched it in twelve years. Inside were my Moretti succession papers, my father's black signet ring, and an old photograph of me at the family conference table. The woman in that photograph had been confident and direct. People knew her by her own name.
I placed the Moretti signet back on my finger. The metal felt cold, but the decision felt clear. Our anniversary was four days away. It would also be the day I left the Valenti family.