I Faked an Affair on My Mafia Husband ,Now He Won’t Let Me Go Chapter 02

I Faked an Affair on My Mafia Husband ,Now He Won’t Let Me Go Chapter 02

I panicked.

Why was he back?

To him, I was just a placeholder. A stand-in. Nothing.

Three more knocks. Controlled, precise.

Then, faster: “Vieve. I want to see you.”

I sat up. Don’t panic. Don’t slip up.

I took a deep breath, put on my best sleepy, pretending-to-be-calm voice. “De Luca… I need to use the bathroom and shower. Hold on.”

I bolted into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and stared at the hickeys on my neck.

I’d made those with a bottle cap. I’d really leaned into it. No way they’d fade anytime soon. Concealer wouldn’t even cover them fully.

But I had to try—because the first thing a cheater does is lie and cover their tracks.

Lorenzo was sharp as a blade. I needed to sell this.

I wet my hair so it looked like I’d just showered, then put on a black turtleneck dress that covered everything from my neck to my wrists.

From the collar, just the edge of one hickey peeked out—I covered it with a band-aid.

I looked in the mirror and practiced a guilty-but-pretending-not-to-be expression.

Disgusting enough, right?

Lorenzo would want me gone for sure this time. He’d be disgusted and tell me to get lost.

I opened the door.

Lorenzo was sitting on the sofa, brow furrowed, eyes closed.

He hadn’t even taken off his coat yet. Black cashmere, still damp with sea mist.

His collar was unbuttoned, and there was a fresh cut below his Adam’s apple.

Dried blood on his right hand, four deep scrapes across his knuckles—like he’d been punching something hard.

He hadn’t even put on a band-aid.

His face was pale, almost sickly. Dark circles under his eyes, stubble on his jaw.

No watch, no cufflinks.

He looked like he’d just been dragged off a battlefield, still strung tight on his last nerve.

“De Luca… why are you back?”

Lorenzo opened his eyes and looked at me. Dark pupils, almost black.

He pushed himself off the sofa—the guy who’d been so desperate a minute ago, now walking toward me slow as death.

Every step closer made my chest tighten. He was a head taller than me, six-foot-three, shoulders like a wall.

I took a step back without meaning to. Lorenzo grabbed my arm and pulled me right back.

He looked down at my neck, and his pupils shrank to pinpricks.

I forced a smile. “Did something happen?”

He didn’t answer. Just raised his cold fingers—two of them—and hovered them over the band-aid.

Like he might rip it off any second, rip off all my lies with it, then tear up our fake marriage in a fit of humiliated rage.

I started shaking. I closed my eyes, waiting for the explosion.

But instead—his fingers just rested on the band-aid.

Calm. Quiet.

“How’d you get this?” he asked.

I looked away. “Oh… just… paper cut from a book yesterday.”

“A book.” Lorenzo blinked slowly. “What’d you do last night?”

His fingertips slipped under my collar. One more tug, and he’d see everything underneath.

I swallowed. “I went and got my hair done.”

Lorenzo’s breathing got heavier.

His face was blank, but for a second, I had the insane thought that he might devour me right there.

His fingers pulled at my collar, and I staggered forward, almost falling into his chest. I barely caught myself with a hand against his chest.

His palm pressed flat against my lower back, iron-tight, and he pulled.

The anger he was holding back bled out through that grip.

I couldn’t fight him. My arms were going weak.

He leaned closer, inch by inch.

“De Luca. Don’t.” My voice shook. I didn’t know what he was going to do, but every instinct screamed danger.

My mind went blank. I was babbling, begging.

Then—after three or four seconds—he let go.

Slowly. His fingers curled into fists. His face went gray. His jaw locked.

Only then did I realize what I’d just been saying.

“I’m assigning you two personal bodyguards,” he said flatly. “They’ll go where you go. For your safety.”

Then he turned and walked out without another word.

When I heard the engine start outside, I just stood there, frozen.

He’s not going to do anything?

How is that possible?

—

They watched me like hawks after that. Barely any chance to even touch that second phone.

Lorenzo, who was supposed to be overseas for two weeks, wrapped up his business in five days and came rushing back.

When he returned, the surveillance loosened up a little. Finally, I got my hands on the burner again.

“Hey man, you can’t just play sore loser like this. She cheated. Get a divorce already. Why’re you locking her up?”

Lorenzo answered fast: “She didn’t cheat. I trust her. Vieve isn’t the kind of person to do something like that.”

I stared at the screen.

I mean—sure, I hadn’t actually gone out and found some guy to sleep with. But how the hell would he know what kind of person I am?

He’d always been so goddamn cold to me.

I threw caution to the wind and poured gasoline on the fire:

“Man, you don’t know your wife as well as I do.”

“She’s got three moles. One on her ribs. One by her belly button. And one… y’know. Every time I trace them with my fingers, she shivers like crazy.”

“But hey, you’re her husband. Married three years. You probably already knew that, right?”

Final touch: pure acid. Because three years, and he’d never once touched me.

“BANG!”

A huge crash from upstairs. His study.

I flinched and shoved the burner away.

A few more crashes.

Then footsteps. He was coming down.

“Someone clean that up,” he said, tired. “And replace the computer.”

His footsteps came closer.

I was shaking so bad I thought he’d walk in and tear me apart next.

I burrowed under the covers, pretending to sleep.

—