Life Erased, the Mafia Queen Returns Chapter 11

Life Erased, the Mafia Queen Returns Chapter 11

After Jasper transferred schools, the kindergarten was very 

close to my home. 

For nearly a week, Vincent didn’t show up at all. 

I was starting to get used to this quiet, predictable life–until 

one day, the editor–in–chief unexpectedly found me. 

She looked at me strangely, hesitating before asking: 

“Um… Hazel, does your family… have some kind of background?” 

I blinked, completely confused. 

“Ah?” 

“You know Vincent De Santis, right? He’s so low–profile that even gossip hardly touches him. This is his first interview ever, and he specifically requested you.” 

I froze. “What…?” 

No newspaper would pass up a story like this. Vincent’s schedule was packed, so I called Theo to confirm the time and location. 

On Friday afternoon, Vincent was scheduled to come to Long Island for a brand ribbon–cutting ceremony. He had an hour of free time beforehand. 

De Santis Empire had a wide range of business ventures, so I prepared my notes in advance. 

In the end, I decided to focus the interview on the empire’s 

flagship jewelry brand, Flower, and its charitable work, deliberately avoiding the juicy gossip about his personal life. 

Although the De Santis Family was a traditional mafia clan, after Vincent took over, the legitimate side of the business had 

grown. 

The interview was meant to highlight those legitimate ventures, not the underground dealings or scandals we both knew too well. 

On that Friday, the tension I had carried for years seemed to peak. 

I took a deep breath and knocked, seeing Vincent lounge casually on the sofa, long legs crossed, in the living room. 

I placed the recorder in the center of the table and asked a few easy, small talk questions to ease him into the interview before diving in: 

“I’ve heard that De Santis Empire never ventured into jewelry before. What inspired you to create Flower?” 

Vincent had shown design talent from a young age, and 

Flower quickly became a global sensation. Most people would 

talk about their early inspiration or passion for design–but he said simply: 

“To find someone.” 

My fingers curled slightly. He continued casually: 

“There’s someone who has avoided me for a long time. I couldn’t find her, and I worried she couldn’t find her way home either.” 

“Flower appearing all over the world–in malls, subways, major collaborations–was never an accident.” 

He looked at me, smiling lightly: 

“It’s a promise between us. If one day she sees Flower, I want 

her to know… she doesn’t need to be afraid.” 

Don’t be afraid to come home. 

My eyelashes trembled, and I pinched my palm tightly, keeping a calm, composed face as I forced myself to move to the next question. 

“As far as I know, beyond Flower’s designs, the brand is most recognized for its charity work. For every order sold, De Santis Empire donates a significant portion.” 

Vincent didn’t comment: 

“Yes. De Santis Empire sets aside part of its revenue for 

charity every year. As you mentioned, Flower donates in my wife’s name annually.” 

I couldn’t take it anymore. I switched off the recorder. 

“Can you be serious for once?” 

Vincent raised an eyebrow, casually replying: 

“I’ve always been serious. That’s exactly why Flower was 

created. Or… are you trying to guide me to answer in a certain way?” 

He added, with a faint teasing: 

“Ms. Wyatt, you weren’t like this before. Picking and 

choosing… that’s unfair.” 

I reopened the recorder, continuing the interview, albeit with a lump in my throat: 

“I’ve made a will. After I die, part of my assets will go to 

charity. The rest, through a trust, will go entirely to my wife.” 

“Yes. You can understand it that way. Once I’m gone, she 

becomes the sole beneficiary.” 

“What about your son?” 

“He’ll survive. That’s enough.” 

I nearly forced myself through the rest of the interview. Before 

I could make any closing remarks, Vincent suddenly asked: 

“The ring?” 

I almost instinctively said: 

“It’s long gone.” 

He gave me a look I couldn’t read, leaning slightly forward: 

“If it’s long gone, then why are you crying now?” 

I froze, touching my face–dry. 

He’d seen through me. 

I looked up to find Vincent’s long, dark lashes framing a half–smile. My composure cracked. 

“What exactly are you trying to do?” 

“Am I not obvious enough?” 

01.67% 

He sat back, calm, almost casual: 

“I’m piecing together the future that should have been ours.” 

It was an old wound I’d never healed. I didn’t want to face it, didn’t want to repeat the past, couldn’t imagine if someday Vincent would once again look at me with that indifferent, almost hateful expression. 

But I thought of his mysterious headaches, the alcohol he used 

to numb himself despite never drinking before, the trust, the 

conversation through the confinement door, the grass–ring 

ring he had made for me under the tree… 

After all those years, after our reunion, he finally told me: 

someone had been searching for me all along. 

Seemingly reading my thoughts, Vincent said: 

“Leave the door open for me tonight.” 

I froze. “What?” 

He smiled slowly, meaning every word: 

“Today is Friday.” 

I remembered, suddenly, his words from the day we reunited: 

for Jasper’s well–being, Fridays were reserved for bonding. 

My heart skipped a beat. 

“The interview’s over. I–I’ll go now.” 

I realized I hadn’t turned off the recorder, meaning all the 

messy things I had said were still recorded. 

01.67% 

Frustrated, I rushed to grab it—but found it had already been 

turned off. 

Vincent let out a faint chuckle: 

“What’s the rush? I turned it off for you a while ago.” 

I lowered my head, hurriedly grabbed my bag, and left, 

running straight into Theo at the door, reminding me the 

ribbon–cutting was about to start. 

Behind me, someone turned the handle before I could, 

shielding me from the sudden gust of wind. 

The scattered breeze passed through Vincent’s back, carrying the memory of flowers from a summer seventeen years ago, falling once again.