My Deranged Mafia Marriage Chapter 08

My Deranged Mafia Marriage Chapter 08

He took three steps back. 

“The papers,” I said. “You’ve seen them. Sign. Or have 

your lawyer call mine.” 

“I won’t sign.” 

His voice cracked. 

“Sonia, please, don’t leave me. Yes, I did terrible things. But what Vanessa told you about that night in the alley–the things she said I said? I never said 

them.” 

“I pulled the surveillance footage. The night it happened–she drugged me. I was set up.” 

He took a deep breath. 

“Sonia, I was played. My heart has never belonged to 

anyone but you.” 

The wind blew, dry leaves scraping against the 

pavement. 

I waited for him to finish. 

Then I asked, “Are you done?” 

He blinked and nodded. 

“Lorenzo, do you think that just by proving you didn’t 

cheat, that you weren’t interested in that boy, that you didn’t say those words, you’ve proven you’re innocent? That I should just forgive you?” 

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. 

None of that matters. It really doesn’t. 

I looked at him. 

“You had another family for four years. You let me struggle in the dark alone, thinking I was going crazy. You brought her to our doorstep and let her use the worst thing that ever happened to me to hurt me.” 

“I’m not punishing you, Lorenzo. I’m just finished.” 

He swayed on his feet. 

“You didn’t even trust me enough to ask if I took Enzo. 

You just decided I was guilty.” 

I turned to leave, swiping my key card. 

“Sign the papers. Save a little dignity for yourself.” 

The door closed. 

My lawyer told me he signed everything. The house, 

the accounts, all of it. He kept nothing. 

The day the decree was finalized, the sun was shining. 

Lorenzo walked out of the courthouse and stood on the 

steps, papers in hand. 

He didn’t look at me. 

“I applied for a transfer. A remote rescue station. The 

work is dangerous. Maybe one day I won’t come back.” 

I put my book in my bag. 

“Good luck. Take care.” 

He looked up. Eyes bloodshot. One last look. 

“Sonia, I’m sorry. I hope… I hope you’re happy.” 

I didn’t answer. 

I got into a taxi and left. 

After the divorce, my life became quiet. 

No waiting. No scent of alcohol stinging my nose. No 

fear in my chest. 

Six months later, on my way home from work, 

someone blocked my path. 

Vanessa. 

She looked terrible. Her coat was tattered, her cheeks 

sunken. 

She collapsed onto the sidewalk. 

“Sonia–please–I’m begging you-” 

People stopped to watch. 

“Lorenzo cut us off. He gave everything to you. His 

mother is in the ICU–kidney failure–Enzo is sick too 

She grabbed my foot. I stepped back. 

“I know you have money. You’ve always been kind. Sonia, please just give us some money-” 

Whispers rippled through the crowd. 

“Vanessa.” 

I whispered her name, and the crowd went silent. 

“His mother is dying. You need money. Is that it?” 

She nodded, a spark of hope igniting. “Yes–please-” 

“I want to ask everyone a question.” 

I looked around, meeting the eyes of the onlookers. 

“If a woman seduces your husband–drugs him, 

intentionally gets pregnant–spends four years 

destroying your marriage, then comes to your home 

and uses your childhood trauma to shame you–and because of her, you lose your child and your ability to 

ever have another-” 

I paused. 

“Would you give that woman money?” 

The silence was suffocating. 

The expressions on people’s faces shifted. Sympathy 

turned to disgust. 

Vanessa’s face turned gray. 

“You’re lying–you’re lying- 

“Ask Lorenzo.” 

I walked around her. 

“Your problems are no longer mine.” 

I walked away. 

Later, I heard Carmela didn’t make it. Vanessa fled- debts, fraud charges, disappeared with the child. 

And Lorenzo? He was caught in a mob hit and severely 

injured. He saved one of his men. A bullet went through both his legs. He would never walk again. 

Someone told me this while I was watering the flowers 

on my balcony. 

Sunlight. Water splashing on green leaves. 

“Oh,” I said. “Is that so?” 

Then I hung up the phone. 

Years later. A new city. Slow and warm. 

One Saturday, I took my daughter, whom I had adopted from an orphanage, to the mall play area. 

She found me in the food court, clutching a small teddy 

bear she’d won from a claw machine. 

“Mommy! I got it!” 

I wiped her forehead and kissed her hair. 

“Good job, baby. Ready for dinner?” 

“Yes!” 

Two steps out of the play area 

“Sonia.” 

That voice made me stop. 

Lorenzo. Older. Graying at the temples. A metal crutch tucked under one arm. His right leg was stiff. 

He looked at me, at her, at us. 

His eyes welled up. 

“Hello,” I said. 

“Is that-” his voice choked. “Sonia, she-” 

“My daughter.” 

He stared at her for a moment, then looked back at me. 

“You have a daughter.” 

“Yes.” 

The little girl tugged at my sleeve. “Mommy, who’s 

that?” 

“Someone I used to know,” I said. “We didn’t get along 

very well.” 

Why was he crying? 

I took her hand, and we walked toward the parking lot. 

The sun was setting, and the air smelled of bread from 

the corner bakery. 

“I don’t know, baby. Maybe he just got something in 

his eye.” 

Tomorrow, she wanted to get noodles from the street. 

cart across the way. 

I should wake her up early.