My Mafia Husband Faked Amnesia For Three Years, Now He Regrets It Chapter 04

My Mafia Husband Faked Amnesia For Three Years, Now He Regrets It Chapter 04

The housekeeper spent the whole afternoon wiping away every trace of me from the Woolworth Building.

My files had been encrypted and sent back to Europe.

My clothes, my sketchbooks, my old photographs, all packed into suitcases.

I sat in the living room waiting, only one suitcase sitting at my feet.

By evening, Matteo and Clara finally came home.

Clara pulled a set of divorce papers from her clutch.

“Matteo’s already signed the property settlement and the uncontested divorce affidavit. So you can sign them if everything checks out. And the lawyer can file with the New York State court tomorrow.”

I stared at the familiar signature on the page. My fingertips went cold.

I thought I’d already braced myself.

But seeing his name written there in his hand, it still felt like a dull knife twisting in my chest.

I took the papers and signed my name.

Matteo caught a glimpse of my red-rimmed eyes. Something tightened in his chest.

I closed the folder and looked at Clara.

“From now on, Matteo’s in your hands.”

She suppressed a smile and nodded.

“Of course I’ll take good care of him.”

I pulled a black notebook from my bag.

It held everything. Matteo’s eating habits, his old injuries, his allergies, the triggers for every real episode he’d ever had.

But when I opened my mouth, I laughed instead.

I tore out the pages, one by one, and fed them to the fireplace.

“Forget it. You two have plenty of time to get to know each other again.”

I dragged my suitcase toward the front door.

“Alessia.”

His voice came from behind me, clear, unguarded.

I paused for one second. I didn’t turn around.

Clara grabbed his hand.

“Let her be. Dinner’s ready.”

The door closed behind me.

Matteo stared at the empty foyer, his expression unreadable.

“Clara. I never actually had traumatic amnesia.”

Clara covered her mouth and laughed. “I knew that.”

Matteo blinked. “Since when?”

“The very first day we met.”

She leaned into him, tracing circles on his chest with her fingertip.

“I’ve cared for people with the real condition before. When they see a trigger, they get scared and confused first; then they rage. But you always checked to see if Alessia was watching before you lost it. Nice performance. Just needs work on the details.”

Matteo looked at her smiling face. But his mind kept drifting back to Alessia’s retreating figure.

He’d done it.

He’d finally broken free of the arranged marriage. He could be with the woman who’d saved his life.

So why did his chest feel hollowed out?

Probably just acting too long.

It’d fade in a few days.

Over the next month, Matteo “recovered” at lightning speed.

He retook control of the Red Hook dock accounts, dealt with a few defectors, and attended family councils.

The patient who’d once cried and thrown plates in front of Alessia was gone.

The Conte heir was back in black suits, walking into warehouses and clubs flanked by guards.

Giulia sobbed in his arms.

As her tears fell on his face, he suddenly remembered those early days after he’d faked his diagnosis.

Alessia used to slip into the bathroom at night to cry.

The next morning, she’d still calmly clean up the room he’d trashed.

No matter how picky he got, how wildly he screamed and raged, she never showed a hint of impatience.

A month later, the final divorce papers arrived from the court.

“Clara, pick those up for me.”

“I’ve got a meeting with a port contractor.”

Matteo hung up and drove toward the east side of Central Park.

As he passed near Harlem Lake, screams erupted from the shore.

“Help! A kid fell in!”

A little boy was thrashing in the freezing water.

Matteo didn’t hesitate. He ripped off his jacket and dove in.

He shoved the boy onto the bank. But then a wave of dizziness hit him.

Water flooded his mouth and nose. His body went slack.

He watched the surface drift farther and farther away.

Just before his consciousness faded, a figure in white swam toward him desperately.

Her face overlapped with a scene from ten years ago.

Not Clara.

It was Alessia.

The sealed door in his memory blew open, and everything came rushing back—

the Sicilian coast at sixteen, the accident at twenty-six, her hands pushing him toward the surface…

Alessia pushing her life vest into his hands, leaving herself to be swept away by the waves.

She’d held his face above water, screaming his name over and over.

Every memory he’d buried came crashing back.

Matteo’s eyes snapped open.

He was in a hospital bed at NewYork-Presbyterian. The air was full of the smell of antiseptic.

Clara saw him wake and rushed to his bedside.

“You’re finally awake! I was so worried I was going crazy.”

Matteo grabbed her wrist.

“The court papers. Where are they?”

His eyes were vicious, the way he looked at a man who’d betrayed the family.

Clara went pale.

“I picked them up. They’re at home.”

“I’m asking about Alessia’s copy.”

“Did she sign?”

“I… I already mailed it to Milan.”

“You were out for seven days. She should have gotten it by now. Notarized too.”

The color drained from Matteo’s face.