My Mafia Husband Faked Amnesia For Three Years, Now He Regrets It Chapter 07

My Mafia Husband Faked Amnesia For Three Years, Now He Regrets It Chapter 07

Matteo and I sat in the courtyard of the Mandarin Oriental in Milan.

The air smelled of fresh bread and coffee, sunlight filtered through the leaves onto the stone table.

A year apart, and Matteo no longer looked like the man I remembered — sharp, confident, untouchable.

He wore the charcoal suit I’d had custom-made for him the first time.

His sleeves hung loose, and his cheeks were hollowed out.

The eyes that once made his soldiers shrink away were now just filled with guilt and hesitation.

I tore off a piece of croissant and dipped it into my coffee.

Matteo managed a weak smile.

“You still eat it that way.”

I finished the bread and wiped my fingers.

“What do you want?”

“I remember everything now.”

“Clara’s already been indicted.”

“Oh.”

My flat response made him freeze.

He pulled a velvet box from his pocket.

Inside lay a diamond ring, its fire almost blinding.

“Alessia, I’m sorry.”

“I shouldn’t have faked that diagnosis. I shouldn’t have used your guilt and your kindness to push you out. You can punish me any way you want.”

He slid the ring toward me.

“Do you remember our promise when we were sixteen? I said I’d give you the best ring in the world when we married and make sure everyone knew you were my wife. I’ve already started planning the wedding again. St. Patrick’s, the Plaza, anywhere you want. If you’ll just say yes, we can…”

“Matteo.”

I cut him off.

“Why do you think I’d ever start over with you?”

He pulled a crumpled court document from his jacket.

“The final divorce affidavit. I never filed it. After Clara brought the papers back, I had my lawyer put a hold on the petition. So legally, we’re not officially divorced yet.”

I laughed.

“Then take it to court and get it done.”

I stood to leave.

Matteo grabbed my wrist, but then let go like he’d been burned.

“I know you hate me. I have no right to ask for forgiveness. But we were together for ten years. Every night I close my eyes, I dream about the Sicilian coast. I dream about you sitting next to me, teaching me Italian.”

He looked at my empty ring finger, a faint hope flickering in his eyes.

“I love you.”

“Let’s start over. I promise. I’ll never forget you again.”

I swept the ring off the table.

“You still don’t get it, do you?”

“You stopped loving me a long time ago.”

“The moment you chose Clara as your savior and refused to hear me out. The moment you got your memory back and still chose to lie. That’s when it ended.”

Matteo went pale.

“I never loved her.”

“That makes it even more pathetic.” I looked at him. “You paid off a doctor, lied to your parents, and let your men humiliate your wife for someone you didn’t even love. If your feelings for her were fake, how real could your feelings for me ever be?”

“You only love yourself.”

“You like turning your life into some grand performance so everyone buys the act. That you’re deep, that you’re rebellious, that even your family can’t control you!”

Matteo shook his head wildly.

“No. Over those three years after we married, I fell in love with you again. I just wouldn’t admit it. Because if I did, it would’ve made my whole rebellion for Clara look like a joke.”

He dropped to his knees in front of me.

The made man who’d once made every soldier at the Brooklyn docks fear him was now too broken to even lift his head.

“Give me one more chance. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”

A low voice came from behind him.

“Alessia. I’m here to pick you up.”