My Mafia Husband Faked Amnesia For Three Years, Now He Regrets It Chapter 08

My Mafia Husband Faked Amnesia For Three Years, Now He Regrets It Chapter 08

Gabriel walked into the garden carrying a bouquet of deep red roses and stopped beside me.

Matteo shot to his feet.

“Who the hell are you?”

He reached out to block him, but the Santoro guards flanking Gabriel stepped in his way.

Gabriel glanced at Matteo’s bloodshot eyes, his tone calm.

“It seems Mr. Conte not only enjoys faking amnesia, his impulse control isn’t great either.”

He handed over a business card.

“Gabriel Rossi. Global Managing Partner at Blackwood International Law.”

“Also, the Santoro family’s chief legal counsel.”

Matteo’s expression shifted.

In the underworld, a gun could only deal with the man in front of you. But a top-tier lawyer could freeze accounts, shut down legitimate companies, and tear apart a family’s generational wealth in a courtroom.

Gabriel moved smoothly to my side.

“I’m handling Alessia’s divorce. The petition will be filed with the New York State court next week. You might want to find yourself an attorney.”

Matteo looked at me, disbelief written all over his face.

“What is he to you?”

Gabriel smiled.

“Her fiance.”

The color drained from Matteo’s face.

He picked up the ring from the ground and stumbled out of the garden.

Once he was gone, I handed the roses back to Gabriel.

“Thanks for playing along.”

“My pleasure.”

He was still smiling, but the tips of his ears went pink.

“Though, if you’re open to it, what I said back there doesn’t have to be just an act.”

“Gabriel.” I met his eyes and gave a small smile. “I’m not looking to get married again right now. Running one family is hard enough. Managing a relationship is more complicated than auditing ten port companies’ books. Who can guarantee they’ll never change?”

He paused for a moment, then gracefully put away whatever else he’d been about to say.

“Then I wish the Donna of Santoro a long and prosperous reign.”

After that, Matteo tried everything to run into me.

He waited outside Piazza Gae Aulenti. He showed up at charity galas I attended. He sent crate after crate of gifts to the family estate.

Every single one was returned unopened by my guards.

He even tried to pressure the Santoros through the Conte family.

Aldo sent a single message back through his consigliere:

“You’ve been suspended from power. You have no authority to negotiate on the family’s behalf.”

On the day of the hearing, I saw Matteo again outside the New York State Supreme Court.

Most of his hair had turned gray. Red veins webbed his bloodshot eyes, and his spine curved, no longer straight.

Gabriel submitted the evidence. The forged diagnosis, the deliberate delay of divorce filings, and Clara’s encroachment on the marital residence.

The case didn’t drag on.

When the judge signed the divorce decree, I felt like I could breathe for the first time.

I was already talking to my assistant about where to celebrate that night.

Matteo stood at the end of the courthouse hallway, the light in his eyes dying out slowly.

That was the last time I ever saw him.

Five years later, I had a daughter through a legal donor program.

She had clear gray-green eyes, and when she smiled, she’d grip my finger tight.

The love I thought Matteo had drained out of me came flooding back the moment she arrived.

As for Matteo, he really did develop traumatic amnesia.

This time, no paid-off doctors. No performance designed to push anyone away.

He started losing big chunks of his memory. Sometimes he didn’t recognize his parents. He forgot he’d ever been the Conte heir.

But whenever he saw a white dress, a blue diamond necklace, or that plain gold band, he’d snap.

He’d scream like a terrified child, knock over tables and chairs, smash everything by the windows, and cry over and over that someone had taken Alessia away.

When the episode passed, he’d curl up in a corner with the ring and write my name.

Aldo had him admitted to Silver Hill Hospital in Connecticut.

The Conte family passed to his younger brother. No one let him near the ledgers or the weapons anymore.

I heard his memory kept getting worse.

The only thing he never forgot was my name.

I stopped asking.

Instead, I bent down and kissed my daughter’s soft cheek.

The sun was shining outside.

Tomorrow would still be a good day.