The White Dress Rule Chapter 01

The White Dress Rule Chapter 01

Five years of marriage, and Michael Moretti had given me everything, but he had one rule, one line I could never cross.

He never allowed me to wear a white dress around him.

At first, I thought it was just some stupid mafia superstition. So I challenged it. Twice.

The first time, he made me strip naked and kneel in the courtyard all night.

The second time, he tore the dress off me with his own hands, then had his men throw me into the lake. I almost drowned.

When I woke up, I was burning with fever, feeling as if I had been dragged through hell. That was when I finally snapped and confronted him.

“I want a divorce! I’ve had enough!”

Michael held me, his voice choked up. “I’m sorry, Angel. I’m so sorry. It’s just… my sister. She died wearing a white dress.”

He had never mentioned his sister Sofia before. It was the Moretti family’s secret.

On her eighteenth birthday, she was dragged into an alley by a group of men and tortured to death. That day, she had been wearing a white dress.

He was the Don, the godfather of the Moretti family, but that memory was a shadow he could never escape.

After that, I buried every white dress I owned. I didn’t want to see that sadness in his eyes anymore.

Then came our anniversary.

I was on my way to meet him when a car slammed into me from the side.

Through my blurred vision, I saw Michael’s car pull up. He ran over, panic written all over his face. But he didn’t look at me. Not once.

He walked straight to the other driver. A young girl in a white dress, trembling and crying. He pulled her into his arms, whispering gently in her ear.

She sobbed that she was going to jump off a roof. He kissed her right there on the asphalt, kissed her until her legs went weak. Then he scooped her up and walked away.

That was the moment I knew. Everything was over.

—

The crash wasn’t too bad. Just a concussion and some bruises. I woke up in a private hospital suite.

“Five minutes,” I told my head of security, Vincent. He was a mountain of a man, built like a brick wall, with a permanent scowl on his face. “I want everything you have on that girl.”

He just nodded, adjusted his sunglasses, and left.

I got the file quickly. Vincent was efficient.

Lily White, twenty-two, an art student. Favorite color: white.

Vincent had even hired a private investigator to follow her. There were dozens of photos.

Michael and Lily laughing in a café. Him kissing her forehead. An apartment building he owned near the university.

“They met six months ago,” Vincent’s voice crackled over the speakerphone. “At a charity event he hosted at the university. He bought her the apartment. They meet every Saturday.”

Every Saturday for six months.

He told me he was traveling for business. On those nights, his calls went straight to voicemail.

I flipped through the photos with steady hands, feeling absolutely nothing. My heart had once lived there. Now there was just a cold, empty space.

Michael came to the hospital looking tired, but he was smiling. He carried a gift box.

“Angel, I’m sorry about last night. The Russo deal went sideways, and I had to handle it. You didn’t wait for me at the restaurant, did you?”

“No,” I said quietly. “I never made it there.”

“Good,” he said, relieved. He didn’t even ask why. He just opened the box and showed me a necklace. “We’ll do it another night. This weekend, just the two of us—”

He stopped. His face went pale. I spread the photos out on the hospital blanket between us.

“Michael,” I said calmly. “Explain.”

He clenched his jaw, staring at the evidence of his betrayal. When he finally looked at me, his face held both panic and anger. “You had me followed?”

I almost laughed. “You gave me plenty of clues. So? Are you going to explain, or should we skip straight to the divorce?”

The word divorce made his expression shift.

He was the Don of the Moretti family, a man who had supposedly transformed from a playboy into a devoted husband. At least, that was what everyone saw. Image was everything to him.

“Angel, don’t do this. It’s not what you think.” He dropped to his knees by the bed, grabbing my hands.

“Lily… she reminds me of Sofia. She’s the same age Sofia was back then… I just wanted to protect her. Make up for what I couldn’t do for my sister.”

“You protect her with your lips?” I tossed him the worst photo. He had her pinned against a wall, kissing her deeply.

He didn’t even blink. “She kissed me. I couldn’t push her away. She’s fragile, Angel. You know how Sofia died. I just… I see her in Lily. I promise it won’t happen again.”

I studied him. The man I had once loved. He had built me a castle and then locked me inside.

“Fine. If it’s nothing, sell the apartment. Cut her off. Do it today, and we’ll pretend this never happened.”

His hesitation said everything. “I can’t. She has nowhere else to go. Her roommates were bullying her, kicked her out. She’s completely alone here.”

Alone. In my husband’s penthouse. With his credit cards.

I dropped the smile. “Alright. You just missed your chance.”

I picked up another folder. “I’m filing a police report on the hit and run. Her name will be on it. If she just loses her license, she’ll be lucky.”

His head snapped up. “Hit and run? Are you—”

His eyes scanned the draft police report. Then it hit him. His face went cold. “That was you? In the other car?”

“Michael, it was our anniversary. I was on my way to see you.”

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. When he opened them again, the pleading was back, but different now. This was a negotiation.

“Angel, you have to drop this. It was an accident. She was upset after we argued. For God’s sake, she wants to go to law school. A record would ruin her.”

“What about me?” I asked softly.

“I’ll make it up to you. Anything you want. But you will not touch her.” He stood up. “Good luck finding a lawyer in this city who will take my case.”

He was right. Within two days, every law firm in the city had sent me emails. The message was the same: Mrs. Moretti, be reasonable. You have everything. Don’t cause trouble.

They all saw me as decoration. A trophy wife. The lucky girl the Don Moretti, had plucked from obscurity and crowned his queen. They forgot my maiden name was Rossi.

I made one phone call to London.

“Are you busy?” I asked.

A low, familiar laugh came through the line. “You know I always have time for you. What’s wrong?”

“I need a lawyer. The best kind. One who isn’t afraid of the name Moretti.”

“Ah. So he finally screwed up, did he?” There was a teasing edge to his voice. “I’ll catch the next flight. Don’t burn the city down before I get there.”

I hung up.

Outside the window, the girl appeared.

She was carrying a bouquet of white lilies, walking up the driveway of our estate on Lake Forest like it was her own home.

Her dress, of course, was white. Innocent and pure, billowing in the wind.