Chapter 1
969words
But right now, that ring is on his mistress's finger, along with God knows what else.
I'm going to sell it and vanish without a trace.
***
I sit in the corner of the Moretti Family Private Club, the champagne in my glass as flat as my last remaining hopes for this marriage.
The massive screen on the wall plays this month's Underground Emperor feature, Alessandro's face dominating the frame. His tailored navy suit and platinum cufflinks scream wealth, his gaze so intense it could swallow light itself. The host's voice drips with practiced reverence: "Mr. Moretti, you paid an astronomical 28 million for the 'Tears of Sicily.' Does this blue diamond hold special meaning?"
The camera zooms in as Alessandro's lips curl into that smile I once foolishly thought was only for me: "My wife loves blue. She deserves the most beautiful things in the world."
The club falls silent for a beat before erupting in appreciative murmurs. Several young family members exchange envious glances. "Damn, the boss really treats his wife right," one whispers. Another nods: "Now that's what I call true love."
I nearly laugh out loud.
I do like blue—something I mentioned offhandedly when we first met over a decade ago. Back then, I was just a naive college girl who believed even a crime lord would treasure his wife's favorite color. Now I understand Alessandro didn't memorize my preference; he memorized how to craft the perfect image of a devoted husband in public.
On screen, he's still spouting sweet nothings while my mind drifts to the photograph that arrived yesterday.
My blue diamond ring adorns Jessica Shade's finger, her blood-red nails casting sinister shadows across the gemstone.
On the back, in flowing script: "Thanks for sharing your husband's generosity. The ring fits my hand perfectly."
I rise and head toward the bathroom. I need privacy to call Mark Cohen.
Mark is a private appraiser my father trusted with his life, who's handled the Petrova Family's valuables for over twenty years. His workshop hides in the basement of an unremarkable building in Little Italy—an address known to very few.
"Mrs. Irina." Mark's eyebrows rise when he sees me, a calculating gleam behind his glasses. "Why come in person?"
"I need to handle something." I pull the blue diamond ring from my purse, its facets catching the dim workshop light with an icy gleam. "Appraise it. Quickly."
Mark takes the ring, examining it carefully through his loupe. After a moment, he looks up: "Ma'am, this is your wedding ring. Mr. Moretti specifically instructed that—"
"Now I'm giving the instructions," I cut him off. "Just tell me what it's worth."
Mark hesitates before nodding: "Twenty million. Cash. But ma'am, are you certain? This ring symbolizes the alliance between two powerful families..."
"That's exactly why it needs to disappear."
My phone rings, displaying a name I haven't seen in ages: Anna Dupont. My college roommate who moved to Paris after graduation.
"Irina?" Anna's voice carries that elegant French-tinged English I've always envied. "I know this is out of the blue, but I've opened an art gallery in Paris, and business is booming. I've been looking for a partner, and if you're ever looking to leave Chicago..." She pauses. "My father mentioned that before your dad passed, he asked that if you ever needed a fresh start, there'd always be a place for you here."
Father. Even from the grave, he's still protecting me, leaving me an escape route. I close my eyes, feeling a warmth I haven't known in years.
"Anna, let me think about it."
"Of course. Just remember, Irina—whatever happens, you're not alone."
After hanging up, I turn back to Mark. "Let's start the process now."
Suddenly, Jessica's photo flashes in my mind—my ring on her finger as she posed in bed with Alessandro, the diamond gleaming mockingly. Bile rises in my throat, not from the betrayal—I've known about Alessandro's infidelity for ages—but because she dared wear my ring while fucking my husband.
"Mark, I've changed my mind." I take a steadying breath. "I don't want the money. Donate it anonymously to the 'Victims' Rights Foundation'."
It's an organization that helps innocent victims of organized crime—people like us have been crushing for generations.
Mark stares at me, stunned. "Ma'am..."
"I don't want anything that's been tainted," I say softly, each word razor-sharp.
An hour later, as I'm leaving the studio, my phone buzzes with a text from Alessandro: "Baby, coming to get you. Outside the club in five."
His bulletproof limousine already waits outside, its glossy black exterior reflecting the dying sunlight. Alessandro steps out, tall and commanding in his perfectly tailored suit—if you didn't know the monster beneath, you'd be captivated.
As he approaches, I catch a scent that isn't mine—jasmine and sandalwood. Jessica's signature perfume.
"You look beautiful today." He kisses my forehead gently, playing the devoted husband to perfection.
I pull an elegant gift bag from my purse containing documents my lawyer prepared this afternoon—a "Covenant Termination Agreement."
"Happy birthday, Alessandro." I hand him the gift bag. "This is what you've always wanted."
He takes the bag, confusion crossing his face. "My birthday's still two months away..."
"Is it?" I meet his eyes. "Last time you were drunk, you said you wished you could break free from the chains of being a godfather and go back to being just Alessandro Moretti."
His expression instantly shifts, a flash of vulnerability I've never seen before quickly masked by his practiced coldness.
"Irina, what the hell are you talking about?"
I don't answer, just walk toward the car. As the driver holds the door, I glance back. "Don't forget to open your gift."
