Chapter 2
806words
Tonight, I'll know the truth.
I pick up the iPad. The screen demands a six-digit password. I try the obvious combinations: his birthday, our wedding anniversary, the date the Moretti Family was established. All wrong.
Then I remember that night three months ago at the "Golden Zone" club. Alessandro pointed at a dancer on stage and told me: "That one called Jessica, she's absolutely disgusting." But his eyes betrayed him—that hungry focus a man only gets when he's found his prey.
I enter 0318—March 18th, the date the Chicago Tribune announced Jessica joining the club.
The screen unlocks.
The first thing I see is a WhatsApp conversation with the latest message from "J". I open it and instantly learn what true disgust feels like.
"Daddy, you coming tonight? I miss you so bad." Accompanied by a photo of her in black lace that leaves nothing to imagination.
"Baby girl, just waiting for the wife to fall asleep. Tonight I'll give you something to scream about." Alessandro's reply nearly makes me drop the iPad.
I keep scrolling, each message another knife to my chest. Videos, photos, records of them fucking in cars, hotels, backstage at clubs. What breaks me is the timestamp on one video—recorded exactly during that evening last week when I waited for him by the car. He claimed he was handling an "important call" while making me wait outside for twenty minutes.
In reality, he was having video sex with that whore in our car.
My hands start shaking, but there's worse to come. In Jessica's latest video, I spot a painting hanging on her bedroom wall—Madonna cradling the Christ Child, an authentic 17th-century Italian masterpiece.
That was my mother's painting.
The Petrova family heirloom that was "lost" three years ago during a supposed shootout with the Irish. I cried for a month straight because that painting held my last memories of my mother. And now it hangs in Jessica's bedroom, witnessing my husband's betrayal.
There was never any shootout. Alessandro stole it and gave it to his mistress.
Blood rushes to my head, and I grip the edge of the nightstand to keep from collapsing. This isn't just infidelity; it's trampling on my family's legacy. He didn't just betray me—he turned my mother's memory into a backdrop for his fucking.
Footsteps sound from downstairs—Alessandro coming up. I quickly clear the browsing history, replace the iPad, and rush to the bathroom to splash water on my face. I need to look normal.
In the mirror, a ghost stares back at me, her eyes burning with a fury I've never witnessed before.
"Baby, still up?" Alessandro embraces me from behind, planting light kisses on my neck. I smell whiskey and cigars, with a faint trace of perfume—definitely not mine.
"Just finished showering." My voice comes out so steady it surprises even me.
His hands begin to wander, hungry and entitled. "Tonight let me take care of you properly..."
"I'm tired," I pull away from his embrace. "I have the charity luncheon tomorrow."
A flash of annoyance crosses his face before he quickly masks it. "Fine. Get some rest then."
We lie on opposite sides of the bed, an ocean between us. I close my eyes, feigning sleep, listening to his breathing gradually deepen.
At midnight, I hear hushed talking from the bathroom. I silently slip out of bed and peer through the crack in the door to see Alessandro on a video call.
"Daddy, I need you to come over now..." Jessica's breathy voice drifts through the crack. "I'm wearing that little thing you bought me..."
"Baby girl, you know I want to, but not tonight. Irina's acting weird. I need to be careful." Alessandro's voice drips with a tenderness that makes me sick.
"Then when? I can't wait any longer, daddy..."
I've heard enough.
Back in bed, I grab my phone and find Anna's number. It's three in the morning, but she's always been a night owl.
"I accept. See you in three days."
Send.
I open the airline app and book a one-way ticket from Chicago to Paris. First class, departing in three days.
The moment I confirm the purchase, an overwhelming sense of relief washes over me. Like a bird that's been caged for five years suddenly glimpsing an open door.
Their sickening conversation still drifts from the bathroom, but I no longer care. Let Alessandro Moretti play his games; in three days, he'll discover he's lost his queen.
I pull the blanket over my head, my lips curving into a cold smile—my first genuine one in five years.
