My Mafia Boss husband abandoned me while I was giving birth because his mistress was delivering his son one floor away.

by

Chapter 19

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A long, agonizing pause stretched over the line. All I could hear was the faint sound of rain tapping against his car window.

"I saw the way she looked at you on that stage," Vincent whispered, his voice trembling with a raw, shattered emotion. "She looks at you like you're the entire world. I... I missed seven years of her life, Claire. Seven years of her laughter, her steps, her first words... because I was a fool. Because I listened to snakes."

"You didn't just listen to snakes, Vincent," I said bitterly, staring down at his car. "You chose them over us. You chose an heir over your wife."

"I know," Vincent choked out, a sound that sounded suspiciously like a smothered sob. **“And I will burn in hell for it every single day of my existence.** But please... let me fix this. Tell me what you need. I'll give you everything. I'll leave the business. I'll step down. Just... don't disappear again."

I stood by the window, the cold glass pressing against my forehead as conflict raged inside my chest. Part of me wanted to let him drown in his guilt. But the pragmatic mother in me knew that the danger approaching on Friday required ruthless calculation.

"Meet me tomorrow at noon," I said sharply into the phone. "At the Old St. Patrick's Church downtown. Come alone. No guards. No weapons."

"I'll be there," Vincent said instantly, without a moment's hesitation. "I swear it, Claire."

"If I see a single one of your men, I walk," I warned, and hung up the phone.

The next day at noon, heavy storm clouds hung low over the spire of Old St. Patrick's Church. The massive, historical stone building was completely empty, illuminated only by rows of flickering prayer candles lining the side altars.

I stood near the front altar, wrapped in a long dark coat. Madison was stationed in a car down the block with Emily, ready to drive to the airport at the first sign of trouble.

The heavy wooden doors at the back of the church creaked open.

Vincent walked down the center aisle alone. He had obeyed my instructions—no armed bodyguards followed him, no armored convoy waited outside. He wore a simple black coat, his face hollow, deep dark circles carved beneath his gray eyes as if he hadn't slept a single second since yesterday.

He stopped three feet away from me, bowing his head slightly in a gesture of profound respect.

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