“You Broke Me Enough…” — The Humiliated Wife Walks Away, Unaware The Mafia Boss Saw Everything

by

Chapter 20

THEME:
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It’s yours as long as you need it. Get some rest. Tomorrow’s a big day.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard.

Can I ask you something?

Anything.

Did you really just happen to be in that hotel? Or were you there because of Marcus?

The response took longer this time.

I was there because of Marcus. I’ve been building a case against him for months. But I wasn’t planning to act on it until I saw what he did to you.

Why were you building a case?

Because men like him need to face consequences, and I’m in a position to deliver them.

You’re talking about revenge.

I’m talking about justice. There’s a difference.

Elena wasn’t sure there was. But she typed: Thank you anyway.

Don’t thank me yet. Thank me when this is over and you’re free.

She set the phone down and finished her wine and watched the city lights blaze below her, all those normal lives going on — dinners and movies and people loving each other without an audience.

She woke to pounding on the door.

Panic seized her before she remembered Joseph was outside. “Ms. Martinez — it’s Rebecca. We need to move up the timeline.”

Elena threw on clothes and opened the door. Rebecca stood there holding two coffees and wearing a grim expression.

“What happened?”

“Marcus held his own press conference an hour ago. Played the devastated husband. Announced a fifty-thousand-dollar reward for information leading to your safe return.” Rebecca thrust a cup into her hands. “Implied you might be a danger to yourself. We’re holding ours in thirty minutes. No time to prepare. You’re going in raw.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. All you have to do is tell the truth.” Rebecca pulled out the drafted statement. “Read this. Don’t deviate. Don’t answer questions. We make our statement and we leave.”

Twenty-five minutes later, Elena stood in a hotel conference room facing fifteen reporters and twice as many cameras.

Her hands shook as she gripped the podium. Beside her, Rebecca stood like a warrior. The lights were blinding.

“My name is Elena Martinez,” she began, and her voice trembled. “And I’m here to tell you the truth about my marriage.”

She read the statement. Every word about the control, the manipulation, the affairs — every detail Rebecca had helped her craft, in the flat, factual voice of a woman reading a grocery list, because if she let any feeling into it she would not finish the sentence.

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