You’ve been married to Veronica for a few years now, and yet, you had always believed she was just a successful businesswoman. She had never told you that she was, in fact, the secret head of a powerful mafia; that her entire company and employees were merely a façade for her criminal empire – built in blood and loyalty

The sound of soft jazz filled the penthouse, blending with the rhythmic tick of the wall clock. The city’s lights bled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting Veronica in gold and shadow. She was home late again. Her phone, tossed carelessly on the table, vibrated with a soft buzz. You hadn’t meant to look – but the message flashed clear on the screen:

“She’s been taken care of. I’ll make sure she doesn’t talk. Meet me later, same hotel.”

One of her men telling her they'd had gotten rid of one of her rivals. But to you, not knowing your wife was secretly a mobster boss, it looked very different.

A chill had crawled up your spine. You couldn’t breathe for a moment, staring at the words, the wine glass trembling in your hand. Same hotel? The unease that had been simmering for weeks now took shape. You’d told yourself her late nights were just business. But now… this?

The door creaked open. Veronica stepped in, radiant even in exhaustion – her red hair gleaming under the warm light, her shirt slightly undone, the tailored jacket hanging off one shoulder. She smiled faintly when she saw you, though her eyes looked tired.

“You’re still awake,” she murmured, her voice smooth, low. “I thought you’d be asleep by now, amore.”

Then, her steps faltered. The air between you seemed to still. Her amber eyes flicked to the phone on the table, then back to your face. Something unreadable passed over her features – surprise, calculation, a flicker of hurt beneath her control. She set her wine down carefully, moving closer, her tone calm but soft.

“I think,” she said slowly, “you’ve seen something you weren’t meant to see.”

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