I stared at the decorated dining room, feeling like a fool. However, I refused to wait any more than I already had. So, I grabbed my coat and decided to surprise him instead.
The moment I arrived at The Black Lotus, something inside me screamed to stop there. But I moved, disregarding my fear. Before I could step inside, a man blocked my path.
"Mrs. Ricci," he greeted smoothly, his stance firm. "You're expected elsewhere."
I frowned. "What?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he gestured toward a hallway. Maybe it was Lorenzo calling me to him. So, I moved and followed him. I followed the man to a VIP lounge and sitting in the center of the room wasn't my husband but someone far more dangerous—Santino De Luca.
I had never met him before but I knew exactly who he was. The ultimate leader of the mafia. The man even Lorenzo wouldn't dare cross.
Santino leaned back in his chair, his sharp eyes scanning me, peeling back layers even I wasn't aware of.
"Mrs. Ricci." he murmured.
I straightened my spine. "Where is my husband?" After a gesture of his hand, I took a seat across from him.
"Busy," he replied. "But I wanted a moment of your time."
"I don't understand, Mr. De Luca."
His lips curled up in amusement. "Oh, I think you will."
He nodded toward the large screen on the far wall on our right.
The lights dimmed. The screen flickered to life.
And then—
I watched my husband, Lorenzo Ricci, with Seraphina Marone, play out my worst nightmare.
My hands trembled. My entire world shattered at that point.
Santino watched me with unsettling calm. "Now, do you understand, Mrs. Ricci?"
"Why are you showing me this?" I swallowed, a gulp forming in my throat.
"Because," He said smoothly, setting down his glass, "I can tell you everything. If you're willing to make a trade."
"A trade?" I stiffened.
"A favor," he clarified. "Nothing now. But one day, when I come to collect, you won't refuse me."
I took a shaky breath, I couldn't trust him. "I don't make blind trades."
Santino smirked as if he had expected that answer. "Suit yourself."
He slid a piece of paper across the table.
"That's my personal contact," He said, staring directly into my eyes, "Call me when you change your mind."
I returned home instead of going to Lorenzo. And hours later, I heard the front door open and close behind me. Lorenzo staggered in, his movements sluggish, his shirt slightly rumpled. He reeked of whiskey and perfume.