In The Mafia's Heart

Episode 2

RICHARD'S POV

The doctor had just finished checking her pulse when I walked into the room. His leather bag clicked shut with finality as he straightened his glasses and turned to me.

“She’s fine,” he said. “Her vitals are steady. I believe it’s exhaustion, stress, perhaps. Nothing more.”

Stress. The word hung in the air like smoke.

I nodded once, hands folded behind my back, though inside, questions gnawed at me. Stress? What in this house could possibly stress her? She had everything; comfort, safety, silence. I had made sure of that.

The doctor offered a polite bow and quietly excused himself. His footsteps faded down the hall until the door clicked shut, leaving only me and her.

Zoe.

Or at least, the woman lying before me.

Her face was still, her lashes fanned against pale cheeks. Even unconscious, she carried an innocence that both softened and unsettled me. She looked like untouched porcelain, a delicate flower no storm should reach. And yet, something had broken through her calm.

My eyes narrowed as I sat on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on my knees.

What could have shaken her this badly?

Since our marriage, we had barely spoken more than a handful of words to each other. It was arranged, orchestrated by powers beyond us. She had never complained, never asked questions. She kept to herself, always tucked away in this room like a ghost haunting her own life. I had decided to let her be. Distance was safer. For her, and for me.

She didn’t belong in my world.

And so, when business called, business drenched in shadows and blood, I left her untouched. Like a flower in a glass case. A reminder of something pure I could never hold.

But now, here she was, collapsed, fragile, trembling even in her sleep.

My jaw tightened. What had she seen? What had she heard?

It wasn’t as though gunshots were new in this house. This wasn’t the first time violence had stained the walls. She knew. She had to know. Yet she had never asked, never pressed, never flinched. She had simply pretended not to see. Pretended not to hear.

That was why I allowed her to stay uninvolved. Because she chose to live blind.

But today… Today something was different.

Her lips parted softly as though she dreamed. I found myself staring longer than I should have, studying the slope of her cheekbones, the quiet rise and fall of her chest. Beautiful. Always beautiful. Too beautiful to be part of my world.

And yet, she was.

A flicker of movement.

Her lashes trembled. Her breathing shifted. Slowly, her eyes fluttered open, hazy with confusion.

I rose instantly, my presence filling the room.

“You’re awake,” I said, my voice steady, colder than I intended. “The doctor was here. He says you’ll be fine. Just stress. Nothing serious.”

She blinked at me, dazed, her pupils wide. She didn’t speak. She only stared, as if trying to place me.

“You should rest,” I continued, adjusting the cuff of my sleeve. “Avoid anything that may cause you strain. Something cold might help.”

I took a step toward the door, eager to leave before the weight of my thoughts betrayed me. But halfway there, something pulled me back.

I turned, my gaze locking with hers again.

“Oh,” I added casually, as though it were an afterthought. “And Zoe… just like you’ve always done, ignore what you heard a few hours ago. Forget it.”

Her eyes widened, a storm gathering behind them. I saw the question forming, saw the protest at the edge of her lips. But she swallowed it back, silent.

Good.

I closed the door behind me, my footsteps deliberate as I left her to her thoughts.

CHLOE’S POV

The silence after he left was heavier than his presence. I lay there, my body still weak, his words echoing in my mind.

Zoe.

He had called me Zoe again. Not once. Twice.

I forced myself up, dragging myself toward the mirror in the corner. My fingers wrapped the frame, unsteady. My reflection looked back at me, familiar yet startling.

Of course. Zoe and I had always been identical. So identical that even our closest friends sometimes mixed us up. Teachers confused us. Strangers whispered about “the twins” as though we were one person split in two.

Maybe that was why Richard kept calling me Zoe. Maybe that was why he didn’t notice the difference.

But to me, the difference was everything. She was gone. Buried. Lost to an accident that had ripped my heart in two. And yet here I stood, looking at her face in the mirror and hearing her name from her husband’s lips.

My stomach turned.

Why now? Why was he mistaking me so easily? Why did it feel as if Zoe’s shadow was swallowing me whole?

There was only one person who could give me answers.

Father.

If anyone knew the truth, if anyone held the key to this twisted nightmare, it was him.

I straightened, my body trembling, but determination clawing through the fog. I changed into a simple dress, pulling a shawl over my shoulders. My fingers were unsteady, my breath uneven, but my resolve was iron.

I had to know.

I slipped out of the room, every creak of the floorboards making my heart race. The mansion stretched before me, its shadows longer, its silence louder. For the first time, it didn’t feel like protection. It felt like a cage.

As I stepped into the corridor, I whispered to myself, “What is happening to me?”

There was no answer. Only the echo of my own voice in a house filled with secrets.

And so I walked out the door, toward the only man who could unravel the mystery that had become my life.