The Mafia’s Boss Fake Widow

Rain hammered the cemetery. Everyone wore black. Lena stood alone in front of an empty coffin. No body inside. Just dirt and silence. Her knuckles had gone white around her wedding ring. Mud splattered her white shoes. She stared at it, unblinking. Rain and tears ran down the same path on her cheeks. Voices moved around her. Condolences. Hands on her shoulder. She didn't hear any of it. Sarah slipped behind her, arms wrapping around her shoulders. "Lena, come sit. You’ve been standing here for an hour," Sarah whispered. "I can't." Lena's voice came out raw. "I can't, Sarah." "Where’s his mother?" Sarah scanned the crowd. "Margaret didn't come?" "She said she couldn't face me." Lena swallowed hard. "She thinks I did this." Sarah's grip tightened. "That woman is out of her mind. This is not on you." Lena's mind snapped back to that morning. Three days ago. The kitchen. Ethan snatched his car keys off the counter. He didn't look at her. "You didn't touch your food," she had said. "Late meeting," he muttered, shoving his phone into his pocket. "You've had a late meeting for three nights straight." She stepped into the doorway. "You don't even look at me anymore, Ethan. What is happening?" He finally stopped. His hand hovered over the door handle. "Please, Lena. Not this morning." "You're scaring me." Her throat closed around the words. "You are hiding something from me." For a second, something broke in his face. Guilt? Fear? Then it was gone. He crossed the kitchen and pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. His lips were cold. "Don't wait up. I'll be home late." That was it. That was the last thing he ever said to her. That night, the knocking came. Hard. Official. Lena opened the door. Two officers stood in the rain. "Mrs. Lena Cole?" "Yes. Where's my husband?" "Ma'am, there was an incident. Your husband was attacked near the pier." Her fingers dug into the door frame. "Which hospital? Take me to him." The older officer looked at the ground. "We didn't recover a body. We found blood at the scene. A significant amount. And his watch was missing." The floor seemed to tilt under her. Her knees gave out. She hit the cold entryway tile. "No. No, no, no—" How do you mourn someone you never got to see one last time? The priest's voice pulled her back to the cemetery. He was praying over nothing. Then the crowd shifted. A man walked through them like they weren't there. Expensive black coat. Big black umbrella. The mourners parted without him saying a word. He didn't belong at a funeral. He belonged in a boardroom where people were afraid of him. He stopped inches from Lena. Too close. "You shouldn't be here," he murmured. His voice was low, controlled. Not unkind. Just cold. Lena blinked. She had never seen him before in her life. He leaned in, so only she could hear. The rain drummed on his umbrella. "Your husband is not dead." The air left her lungs. "What did you say?" He studied her face. Then, slowly, a small, humorless smile touched his mouth. "Did you see a body?" "Where is he?" The words ripped out of her. "Why would he do this? Did he leave me? We didn't even fight that morning—" He reached into his coat pocket. Calm. Unhurried. "Proof," she demanded. "If you're not lying to me, show me proof." He opened his palm. Ethan's watch. The leather strap had the small nick she knew so well — from when she had given it to him on their anniversary. The glass was cracked. Blood darkened the edge. Lena's breath caught. Her stomach dropped. _We didn't argue. We didn't quarrel. So why? Does he have someone else? Oh God, I should have stopped him that morning._ "They're watching you," the man said, his eyes flicking past her toward the cemetery gate. Far off, a black SUV sat with its engine running. A silhouette inside, staring straight at her. "Smile," the man whispered against her ear. "Smile like a grieving widow. If they know I told you, you're both dead."