I Died, And The Mafia Boss Went Crazy

The year Victor lost everyone who mattered, I left him. Then he clawed his way up to become the Godfather of the New York Mafia — and forced me to marry him. Everyone said I was the one who got away. His untouchable. His obsession. Until he started parading a college girl around town. A girl who looked just like me. Overnight, I became a joke. I didn't cry. I didn't fight back. When he used the money meant for my pain injections to buy her gifts, I just turned and walked away. He lost it. He pinned me against the wall, teeth clenched. "Would it kill you to bend, just once?" He didn't know. I was the one dying. Every day he spent punishing me, I was quietly counting down the days I had left. ***** Four years married to the youngest Godfather in New York. Forty-five days to live. "Forty-five." Clara slid the chart across the desk. "If you keep up with treatment, maybe 2 months. If we stop the imported injections and the pain pump, your blood vessels will go brittle. Massive internal hemorrhaging." I pulled a tissue from the box and dabbed at the fresh blood beading under my nose. "It's fine," I said. "I'm not afraid to die. I just hate the pain." "The injections can manage it," Clara said. "But the new regimen isn't cheap." I pulled the bill from behind the file. $800,000. "My bank account's frozen," I said. Clara slammed her pen down. "Victor again?" I nodded. He'd frozen it 3 days ago. Standard procedure — every time I failed to react to one of his provocations, he'd tighten the screws. I folded the bill and tucked it into my pocket. "I'll go see him at the casino." ***** I took a cab to the casino headquarters. Victor was in a meeting. A bodyguard told me to wait on the leather sofa outside his office. 10 minutes later, Sofia walked into the waiting area. A college student. Victor had been keeping her for 8 months. Over the years, he'd brought plenty of women to the mansion just to test my reaction. None of them lasted more than a few weeks. But Sofia was different. He bought her a house. Took her to movies, to dinner. Gave her his money and his time. She wore a red silk dress. I recognized it — Victor had won it at auction last week. She stopped in front of me. "Elena," she said softly. "Why would the Godfather make you wait out here so long?" I looked up at her. "Strange," she went on. "Every time I come see him, no matter how busy he is, he drops everything. He always says I'm his priority." She smiled. She really did look like a younger version of me. Two casino employees stood by the hallway. "She looks just like the missus used to," one muttered. "Yeah, but Sofia's prettier," the other replied. "Look at the missus now. So pale. No wonder the boss prefers Sofia." "Shut it," the bodyguard at the door hissed. "The boss spoils Sofia, but don't mess with his wife." I heard them. I stared at Sofia. "If you mean that much to him," I said, "tell him to divorce me. Marry you. Then you wouldn't be the other woman." Sofia's smile vanished. Her fingers tightened around her crystal glass. "The one who isn't loved is the one who gets left out," she whispered. "You just met him before I did. Look at yourself now. Ugly and sick. What do you have to fight with?" I stood up. A sharp pain shot through my body. I walked toward the office. I didn't answer her. I didn't care about her. I just needed to see Victor. I needed the $800,000 for the injections — so I could hurt a little less before I died.