Surprise! You're Not the Don's Wife

When I went to get a replacement copy of our marriage certificate, the clerk at the registrar's office told me, "This certificate is a forgery. There's no record of your marriage in the system." "But Michele and I got married four years ago, at St. Mary's Church. We had witnesses..." I steadied my breathing. "Please check again." The clerk sighed and clicked her mouse a few times. "We found a registration for Michele Corleone, but the spouse listed isn't you." My voice shook. "Who's his legal wife?" The clerk answered without looking up. "Rita Greco." Before I heard that name, I'd still been telling myself the system might have made a mistake. But of course it was Rita, Michele's childhood sweetheart. Suddenly everything made sense. In the four years I'd spent as Michele's wife, he'd never once held my hand in public. No famiglia galas, no formal introductions. Some of the Corleones didn't even know my name. I'd asked him why, and he'd told me, "It's to protect you. In the underworld, the less visible you are, the safer you are." I'd believed him. Now I finally understood. The marriage I'd poured everything into, the one I'd believed in for four years, had been fake from the very beginning. I'd never once been let into his real life. And as the woman who'd made that mistake, only one path was left to me. With trembling fingers, I pulled out my phone and dialed a number I hadn't touched in four years. [Papa, I want to come home.] Chapter 1 Mae's POV The edges of the forged marriage certificate had gone soft and creased under my fingers. The moment I stepped out of the registrar's office, my stomach turned sour. I ran to the bathroom and retched a few times, and when I lifted my head and caught sight of my pale, drawn face in the mirror, a terrifying thought crossed my mind. I counted the days. My period was almost three weeks late. At the exact moment my whole world was about to collapse, there might be a new life growing inside me. I went to the clinic alone. When the doctor smiled and said, "Congratulations, you're pregnant," I sat on the cold exam table, torn between laughing and crying. This was Michele Corleone's child, the one real thing in our fake marriage. But what did that reality actually count for? … I stood outside Michele's office with the ultrasound printout in my hand, about to push the door open, when the conversation drifting out through the half-closed door froze me in place. "Don Michele, it's been four years. Are you ever going to let her officially join our famiglia?" The Underboss Matteo Corleone's question was met with a long silence. Then Michele's voice came, careless and unhurried. "Not yet. Rita's making a name for herself on Wall Street. She needs my protection. She needs the title of my wife." "But... Signora isn't your legal spouse. She could leave at any time..." "Enough. There's no 'but.' She broke with the Bagarella famiglia to marry me. She loves me too much to walk away over something like this." The naked truth hit my chest like a bullet. I sagged against the wall, and every breath hurt. My hand drifted to my stomach without my meaning it to. So the child inside me had never been wanted, not from the very start. Four years ago, I'd turned down the marriage alliance between my famiglia and the DeLuca famiglia, all for Michele. I'd insisted on leaving with him no matter what. I hadn't even looked back when my father shouted after me, "Mae Bagarella, you'll regret this decision!" Back then, I'd been so sure I was running toward my future. I'd sworn I would be happier than any marriage my father chose for me could have made me. And now here I was, standing in the hallway, listening to my own voice break apart. I turned and knocked over a vase at the edge of the hall. The crash and the sound of Michele's footsteps came almost at the same moment. A second later, he'd already scooped me up and set me gently down on the office sofa. "Amore, how could you be so careless?" He checked my legs, his voice soft. "Are you hurt anywhere?" Four years, and his acting was still this good. I caught his hand. The last shred of hope in me made me speak. "Michele, I accidentally damaged our marriage certificate. I want to go get it replaced." Panic flickered in his eyes, but he quickly smoothed it over. He looked away. "Let Matteo handle it. You get some rest. I have something to deal with, but I'll come back for you later." 'Michele. So this is what you look like when you're guilty,' I couldn't help thinking. I closed my eyes and let the despair swallow me whole. "Okay." A flash of unease crossed his face. He'd just opened his mouth to say something when his phone rang. The caller ID read: Rita Greco. He let go of me, picked up the phone without so much as glancing my way, and tossed off one line. "Something's come up," and walked toward the door. I heard the way his voice changed the moment he answered, urgent and threaded with a tenderness I'd never once felt from him. "Rita, don't worry. I'm on my way." At the same time, my hands shaking, I pulled out my phone and found the number I hadn't touched in four years. [Papa, I'm tired. I want to come home.] Chapter 2 My phone rang the moment I'd sent the message. It was an unfamiliar number. "Is this Signora Corleone? I'm calling from the amusement park in Illinois. The boy you listed under emergency contacts, Antonio, just went missing near the carousel. We're doing everything we can to find him. Could you come down right away?" I froze. "A child? I don't have a child." The person on the other end hesitated too. "But this boy is registered as Signor Corleone's adopted son..." My knuckles went white around the phone. So Michele had already been quietly pushing the adoption through, and I, his so-called wife, was the very last to know. I drove to the park. From a distance, I could already see a crowd gathered near the carousel. A woman ran out and threw herself into Michele's arms, sobbing so hard her whole body shook. "Michele, Antonio's gone! I'm so scared. Please, you have to find him..." I stared at the woman he was holding so gently. It was Rita. Michele bent his head to murmur something in her ear, the kind of easy, effortless closeness that only exists between people who are truly close. I rested a hand on my own stomach. There was a child here too, and its father had his arms around another woman. A few minutes later, a park employee finally walked up with a sniffling Antonio in tow. Rita rushed over and swept the boy into her arms. Michele put his arms around both of them and told the employee, "Rita's son is my adopted son. Please make sure my son is properly looked after from now on." I stood outside the crowd like I was watching a movie that had nothing to do with me. I watched Michele hug Rita with one arm and hold Antonio's hand with the other, the three of them heading for the exit. Antonio laughed happily at Michele's side, and Rita leaned down to kiss the boy's cheek. Watching the three of them look so much like a happy family, it felt like something blunt had slammed into my chest. Cold air poured out through the hole it left, and I went cold all over. A park employee walked past and murmured to a coworker, "Signor Corleone is so good to that boy. Honestly, you'd think he was his own." "Of course. The boy's mother is that lady right there. I heard the two of them were childhood sweethearts. The boy isn't even his, but Signor Corleone still decided to make him heir to the Corleone famiglia. It's really touching, isn't it?" Every word felt like a blade scraping against bone. I lowered my head and slowly ran a hand over my own flat stomach. The tiny life growing there had picked the worst possible moment to arrive. Its father might never even know it existed, or if he ever found out, he'd probably just see it as one more problem. I all but fled to my car and started the engine in a daze. I'd just pulled into the underground garage and was about to get out when a few members of the Corleone famiglia walked past, their voices deliberately lowered. Their conversation still reached my ears. "Poor Mae, still completely in the dark..." "I heard the boss has been going to see Rita every single day lately. They're legally married. So what does that make Mae?" "She lives in that villa without even a title to her name. What do you even call that?" I went still for a moment, and the blood in my veins felt like it had frozen solid. A mistress. So that was what I was to them: a woman with no name and no place, a joke the whole family already knew by heart. Chapter 3 Back in my room, I got a call from my father. The moment the video connected, I saw how much more gray had come into his hair. "My darling girl," he said. "Is Michele good to you? Are you happy these days?" My throat tightened, and tears welled up. "Papa, I miss you so much..." The same father who'd once thrown me out of the house now looked at me with nothing but heartbreak in his eyes. "This will always be your home," he said with a sigh. "Hold on one more night. I'll send someone for you tomorrow." After the call ended, regret and guilt tore at me until I couldn't sleep. I opened a drawer and destroyed every photo of the two of us, every keepsake he'd ever given me. On the windowsill, I tore out the red rose bush he'd given me, roots and all. Starting tomorrow, this would never be my home again. I finally drifted off just as the sky was starting to lighten, and by the time I woke, the living room already had a family in it. Michele and Rita sat at the breakfast table, with Antonio between them. It was the perfect family portrait, and I was the stain on it. The sound of my footsteps on the stairs cut the scene short. Michele shot to his feet, an anxious, placating smile on his face. "Mae, don't get the wrong idea. This is our adopted son, Antonio. I just brought him home. Rita's the one he's closest to, so she's staying a few days to help out." Beside him, Antonio suddenly grabbed for both Michele's and Rita's hands. "I want Mommy and Daddy to sleep with me every night." Rita flashed me a smile with a flicker of triumph in it. "Sorry, Mae. Antonio doesn't sleep well in a new place. He needs me close by. You don't mind, do you?" I wasn't going to mind anything, not anymore, because I was about to leave this place for good. This whole hollow performance was about to end. In the silence that followed, Michele's face went pale. His mouth opened, then closed without a word. Under three sets of watching eyes, I sat down, kept my voice as light and steady as I could, and said, "Of course I don't mind. Let's have breakfast." Rita slid a plate of pasta toward me. "I made it myself; try it. I heard seafood's your favorite." She smiled and winked at me. "Make sure you finish it all." Pale pink shrimp swam in a creamy sauce, flecked with chopped parsley. The smell alone turned my stomach. I looked up, and in the face of Michele's evasive eyes, asked calmly, "You told her I like shrimp?" He knew. He knew exactly what he was doing. I'd been allergic to shellfish my whole life. One shrimp and my throat would swell. Three, and I'd need an ambulance. Ever since I'd moved into this house, Michele had reminded the kitchen staff more than once. One year, for my birthday dinner, he'd personally had every shellfish dish struck from the menu. The smile on Rita's face froze, then crumpled, leaving her looking wronged and innocent. She blinked, her lashes going wet. "I... I really didn't know. Michele never told me. I'm sorry, I just wanted to make you happy..." Michele's brow furrowed, his expression darkening. He gently soothed Rita and coaxed her back into her seat. The look he turned on me was full of offended impatience. "Rita's been up since dawn working on this." His voice dropped, like he was holding back real anger. "She didn't know about your allergy. You could have just told her. What's that look on your face for?" Chapter 4 I'd only said one sentence about my allergy, and somehow that had become me making a scene. Rita's voice caught. "I'm sorry, Mae, let me make you a fresh egg instead. It won't take long..." She stood, moving toward the kitchen. Antonio suddenly burst into tears, grabbing at Rita's sleeve. "Mommy, don't go! I want Mommy!" Michele shot up from his chair, the legs scraping sharply across the floor. He scooped Antonio up and turned to me, his voice gone cold. "Mae, have you had enough of this yet? "I'm taking Antonio upstairs. You sit here and think about what you've done. Don't embarrass yourself any further." He got up and walked past me without slowing down, like I was a stranger he happened to be passing on the street. His footsteps faded away on the second floor. Rita's tears stopped instantly. She turned to me, a triumphant smirk curling at the corner of her mouth. "How does it feel, playing pretend wife for four years? Oh, you still don't know, do you?" She stood and leaned in close to me. "I'm Michele's legal wife. If you have any self-respect left, you'll crawl away and disappear." Before I could move, she pinned me down with one hand and used the other to fork a mouthful of pasta straight into my mouth. "You filthy mistress," she shrieked. "This is exactly what you deserve to eat!" The briny taste burned down my throat like fire, and my throat began to swell shut, making it hard to breathe. Worse, a sharp, twisting pain tore through my abdomen, like something inside me was being ripped away. Warm blood ran down the inside of my thigh, soaking into the hem of my dress. I collapsed onto the floor, my body seizing. I clutched at my throat, dragging in heavy, labored breaths, and with my other hand I fought to protect my stomach. "No, please, don't take my baby..." Rita stepped on my hand and smiled, wide and triumphant. "Let's get this straight right now. I'm the real lady of this house!" She yanked open a drawer, grabbed a knife, and slashed it across her own arm. Blood welled up instantly. She dropped to her knees, screaming. "Mae, I'm sorry, don't kill me, I'll go, I swear, just please, spare me. Spare Antonio." "Rita!" Michele came tearing down the stairs at the sound, his eyes wide with shock, and rushed to gather the bleeding Rita into his arms. "Have you lost your mind?" he roared at me. "She was kind enough to make you breakfast, kind enough to stay and help us with the child, and this is how you repay her? How did you turn this vicious?" He didn't wait for an answer. "If anything happens to Rita, you will answer for it. When I get back, you're going to get on your knees and apologize to her until she forgives you." Rita leaned against his shoulder. Before Michele turned to leave, she shot me one look, her eyes brimming with tears while a triumphant smile tugged at her lips. Michele never once looked back. I curled up on the floor, the blood spreading beneath me staining the hardwood dark. My swollen throat wouldn't let air through, and the pain in my abdomen kept building, wave after wave. I knew, right then, that I'd lost my baby. In a house where I'd never once been treated like I belonged, while my husband ran out the door with the woman he actually loved in his arms, I lost the last real thing that had ever existed between Michele and me. With the last of my strength, I found my phone and dialed my father's number. Blood smeared the screen, blurring the call button, and I heard his voice come through the line, frantic. "Mae, Mae! What's wrong? Are you all right?" I tried to speak, but my throat was too swollen to make a sound. All I could manage was a breath of air carrying the last few words I had left. "Papa, help me..." The next thing I was aware of was a pair of strong arms lifting me. Someone injected me with something for the allergic reaction. Someone wrapped me in a blanket as I kept losing blood. My father's men had come for me. In the last moment before they lifted me into the car, my blurred vision found the villa I'd lived in for four years, the place I'd once believed was my home. Now, I was only relieved that I was finally getting out.