My Mafia Boss Husband Locked Me In Our Burning Mansion To Dine With His Mistress, Until The Dead Man Who Helped Me Escape Reappeared

Six months later, the spring sun broke over the rolling hills of northern Italy, warming the terracotta roofs of a small vineyard outside Florence.

The scent of blooming jasmine and cypress trees drifted through the open French doors of my private villa.

My physical wounds had healed completely; the cane had been discarded, and the fractured ribs were now only a faint, dull memory on rainy mornings.

I stood in the sunlit kitchen, wearing a simple linen dress, rolling fresh pasta dough across a heavy wooden table.

Footsteps sounded on the stone terrace outside.

Dante walked in, holding a straw basket filled with ripe lemons and fresh figs from the orchard.

He had retired entirely from the American underworld, transferring the legitimate maritime shipping routes into an independent charitable foundation and leaving the Chicago territory to crumble under federal scrutiny.

"The morning papers arrived from New York," Dante said, setting the fruit basket on the counter and pulling a warm espresso from the machine.

"Any news on Sophia?" I asked, wiping my hands on a flour-dusted apron.

"Her appeal was denied yesterday," Dante replied calmly.

"Sentenced to thirty-five years without parole at the federal corrections facility in Pekin. She’ll never see the light of day again."

I took a slow, deep breath, feeling the final lingering knot of fear dissolve entirely from my chest.

"And Vincent?"

Dante paused, his dark eyes softening with a gentle, cautious warmth.

"Vincent stepped down as CEO of the Moretti Group last month. He liquidated eighty percent of his personal assets and transferred the entire endowment into the Claire Bennett Maternal Healthcare Trust in Chicago."

I looked out the window at the endless rows of green grapevines stretching toward the Tuscan hills.

"Where is he now?"

"Living alone in a small cabin near Lake Superior," Dante said softly.

"He doesn't run operations anymore. He doesn't take meetings. He spends his days walking the shoreline and sending anonymous donations to pediatric hospitals."