The Mafia Boss Ignored His Sick Daughter to Sleep With His Ex — Until His Wife Handed Him His Own Phone

The next morning, the sprawling Moretti estate was suffocatingly quiet. The heavy, dark rain lashing against the massive glass windows perfectly mirrored the violent storm brewing inside the house.

At exactly 10:00 AM, the front doors swung open.

Sophia Reynolds strutted into the grand foyer like she already owned the title to the mansion. She was thirty-five, impeccably glamorous, wearing a tailored designer trench coat and holding a ridiculously expensive leather handbag. For months, she had been systematically pulling Vincent away from his marriage, feeding his ego, and playing the intoxicating first love.

She had noticed the missing cars in the driveway. She knew Claire was gone. In Sophia’s twisted mind, she had finally won.

"Vincent, darling?" Sophia called out in a sing-song voice, walking gracefully into the opulent, dark-wood study.

Vincent was sitting in his high-backed leather chair behind the massive mahogany desk. He hadn't changed clothes. He was still wearing the same black shirt from the night before, his sleeves rolled up to expose his dark tattoos. His blue-gray eyes were locked onto the small, three-carat diamond ring resting perfectly in the center of his empty desk.

Sophia smiled, walking up behind him and resting her manicured hands on his broad shoulders.

"I told you she was too dramatic for you, baby," Sophia purred, leaning down to kiss his neck. "She never appreciated the pressure you're under. You need a real woman by your side."

Vincent didn't pull away. He didn't flinch. He just stared at the wedding ring.

"Did you sleep well last night, Sophia?" Vincent asked. His voice was incredibly calm. Too calm.