The Mafia Boss Declared His Mistress the Lady of the House—His Pregnant Wife Left Her Keys

Back in Chicago, the executive boardroom of Vitale Global Logistics smelled of cold coffee and suppressed panic.

Alessandro Vitale sat at the head of the black glass table, his fingers steepened, his eyes fixed on Marcus Bennett, his chief legal counsel.

"You haven't found her," Alessandro stated. It wasn't a question.

Marcus adjusted his glasses, swallowing hard. "We swept every Greyhound station between here and Minneapolis, sir. Her credit cards haven't been used since midnight. She’s gone completely off the grid."

"That's impossible," Alessandro slammed his palm against the glass table, making the crystal water pitchers rattle. "A woman who has spent seven years living in a limestone mansion doesn't survive forty-eight hours in a Wisconsin blizzard without help!"

The heavy oak doors of the boardroom swung open.

Valentina Russo walked in, wearing a white silk blouse and a diamond tennis bracelet, her face twisted in a mask of calculated outrage.

"You're tearing the organization apart over a runaway servant," Valentina snapped, resting her hands on the edge of the table. "The New York board is calling every hour demanding to know why the shipping alliance hasn't been ratified. My father is threatening to pull his financial backing if you don't publicly announce our engagement by Friday."

Alessandro slowly stood up from his chair.

He was six-foot-two of lean, disciplined muscle and cold Italian fury.

He walked around the table until he stood directly in front of Valentina.

She didn't flinch—or at least, she tried not to. But the tremor in her lower lip betrayed her.

"Your father's financial backing," Alessandro said softly, his voice dropping into a razor-sharp whisper, "is built on the assumption that I am a man who can control his own house."

"You can't control her!" Valentina hissed. "She’s a nobody from the south side! Let her freeze in the snow! Who cares about an unborn bastard when millions of dollars are—"

Slap.

The sound of Alessandro’s hand striking Valentina’s cheek echoed off the glass walls like a gunshot.

Valentina staggered backward, crashing against the credenza, her hand flying to her reddening cheek, her eyes wide with shock and pure venom.

"You... you hit me?" she whispered.

"If you ever refer to my child as a bastard again," Alessandro said, leaning in so close his breath brushed her ear, "I will feed you to the same dogs I used to clean out the docks in 2020. Do you understand me?"

Valentina shook, tears of humiliation springing to her eyes. "My father will hear about this..."

"Your father will hear that his daughter is an incompetent saboteur," Alessandro interrupted, turning his back on her. "Marcus."

"Sir?"

"Check the federal witness protection logs from five years ago," Alessandro commanded, a sudden, terrifying realization dawning in his gray eyes. "Look for anyone connected to Sara Vance. She was a combat medic before she disappeared."

Marcus’s eyes widened. "Sara Vance? You think she helped Emily escape?"

"Sara hated my father, she hated this family, and she vanished the week we seized the North Side docks," Alessandro said, grabbing his wool coat from the back of his chair. "Find out where Sara's family had property in the Upper Peninsula."

Alessandro walked toward the private elevator.