The Mafia Boss’s Mistress Hid in His Wife’s Closet—Then His Wife Came Home Unexpectedly!

My father called his attorney that afternoon.

By sunset, three facts had become painfully clear.

The first was that Roberto’s lawyers had filed several documents naming me as a beneficiary and temporary trustee of a company called Moretti Coastal Holdings.

The second was that the company owned properties worth millions of dollars.

The third was that a series of recent transfers had been authorized using my electronic signature.

“I never approved those payments,” I said.

My father’s attorney, Ms. Harper, turned her laptop toward me.

“Someone used your digital authorization to approve them. We need to establish whether the signature was forged, whether your access credentials were compromised, or whether you were misled into approving something different.”

“I signed paperwork Roberto gave me.”

“That is not the same as authorizing these transfers.”

I stared at the figures on the screen. Money had moved from the company account into several smaller accounts over six months. The last transfer was scheduled for the following morning.

The total was more than enough to buy my parents’ house a hundred times over.

It was also enough to make me a convenient scapegoat.

“Why would he put my name on this?” I asked.

Ms. Harper closed the laptop.

“That is what we need to determine before anyone makes accusations.”

My father looked toward the window.

“Roberto has powerful friends. We should be careful.”

“I spent four years being careful,” I replied. “It didn’t protect me.”

At seven that evening, a black SUV stopped outside the house.

My father went to the door. Roberto stood on the porch alone, his overcoat open, his expression controlled.

He did not look like a man who had come to apologize.

He looked like a man accustomed to being obeyed.

“I need to speak to my wife,” he said.

“I’m not his wife anymore,” I called from the hallway.

Roberto’s eyes found mine.

“You can’t end a marriage with a text message.”

“I can begin ending one.”

“Please,” he said, looking toward my parents. “Give us five minutes.”

My father refused.

Roberto did not argue. He took a step back and removed a folded document from his coat.

“I brought the paperwork you signed. The originals are at my office. I can show you everything.”

“Why didn’t you show me before?”

“Because I believed I could resolve the problem without involving you.”

“What problem?”

He looked at Ms. Harper, who had appeared behind me.

“This is a family matter.”

“It stopped being a family matter when my client’s signature was used to move millions of dollars,” she said.

Roberto’s jaw tightened.

“Elena, Bianca is not what you think.”

I laughed once, without humor.

“Is she your mistress or your accountant? Because at this point, I’m willing to consider either.”

He flinched.

For a moment, I saw the man who had held me through my mother’s illness. Then the expression vanished beneath the familiar armor.

“Bianca came to me because she had information about an internal theft. She was frightened. I let her stay at the house while I tried to identify who was responsible.”

“In my wardrobe?”

“That was her decision.”

“And the dinner?”

“I was trying to get her to tell me where the missing ledger was.”

“Then why did you defend her when she accused me of attacking her?”

Roberto looked down.

“I made a mistake.”

“You made several.”

He stepped closer, but my father moved between us.

Roberto stopped.

“I’m trying to keep you safe.”

“Then stop using my name to hide your secrets.”