He Replaced His Wife And Lost His Mafia Empire Chapter 01
At the Moretti family’s annual portrait, my husband, Dominic, had his executive assistant sit in the wife’s seat.
She managed his tribute lists, and she could relay his orders using his private seal. Tonight, she was even wearing the pearl necklace reserved for the lady of the house. Her left arm was linked through Dominic’s, and her right hand rested on his grandmother’s arm.
And me—his wife of five years—Dominic had ordered out of the shot to straighten their hems.
“It’s her first winter dinner with the family,” he’d warned me. “Don’t embarrass her.”
Around the long table sat Moretti family captains and representatives from allied families. They were all waiting for me to lose control, just like I always did.
For the past five years, Dominic had picked a different woman to take my place at the family’s most private gatherings.
He said it was to teach me how to be a quiet, obedient wife. To the people at that table, it was also his annual public reminder of one thing: the wife from the Costa family was useful, but she would never share his power.
What he didn’t know was that the five-year agreement between my brother, Miles, and me had just expired.
If Dominic gave the wife’s seat to someone else a fifth time, I had to return to California—and never look back.
So I didn’t fight for the necklace.
I simply stepped out of the frame, set the twelve keys and two ledgers I had managed for the Moretti family for five years on the table, and sent my brother a message.
*You win.*
*Come take me home.*
……
The photographer still hadn’t pressed the shutter.
He looked at me, then at the woman seated beside Dominic, uncertain whose orders to follow.
In previous years, there had always been three chairs in the center for the annual portrait.
Margaret always sat in the middle, with Dominic and me on either side. It wasn’t just a photograph. It would be sent out with the annual gift list to captains and allied families, telling them who could field requests and arrange meetings on the boss’s behalf in the coming year. It also told everyone who was still under the protection of the Moretti family.
This year, a different place card sat where mine should have been.
Sloane.
She wore a silver-gray evening gown. The pearl necklace at her throat was one Margaret had worn at her own wedding. Five years ago, when I married Dominic, Margaret had told me that once I truly learned to obey the family’s rules, she would give that necklace to me.
Now, she wouldn’t even look at me.
Sloane gave me an apologetic smile.
“Evelyn, I was going to stand in the back. But Dominic insisted. He said I saved him so much trouble with this year’s tribute lists that I deserved a seat.”
“It’s fine.”
I walked over to her and pulled her skirt free from where it was caught under the chair leg.
A low murmur rippled through the banquet hall.
Everyone in that room knew how I’d reacted to the other women.
The first year, Dominic brought a model to the winter dinner. I smashed the wineglass in front of her.
The second year, he moved a lender’s daughter into our reserved guest room. I’d stopped their car in a snowstorm, crying, demanding to know why the boss’s wife was barred from the family estate on Lake Geneva.
The third year. The fourth year. Each time, I made an even bigger spectacle of myself.
And with each spectacle, Dominic seemed to savor his victory more.
As long as I lost control in public, he could prove to his captains that I was nothing more than a jealous wife, unfit to touch the books or hold a seat at their core meetings.
Afterward, he would give me jewelry or a new car. “If you learn to follow the rules,” he’d say, “maybe that seat will be yours next year.”
Now, I straightened Sloane’s dress with my own hands, then stepped out of the frame.
At last, Dominic frowned.
“What game are you playing now?” he asked, his voice low.
“No game.”
I motioned for the photographer to continue.
“If this is the Moretti family portrait you want, I won’t be in the way.”
Sloane’s fingers brushed the necklace at her throat.
“Evelyn, you’re not going to get upset over one picture, are you?”
“Of course not.”
I took a ring of keys from my pocket and set it on the long table nearby.
The old house, the Chicago apartment, two warehouses, and the underground vault. Twelve keys in all.
For the past five years, they had been in my care. Who could enter the old house, which captain’s family would receive assistance, what gift should be sent to which ally—everything passed through my hands.
“Since you’re representing the Moretti family today,” I said, “these should be yours as well.”
Sloane’s smile froze.
Dominic shot to his feet.
“Evelyn Costa, that’s enough.”
“Take the picture,” I said to the photographer, without looking at Dominic.
The flash went off.
In the picture, everyone sat where they had chosen to sit.
I wasn’t in it.
After the portrait, the head of external relations brought over the draft for the annual greeting cards.
For the past five years, I had always signed them. They were sent out with gifts to relatives, friends, business partners, and those under the protection of the Moretti family. My signature was the family’s guarantee that those relationships remained under our protection for the coming year.
This year, Dominic handed the cards to Sloane in front of me.
“You sign for me.”
Sloane took the pen and hesitated, glancing at me.
But Dominic just said, “If Evelyn doesn’t want to be in the portrait, then we won’t force her to represent the family.”
At last, she wrote her own name where mine had always gone.
People around us were already changing the way they addressed her, calling her the hostess of the evening.
Sloane didn’t correct them.
Neither did Dominic.
Being replaced was never just about a single chair.
They were making it clear who the woman at the boss’s side was now—the one who could relay his orders, while I was the one whose door no longer required a knock.
I took out my phone, canceled the charity breakfast I was scheduled to host the next day, and withdrew my signature from the guest list.
If the greeting cards, the portrait, and the hostess had all been replaced, then Sloane could be the one to receive those guests herself.