The Betrayed Mafia Wife Takes Bloody Revenge Chapter 10
Ten Years
Mason pleaded guilty.
The prosecution did not treat it as premeditated murder.
He had gone to the hotel believing he was picking up his intoxicated wife.
He found her in bed with another man.
Witnesses confirmed the confrontation escalated within seconds.
Rafe had survived long enough for the charge to change.
The final sentence was twelve years.
Eligible for earlier release with good behavior.
Vivian went white when she heard.
“That’s it?”
She cornered me outside the courtroom.
“Twelve years?”
I adjusted my coat.
“What did you expect?”
“He killed someone!”
“Yes.”
“My husband.”
Her mouth snapped shut.
I walked away.
She followed.
“He’ll come after me.”
I stopped.
For the first time, her fear looked real.
Not performative.
Not manipulative.
Real.
“Mason thinks I betrayed him.”
“You did.”
“He’ll never forgive me.”
“Probably not.”
“Elena.”
Her voice broke.
“You have to help me.”
I almost laughed.
“Why?”
“Because this is your fault.”
There it was.
Still.
After everything.
I looked at her.
“Mason’s mother asked me for a victim-impact statement.”
Vivian froze.
“What did you say?”
“I told the truth.”
Her eyes searched mine.
“I said he came there because I called him.”
“I said I never expected what happened.”
“I said I don’t want revenge to destroy another family.”
Hope entered her face.
Then I added:
“And I asked the court not to pursue the harshest possible sentence.”
Her face drained of color.
“You did what?”
“Mason’s mother is seventy.”
“She got on her knees in my office.”
“I didn’t like that.”
Vivian stared at me.
“You helped him.”
“I told the truth.”
“You helped him!”
She grabbed my sleeve.
I looked down at her hand.
She let go.
“If he gets out early…”
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
“He’ll come for me.”
I smiled.
Not much.
Just enough.
“That sounds like something you should discuss with your lawyer.”
Her eyes widened.
“You wanted this.”
I stepped closer.
“No, Vivian.”
“I wanted my husband to come home with me.”
“I gave him a choice.”
“He chose you.”
I walked past her.
Behind me, she shouted:
“You’re a monster!”
Maybe.
Or maybe I had simply stopped volunteering to be prey.