The Trophy Husband Who Lost Everything

The Cullinan I'd just had delivered lasted less than a day in the hands of Salvatore Vitale's little courier before she folded the front end into scrap. Totaled.

That made three cars this month.

I dropped the photos of the wreck onto the desk and looked coldly at Carmela Russo, hunched in the corner.

"I let the first two slide. This one didn't even have its papers squared away yet. So tell me—how exactly do you plan to pay for it?"

Her shoulders jerked, and the tears came at once.

"Donna Vitale, I'm so sorry... I really didn't mean to. I'll pay you back even if I have to sell everything I own."

She wept so prettily that anyone walking in might have thought she was the wronged party.

The next second, Salvatore, who'd been standing beside her the whole time, suddenly stepped in and pulled her behind him.

He frowned at me, his voice thick with impatience.

"Adriana Falcone, was that really necessary?"

"It's just a car. Why are you scaring a young girl like this?"

He drew a black card straight from his wallet and tossed it onto the desk—the tribute line, drawn against money he'd never once asked where it came from.

"I'll cover it for her."

The office went silent.

Carmela huddled behind Salvatore, eyes red, the very picture of someone in need of protection.

And I, the lawful wife, somehow came off as the one closing in for the kill.

I tugged at the corner of my mouth and reached for the card.

But the instant my fingers touched its edge, Carmela lunged forward and slapped it out of my hand onto the floor.

"Donna Vitale, every cent you spend is money the Boss earned. How do you still have the nerve to keep taking his money?"

Her answer came a half-second too fast, the smile widening just enough to give her away.

The black card skidded a long way across the floor.

My hand stopped.

Salvatore didn't reproach her. He laughed softly instead.

"That's her for you. Never satisfied. Greedy to the bone."

I looked down at the tribute line lying on the floor, and then I laughed too.

So that was it.

In their eyes, I was spending Salvatore's money.

But they seemed to have forgotten something.

Every card Salvatore touched drew on a credit line out of the Falcone vault.

Everything the Vitale name had enjoyed over the years was built on Falcone money—the men, the fronts, the borrowed crown he wore.

A Boss who stops listening should be replaced before it's too late.

Wait for him to come around?

That would be the most laughable thing of all.

I didn't waste another glance on the two of them. I turned and walked out the door.

My heels struck the floor, crisp and cold.

The moment the elevator doors closed, I called my right-hand man.

"Get word to the men who handle the books."

"Effective immediately, kill every card, every line, every cent of credit the Falcone vault carries for anyone bearing the Vitale name."

...

That afternoon, the dealership called out of nowhere.

"Ms. Falcone, the damage to your Cullinan is extremely severe. The repair cost is already close to the value of the car. We'd recommend writing it off entirely."

I went still for a moment.

"What?"

The man on the line clearly hesitated too.

"Your husband had it towed in and said the charges should go on your account. The situation seemed unusual, so I wanted to confirm with you personally."

I hung up and had a car brought around to take me straight to the dealership.

Even so, the sight of that Cullinan was a knife to the eyes.

The front end was almost completely crushed, the hood peeled back, the windshield shattered into a web. The whole car looked like it had just been dragged off the scene of a major wreck.

And I'd only taken delivery the week before.

The newest Cullinan.

Understated, solid, gleaming black.

I'd waited a full three months to get it.

I'd driven it exactly once.

Now it was a pile of scrap.

I didn't need to guess who'd done it.

The moment I left the dealership, I had the driver turn around and take me to the Vitale offices.

The whole way, a fire sat pressing against my chest.

This wasn't the first time.

Two weeks ago, Salvatore had taken my SUV to let Carmela practice driving. In under a day she'd hit a roadside tree and totaled it on the spot.

Last week, he'd lent her my Bentley, and she'd put it straight into a river. The car sank to the bottom and the salvage still wasn't finished.

Now, the third time.

She'd flat-out wrecked my Cullinan.

Three cars in a month.

Even someone deliberately taking cars apart couldn't keep up that pace.

The elevator doors opened, and I walked straight to the Boss's office in my heels.

The door banged as I shoved it open.

The two people inside looked up at once.

Salvatore and Carmela were leaning together over the same arrangement, shoulders nearly touching.

At the noise, Carmela sprang back like a startled rabbit, the smile not quite wiped from her face yet.

"Donna Vitale."

She frowned and complained under her breath.

"You really should knock before walking into the Boss's office."

I didn't even look at her.

My eyes went straight to Salvatore.

"My Cullinan. You took it out again to let Carmela practice driving, didn't you?"

Salvatore looked as if he'd seen this coming. Not a flicker of surprise.

He leaned back in his chair, his tone almost weary.

"Honey, do you really need to blow up like this?"

"It's just a car."

That made me laugh.

"Just a car?"

"Two weeks ago, you handed her my SUV to practice with, and in under a day she'd wrapped it around a tree."

"Last week, you lent her my Bentley, and she drove it straight into a river."

"And now you've given her the Cullinan I just took delivery of."

"Three cars in a month."

"Every car totaled, and not a scratch on her."

I stared at Carmela, spacing out each word.

"I have every reason to suspect she's doing it on purpose."

Carmela's eyes went red in an instant.

As though she'd suffered some terrible injustice.

Salvatore's face darkened too.

"Adriana, don't talk nonsense."

"Carmela only got her license recently. Isn't it normal for her to drive badly?"

"And precisely because she's not good at it, she needs more practice."

He paused, then added,

"You can't suspect her of staging accidents on purpose just because the cars got wrecked and she came out fine, can you?"

"Besides, isn't it a good thing she's unhurt?"

"It just means Carmela's blessed with good fortune."

I let out a cold laugh.

"She's lucky, all right."

"Three major accidents, and she walks away clean every time."

"With luck like that, she'd have more than enough to win the lottery."

The office fell silent.

I looked at Salvatore, my eyes turning cold by degrees.

"When the first two cars were wrecked, I told you plainly."

"If she wants to practice, she can buy her own car for it, or use one of the family's."

"But she does not touch mine."

"And what did you do?"

"Let everything I said go in one ear and out the other."

"Now you've handed her the brand-new car I just took delivery of, to wreck like the rest."

I took a step forward and held his gaze. Beneath the desk, my thumb found my wedding ring and turned it a quarter-turn.

"Salvatore."

"Before you lent my car to someone else, did you ask me—the owner?"

The question stopped him short.

But a second later, that careless smile was back on his face, and he reached out to clap a hand on Carmela's shoulder, gripping a beat too long.

As if, to him, all of it was nothing worth bothering about.