Fifty billion dollars. My father had wired it to me through three shell companies and a bank in Zurich. It was supposed to fund Tomasso's expansion into the shipping corridors along the northern coast, the deal that would have made the Rossetti syndicate untouchable.
He would never see a cent of it now.
I dug out our marriage certificate, the document that had bound the Valente name to the Rossetti bloodline, and was about to call the family's consigliere when my phone buzzed twice. A message appeared in the group chat Tomasso's inner circle had created to welcome me years ago, back when they still treated me like the Don's wife.
Congrats, sis! The big day's finally here!
Congrats, congrats! It's been a long road! We're heading to the hospital right now to celebrate with you and Tomasso.
I frowned, about to ask if they'd sent this to the wrong person, when a third message appeared.
You idiot, wrong group! This is the FIRST wife's group. The little missus is in the other one! Delete it, quick!
All three messages vanished in seconds.
My fingers tightened around the phone until my knuckles went white.
A dull ache spread through my chest. Then a sharper one twisted low in my belly.