Chapter 1 - THE WIFE HE NEVER CHOSE
The night before our fifth wedding anniversary, my husband canceled our romantic trip to Switzerland because his first love was having another “emotional crisis.” He kissed my forehead, told me to enjoy a vacation alone, and drove straight to her penthouse. What he didn’t know was that I was five weeks pregnant—and by the time he realized I was leaving him, Chicago’s most feared Mafia boss was running through a hospital trying to find a wife who had already chosen a different future.
My name is Emily Carter Moretti. I was thirty years old, a cardiothoracic surgeon, and for five years I had been married to Vincent Moretti, the powerful head of one of Chicago’s most feared crime families.
There was only one person who could make Vincent abandon everything.
Sophia Bennett.
His childhood sweetheart.
Whenever Sophia cried, Vincent answered. Whenever she needed him, he went running. And whenever I needed my husband, somehow there was always a reason I had to wait.
The night before our anniversary, I was packing for Switzerland when Vincent entered our bedroom.
“Emily, we need to postpone the trip.”
I froze.
“Why?”
“Sophia isn’t doing well. She shouldn’t be alone right now.”
My hand instinctively moved toward my stomach.
Five days earlier, I had learned I was pregnant.
Inside my suitcase was a tiny ivory box containing white baby shoes and a card that read:
Happy fifth anniversary, Daddy. See you in eight months.
I had imagined giving it to Vincent over dinner in Switzerland.
Instead, he was choosing Sophia.
Again.
“I arranged Aspen for you,” he said. “Go relax. We’ll celebrate later.”
For one painful second, I almost told him about the baby.
Maybe he would stay.
Then Sophia’s name lit up his phone, and Vincent glanced at it immediately.
That was when I realized I didn’t want my child to become the reason I had to beg my husband to choose me.
“All right,” I whispered. “Go take care of her.”
Relief crossed his face.
He kissed my forehead.
“I knew you’d understand.”
After his SUV disappeared beyond our gates, I canceled Switzerland.
Then I called my best friend.
“I’m divorcing him.”
After that, I accepted a senior cardiac surgery position in Paris that I had previously rejected because Vincent didn’t want his wife living overseas.
I also contacted an attorney.
Vincent knew none of it.
The next day, he texted me that Sophia had a difficult night.
Then she posted a photograph online.
Two bowls on a marble table.
Vincent’s hand peeling shrimp.
The silver watch I had bought him.
Her caption read:
Someone always makes sure I’m treated like a princess.
I stared at the photo, one hand resting over the life growing inside me.
Then I blocked her.
On my final hospital shift, Vincent suddenly appeared in my office.
With Sophia.
She claimed she had chest pain. I professionally ordered tests, but Vincent accused me of being cold.
“You’re angry because I stayed with her,” he snapped.
“I’m doing my job.”
Sophia began crying.
Vincent wrapped an arm around her and led her away.
Before leaving, he looked back.
“I can’t believe how cold you’ve become.”
I met his eyes.
“Then perhaps you never knew me.”
Minutes later, my department chair crossed paths with Vincent.
“I should congratulate you on Emily’s Paris appointment.”
Vincent stopped dead.
“What appointment?”
“She leaves tomorrow.”
Then came the second blow.
“She mentioned she’s preparing for a divorce.”
Vincent’s face drained of color.
He abandoned Sophia in the hallway and ran back toward my department.
“Emily!”
But my office was already empty.
My coat was gone.
My photographs were gone.
My nameplate had been removed.
He called me repeatedly.
I watched his name light up my phone from the back seat of a car.
I didn’t answer.
Instead, I opened the ivory box in my handbag and touched the tiny white baby shoes.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” I whispered, resting my other hand over my stomach. “Mommy’s going to be okay.”
Tomorrow, I would be flying to Paris.
And Vincent still had no idea he wasn’t only losing his wife.
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He was about to discover I was carrying his child.
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