Mrs. Russo’s Last Performance
In the New York underworld, it was an open secret that I was Vincent Russo’s wife in name only.
We had a marriage certificate, but none of the intimacy that was supposed to come with it.
For three years, the women in his bed were a revolving door.
The tabloids were filled with photos of him carousing in Las Vegas with a parade of different women.
The next day, those photos would be the talk of every high-society luncheon.
He never cared about my dignity, convinced I had stolen the place beside him from the woman he truly loved.
The Russo family pitied me, whispering that I was just an unfortunate substitute, a pawn in a marriage alliance.
I never defended myself, only smiling as I covered up his every scandal, playing the part of the perfect Mrs. Russo.
They didn't know I had signed a secret contract with his father, Don Antonio.
If I could just endure these three years, my massive debt would be wiped clean, and the man I loved would finally get the life-saving treatment he needed.