He Faked Amnesia To Abandon His Wife

From the back cover

The neurosurgeon looked at me with pity, delivering a diagnosis that severed seven years of devotion in a heartbeat.

According to the scans, my husband, Dante Rizzoli, remembered how to strip a Glock blindfolded and launder millions.

He just didn't remember loving me.

Overnight, I went from being the cherished Mafia Princess to an unwanted stranger in my own penthouse.

While I filled our home with his favorite lilies trying to spark a memory, Dante brought home Gia.

She was loud, tacky, and draped over him like a cheap suit. The Capo had forgotten his wife, but he seemed to remember his lust perfectly fine.

I swallowed the humiliation, clinging to the hope of his recovery, until I stood outside his office door with a tray of espresso.

I heard his dark, amused laugh rumbling through the wood.

"The amnesia is the most useful card I've ever played," Dante told his soldier.

"It buys me time to enjoy Gia without the family breathing down my neck. Elena is a boring, safe relic. I need fire, not a porcelain doll."

My heart didn't race. It stopped.

The medical anomaly was a lie. He hadn't forgotten me; he was just done with me.

I set the tray down silently. I wasn't going to wait for him to remember anymore.

I walked out of the penthouse and dialed a number I hadn't used in years.

"Get the new ID ready," I whispered into the phone.

"Elena Vitiello dies tonight. Livia Moretti leaves at dawn."