Matteo Bellandi Buried the Wrong Woman

For five years, I let my husband’s mistress take whatever she wanted. My birthday. His time. His attention. The tenderness that used to belong to me. I even told myself I could survive watching my own son choose her over me, because a damaged family still had to be better than none at all. It wasn’t. This year, my husband took his mistress away for their birthday trip, and my son ran straight into her arms and called her Mom. That was the moment I finally understood something I should have learned five years ago: no matter how much of myself I gave to that family, I would never be the one they chose. So I filed for divorce. None of them believed I could really walk away. My husband thought I was bluffing. His mistress thought she had won. My son did not even look back. None of them believed I could really walk away. Then a call came from overseas: Matteo Bellandi’s wife was dead. This time, I left them with nothing but my ashes. Chapter 1 At dinner, my son swung his legs under the table and asked, “Mom, are you celebrating early again this year?” Matteo Bellandi did not even look up from his plate. “Not this year. Sofia’s turning twenty-five, and I promised to take her to Malta for diving lessons. I’ve got to go with her these next few days.” For five years in a row, I had stepped aside and let that woman have the day. Leo lit up at once. “I want to go too! Dad, can you take me with you?” Matteo nodded, then looked at me. “Elena, text me your birthday wish. Whatever you want, I’ll make it happen.” I looked at him and suddenly felt too tired to keep pretending this was still a family dinner. While I cleared the table, Matteo leaned against the kitchen island and called Sofia. “Leo wants to come too. That gonna be a problem?” Her laugh came through the speaker, sweet and sticky. “What, if I say yes, you’re not coming? Or were you planning to get up to something bad?” Matteo chuckled and flicked the silver mug rack I had put up that morning. “Something bad, huh? Keep talking. See what happens when I get there.” While they flirted back and forth, I lowered my eyes to Leo, who was sitting on the rug with his tablet. “So you really want to go? You’re not staying to celebrate my birthday?” He did not even glance up. “Going with Dad and Aunt Sofia is way more fun.” I did not ask again. I went back to the bedroom and started packing their clothes one piece at a time. When I folded the third shirt, I remembered the first time Matteo took me out of the city at eighteen. Back then, he was still running errands for the family, still broke, still trying to act bigger than he was. He had borrowed a beat-up car from one of his cousins and driven me three hours out to the coast with barely enough cash for gas, cheap motel sheets, and greasy diner food. I had complained the whole drive back, half because I was tired and half because he had spent too much on a silver ring from a roadside pawn shop. Matteo had only laughed, pulled me against his side, and said, “One day I’ll have enough to buy you anything you want.” Back then, I had really believed he would stay by my side for life. Later, I found the messages between him and Sofia. Flirty and dirty enough that I threw his phone and demanded a divorce. The man everybody in the city called ruthless had gone down on one knee in our bedroom and apologized until his voice turned hoarse. “Elena, I’ll deal with her.” Not long after that, Matteo stopped bothering with secrecy. He brought Sofia to a family dinner at the estate, kept her on his arm in front of his mother and the men loyal to him, and let everyone there see exactly where he meant to place her. By the time he turned to me, she was no longer being treated like a passing affair, but like a woman he had every intention of keeping. Then he looked me dead in the eye and said, calm as ever, “I know how to keep my marriage separate from everything else. Nothing outside this house will touch your life.” That night, I smashed the custom mugs we had ordered when we got married. But the next morning, I looked at Leo asleep in his crib and swallowed the humiliation whole. I told myself that as long as I stayed, I would still be Mrs. Bellandi, and Leo would still grow up in a complete family. Now I knew better. The only person left standing still was me. My thoughts were cut off by a shriek. Leo stormed into the bedroom and threw the jackets I had packed onto the bed. “I’m not bringing these. They’re ugly.” I crouched down and smoothed one sleeve flat. “It gets windy by the water. Your allergies will act up. You need something warmer.” “I don’t want them!” he wailed. “Aunt Sofia will buy me new stuff!” Matteo came in at the sound of it, lazy as ever. “Forget it. Malta’s hot this week. He won’t wear any of that. Tomorrow I’ll take him and Sofia shopping.” Just like that, everything I had spent half the evening doing meant nothing. I looked at the two boxes of allergy medicine I had packed ahead of time and decided I was done reminding him of anything. When I took Leo to class the next day, he spent the whole walk bragging about how he was going to Malta to dive. One of the other boys asked, “Is your mom going too?” Leo let go of my hand and corrected him with all the seriousness in the world. “Not this mom. The other one. She’s prettier. And younger.” Chapter 2 When class ended, Leo was the first one through the school doors. A black armored SUV was waiting at the curb, one of Matteo's men at the wheel and another up front. In the back, Sofia sat in a cream dress and heels, polished enough for a gala, not a school pickup. Leo ran straight to the open door. "Mom!" Sofia laughed and pulled him into her arms without hesitation. Then she looked at me over his head, pleased with herself. Matteo was beside her, one arm stretched along the leather behind her shoulders. "Twenty-five and already playing lady of the house?" Sofia arched a brow. "If you don't like it, I can always let someone else spoil me." Matteo caught her wrist and tugged her closer. "Try it." Their laughter followed me into the rain. At the corner, a sedan from the estate rolled up beside me, all dark glass and quiet obedience. Usually I would have gotten in. This time I kept walking. I was too humiliated to let one of Matteo's drivers carry me neatly back into his world. Rainwater slid over my phone as I tried to unlock it. Right then, Matteo called. "Why haven't you been picking up?" he snapped. "It's pouring. I was just--" "Doesn't matter. Leo's not coming back to the estate tonight. Sofia's taking him to Bellucci's." Bellucci's was one of Matteo's restaurants, the kind with a private room upstairs where family business got done behind closed doors. Then Leo shouted into the phone, thrilled. "Tell Chef Marco not to make that boring healthy plate for me. I'm having truffle fries and steak." Sofia laughed in the background. "See? I told you. He's a kid. Let him enjoy himself." And Matteo laughed with her. "At this rate, you'll have the whole house listening to you." Then Leo asked in a much smaller voice, "Mom won't be mad, will she?" When the call ended, my fingers closed around two coins in my pocket. A week earlier, Matteo had asked for roasted chestnuts from an old man outside Leo's school. The vendor only took cash. I had gone out of my way to get some for him. He forgot the bag on the dining table, and I was the one left cleaning up the grease. That was what loving him had become. I was always the one wiping up what he left behind. I did not go back to the estate. I went to a lawyer. By the time Matteo carried a sleeping Leo through the front doors that night, I was waiting in the sitting room with a folder on the table. "I want a divorce," I said. That stopped him cold. "You're serious?" he asked. "Over a birthday?" "Not one birthday. Five. Five years of being told to step aside while you handed my place to someone else." He dropped into the armchair opposite me and flipped open the folder without really seeing it. "Sofia is young. She needs more attention. That doesn't change what you are in this house." "What am I, Matteo?" His gaze lifted, cool and impatient. "You're my wife. You have my name, my home, my protection. Why are you still fighting a girl for rank when nobody is taking your seat?" Chapter 3 I was too tired to raise my voice. "This is not about Sofia. I just don't want this marriage anymore." The crystal tumbler in Matteo's hand struck the table hard enough to crack. "You lived with this for five years, so what changed tonight?" He stared at me, then stood and reached for his coat. "We leave tomorrow, and I'm not doing this tonight." The next morning, I still saw them before they left. Not at a commercial airport, but at the private terminal Matteo used whenever he traveled with men, money, or secrets. Security moved luggage while the crew fueled the jet. Sofia stood near the stairs in a fitted coat and dark glasses, one hand resting on a silver case of dive gear Matteo had bought for her. The second she saw me, she smiled. "You know he came to my suite after midnight?" she asked lightly. "Said I shouldn't sleep alone before a flight. Did you two fight?" "Then maybe you should keep him," I said, nudging Leo toward her. "Sounds like that's what you want." She took it as surrender and looked delighted. Matteo came back from speaking to one of his men, took Sofia's hand, and glanced at me. "Send me your birthday wish," he said. "If it can be done, I'll make it happen." But Leo was already pulling Sofia toward the jet. The three of them crossed the tarmac like a family I had no place in. By the time I got home, I was burning with fever. Half asleep, I dreamed of Matteo at twenty in our first apartment kitchen, testing the temperature of my medicine against his mouth before handing it to me. "Elena," he said in the dream, "be good. Take it." When I woke, my phone was vibrating. "Why didn't you pack Leo's allergy medicine?" Matteo demanded. "You know the salt air sets him off." "Yesterday, you said I didn't need to pack anything." There was a pause, then his irritation rushed back. "Fine. Text me the name. You always manage to make things harder at the worst time." When the call ended, I looked at the screen for a long time and finally let myself cry. That was the moment it truly ended for me. I sat down with my lawyer that afternoon and listed every account, property, holding company, and investment tied to our marriage. I did not ask for Leo's custody. Cruel as it was, my son had already chosen his side. I asked for one thing only. Matteo was not to have children with any other woman. He had promised me that once, back when he first swore there would never be another heir to challenge Leo. Before I left, I went to the Bellandi estate to see his mother. When my parents died, she was the first person who had ever made me feel cared for in someone else’s home. But when I stepped into the living room, she was on a video call with Malta. Chapter 4 Mrs. Bellandi was smiling at the screen as if she were looking at something perfectly ordinary. "Sofia is still young," she said. "Girls her age are not built for a life like ours. Be patient with her." Matteo ruffled Sofia's hair with open fondness. "She's got a temper. One wrong look and she starts a war." "Then don't cross her," his mother said, amused. "Sofia, sweetheart, eat a little more. You're far too thin." I was still standing by the foyer, damp from the rain, bag in hand. I had not even taken off my shoes. So that was the truth of it. Matteo had not run out of tenderness. He had simply given it to someone else, and his mother had made room for her. Mrs. Bellandi finally noticed me. "Elena. You're here." "Just passing through," I said. "Don't worry about me. I'm leaving." It was raining again when I stepped outside. I walked to the old park by the university because some wounds insist on being opened where they began. Once, beneath those trees, Matteo had kissed me and promised he would never leave unless I asked him to. At midnight, I sent the divorce agreement to his phone. I added one line beneath it: This is my birthday wish. His call came almost immediately. "Have you lost your mind?" he snarled. "Sofia nearly drowned off the yacht. I looked at your damn message for one second and that's when I missed her going under. She's at the marina clinic now." My fingers went cold around the phone. "Get here," he said. "Until she's out of danger, you don't get to disappear on me." I booked the first flight I could and landed in Malta after dawn. The clinic was private, discreet, and expensive, the kind of place men like Matteo used when they wanted the best care and the fewest questions. The first person to reach me was Leo. "Bad Mom!" he cried, hitting my arm with both fists. "This is your fault! You hurt Mommy Sofia!" I let him hit me and looked past him into the room. Matteo had clearly not slept. His shirt was wrinkled, his eyes hollow, and when Sofia shifted in the bed, he leaned in at once and held a glass to her lips. "Slowly," he murmured. "Don't make yourself sick." Sofia gave me a weak little smile. "Elena. You really came. We were diving off the yacht, and I panicked when I couldn't feel the bottom. I guess I still don't know how to let go of him." Matteo closed his hand around hers. "Then don't." Right then, the doctor walked in with her chart. "Miss Sofia, your bloodwork is back. You're about six weeks pregnant." The room went silent. Sofia stared, then broke into breathless laughter. Matteo's whole face changed with relief and wonder. "No," I said before I realized I had spoken. "You promised me there would never be another child tied to your name." Chapter 5 Matteo's expression turned to stone. He caught my arm and dragged me into the corridor before I could say another word. "Who the hell do you think you are?" he asked. "Coming in here and talking about my child?" "Your child?" I yanked my arm free. "You promised Leo would be your only heir. The Bellandi name, your seat, the business - all of it was supposed to go to him." He gave a short, humorless laugh. "Leo is my son. So is the baby Sofia is carrying, if it's a boy. If it's a girl, she's still mine. What exactly are you trying to argue?" "You really think that ends well?" I asked. "Today it's me you're pushing aside for Sofia. Tomorrow it will be Leo paying the price for that baby. Tell her to end it now." The slap landed so hard my head snapped to the side. When I looked back at him, Matteo's face was cold and unfamiliar. "No one speaks about her that way," he said. "No one speaks about my child that way." I pressed my hand to my cheek and stared at him. This was the man who had once stayed awake through thirty hours of labor with me and looked more terrified than I was. Now he had hit me for another woman. "Matteo," I said quietly. "It's my birthday too. You said you'd give me anything I wanted." His eyes flashed with disgust. "All I know is that today is Sofia's birthday. I don't have time for your drama, Elena. Get out. You're the last person I want to see." The door behind him opened. Leo stood there with his father's expression on his face. "Go away!" he shouted. "Nobody wants you here!" I looked at the two of them - the man I had loved half my life and the child I had nearly died bringing into it - and found that something inside me had finally gone still. "Fine," I said. Then I smiled at Matteo, and there was nothing soft left in it. "Remember you said that." I had meant to go straight to the airport after I left the clinic, but I had come to Malta in such a rush that all I had brought was my passport, my phone, and an overnight bag. My wallet and cards were still locked in the villa safe. By the time I reached the terminal, fever was crawling through me so hard I could barely stay upright. I collapsed before I made it through security. When I came to, I was on a narrow bed outside an emergency room. A nurse was holding my phone. "The only emergency contact listed is your husband," she said. "He isn't answering." The doctor beside her looked grim. "You have signs of severe myocarditis. You need to be admitted now. We need a deposit before we can move you upstairs." That was when a young man on crutches stopped beside the bed and reached for his wallet. "Use my card," he said. "Start treatment first." His name was Ethan. He was studying abroad, recovering from a scooter accident, and had no reason to help me except that he could. I spent the next several days in intensive care, alive by degrees. When the worst of it passed, one of the nurses brought me my charged phone. There was only one message from Matteo. Unless you're dying, don't contact me again. I stared at it for a long time, then laughed. The cruel joke was that I really had almost died, and he still had not answered. When Ethan came by to check on me, he caught that laugh and raised a brow. "What's funny?" "Nothing," I said, turning the phone face down. "I just realized some men deserve to regret a woman for the rest of their lives." Before Ethan flew home, he left the hospital receipts on my bedside table and told me not to worry about the difference. After he left, I found the nurse who had taken the best care of me. "I need a favor," I said. "Call this number and tell him his wife died in Malta." It was a foreign country. The paperwork was messy, the clinic had already transferred me once, and the airport records were chaos after the storm. A lie like that only had to hold long enough. By the time Matteo came looking, all he would find was a death notice, a name, and ashes.