The Don Prayed for Me, Then Betrayed Me Chapter 02

The Don Prayed for Me, Then Betrayed Me Chapter 02

Her last text had arrived the night before.

[Elena, I’m honestly so jealous of you. A man like Lorenzo’s so reserved and tender, you can tell. My husband’s been acting crazy lately, though. Won’t let me rest at night, no matter how I beg him to slow down. My back’s practically broken.]

A string of bashful giggling emojis sat at the end of the message.

Reading those lines now, my stomach dropped.

The “husband” she’d been complaining about was Lorenzo.

My grip tightened around my phone until black spots swam across my vision.

Years of marriage to Lorenzo, and he’d always been devastatingly restrained in bed, gentle enough it felt like he feared breaking me with every kiss.

Once, I’d bought a black silk nightgown and fumbled through tutorials to learn how to seduce him.

Late that night, cheeks burning, I’d wrapped my arms around him, silently hinting I wanted him to let loose for once.

Lorenzo had only frowned, gently prying my hands off his torso. “Elena,” he’d murmured, “your health’s still fragile. I’m scared I’ll hurt you.”

I’d thought it was devotion back then—love so deep he dared not lose control with me.

I’d been wrong.

All his wildness, his hunger, his rough, breathless desperation belonged solely to Mara.

A bitter, broken laugh bubbled out of me, hot tears splattering across my phone screen.

Minutes later, the doctor knocked again. “Mrs. Vitale, we’ve locked in your surgery slot—nine a.m., three days from now.”

I left the private clinic to a flood of texts from my assistant.

The charity gala hosted annually under my Elena Vitale Foundation banner was due to start any minute.

On the surface, it was a charity fundraiser. Beneath that, it was the Vitales’ most important annual public legitimacy event, drawing representatives from every powerful old-money clan on the East Coast.

I rushed to the venue, and as I passed the VIP private lounge, familiar voices drifted through the half-cracked door.

Someone laughed and teased, “Don Vitale, what made you finally bring Mara back to New York? Aren’t you worried Mrs. Vitale will find out?”

I froze mid-step, peering through the gap.

Lorenzo sat slouched against a dark leather sofa, one arm draped casually over Mara’s shoulders.

He smiled, calm and unrepentant. “Elena would never dream I’d betray her.”

Another voice cut in, curious, “So what exactly are you and Mara, then? You’ve got a five-year-old son together—you can’t keep her hidden forever without any official standing.”

Mara ducked her head, eyes glistening like she’d carried years of quiet heartache.

Lorenzo glanced over at her, his tone softening completely. “That’s why I’m throwing her a private wedding ceremony.”

A hush fell over the lounge.

Mara lifted her gaze, bright with unshed tears.

Lorenzo laced his fingers through hers. “The official Donna title belongs to Elena. Every elite household on the East Coast recognizes her as Mrs. Vitale. She’ll never lose that legal marriage certificate. But Mara will have the chapel blessing up in the mountains, and a formal entry in the Vitale family ledger for

our bloodline. This is just me making amends to her. Nothing will ever take Elena’s place.”

Mara nestled deeper into his chest, voice barely audible. “Lorenzo, I don’t want to hurt Elena. Maybe we should scrap the wedding entirely.”

Lorenzo pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. “You’ve waited five years for this. I owe you this much.”

A guest chuckled, breaking the tense air. “Masterful plan, Don Vitale. One wife for the public face of the family, another for your quiet life up in the mountains.”

Lorenzo only smirked. “I’ll stay by Elena’s side for the majority of the year. Her health’s delicate, and she relies heavily on me emotionally. I’ll only take one month out of every twelve to spend with Mara and our boy. The other eleven months, I’m all Elena’s. She’ll never uncover a thing about our son.”

Those words hung heavy in the air, and a hollow laugh escaped me.

I’d never once doubted the sincerity of his love—until that exact second.

The man who’d once thrown himself in front of nineteen bullets to save me had just shattered my heart with his own bare hands.