My Mafia Husband Used His Influence to Bury a Doctor's Report — But His Ex-Lover and My Hidden Ledger Were Waiting
Carmen sat in a dimly lit booth at “The Raven,” a bar that served as an unofficial hub for low-level information exchange, the clinking of glasses and murmur of voices a familiar backdrop. She nursed a lukewarm beer, her eyes scanning the faces around her. She needed to verify Amelia’s claims, to find independent corroboration for the ledger’s damning entries. Her own past with Vincent, her tainted reputation, meant her word alone wouldn’t be enough for Giovanni Rossi. She needed solid proof.
She spotted Marco, an old associate, leaning against the bar, laughing too loudly at a joke. Marco owed her a favor from years ago, a small debt he’d likely forgotten. Carmen pushed herself up and walked over, a practiced nonchalance in her stride.
“Marco,” she said, her voice low. “Time to collect.”
Marco’s boisterous laughter died in his throat. He turned, his eyes widening slightly as he recognized her. “Carmen? What are you doing here? Haven’t seen you in years.” His gaze darted around, betraying a flicker of unease.
“Just tying up loose ends,” Carmen replied, cutting straight to the point. “I need some information. About Vincent DeMarco. Specifically, about a few of his old side deals, some money movements from around 2018 to 2020. Anything you might remember about Shadow Holdings or any Falcone Crew contracts.”
Marco’s jovial expression instantly vanished, replaced by a guarded blankness. He took a long swig of his drink, his eyes unreadable. “Vincent DeMarco? Why would you be asking about him? That’s old news, Carmen. And dangerous news.”
“Just curious,” Carmen pressed, a hint of steel in her voice. “There were some rumors back then, about him skimming, redirecting funds. I just want to know if there was any truth to them.”
Marco shook his head, looking genuinely perplexed. “Rumors? Nah. Vincent was always clean, by the book, at least on anything major. Any whispers you heard were probably just disgruntled rivals trying to stir trouble. You know how it is.” He even managed a dismissive shrug, as if the idea was absurd.
Carmen frowned. This wasn’t the reaction she expected. Marco had been privy to a lot of under-the-table dealings back in the day. He should remember something, even a vague detail. His denial was too complete, too polished. “What about those Falcone contracts? The construction deals?”
Marco scoffed. “The Falcones? Vincent hated those guys. He’d never do business with them. Always loyal to Gio.” He looked at her with an expression that bordered on pity. “Look, Carmen, you’ve been out of the game too long. Maybe your memory is playing tricks on you. Vincent’s a made man now, close to Gio. You shouldn’t be asking questions like this.” He conspicuously looked away, signalling the conversation was over. His reaction wasn’t just evasive; it was a carefully constructed denial, as if any past records had been scrubbed from his memory, or perhaps, from the collective memory of their circle.
Carmen walked away from Marco, a cold dread creeping through her. His response was too quick, too rehearsed. It was more than just fear of Vincent; it was a denial of history itself. She tried another old contact, a woman named Lena who used to handle some of the more discreet ledger entries for various crews. Lena met her in a quiet coffee shop, her face immediately tightening when Carmen mentioned Vincent.
“Vincent DeMarco?” Lena whispered, her eyes darting nervously around the cafe. “I don’t have anything on him. Never did. He kept everything extremely tight. Any old records linking him to anything… questionable… they all vanished years ago.” Lena paused, then leaned forward, her voice dropping even lower. “Honestly, Carmen, you’re better off not digging. He’s got a reputation for making sure loose ends are tied up. Permanently.” Lena’s hands trembled slightly as she stirred her coffee, a clear sign of her fear.
The conversation with Lena offered another chilling confirmation. Vincent hadn’t just covered his tracks; he had meticulously erased them. Any record, any whisper, any paper trail that could link him to illicit activities or disloyal dealings had been systematically wiped clean. He had played the long game, carefully constructing an impenetrable wall of plausible deniability. This was more than just a cover-up; it was an act of historical revision.
Carmen felt a profound sense of despair. Amelia’s ledger was meticulous, yes, but without any external corroboration, it could easily be dismissed as the rantings of a “mentally unstable” wife, amplified by a “vengeful ex-lover.” Vincent had clearly anticipated this, systematically removing any trace that could support such claims. He had built his clean image over years, discrediting anyone who might challenge it. Carmen realized her own tainted reputation, combined with the lack of external evidence, would make her an entirely unreliable witness in the eyes of Giovanni Rossi. She would simply be another discarded woman, trying to drag down a respected capo with flimsy accusations.
She needed something more, something undeniable, something that Vincent couldn’t erase or discredit. She needed a piece of evidence that was so fresh, so direct, that it couldn’t be denied or spun away by his charm and influence. The ledger, as powerful as it was, only provided the historical context. What she needed now was a live connection, a current, undeniable proof of his true nature and his ongoing betrayals. A new, specific incident, perhaps.
Carmen returned to her apartment, the ledger spread across her kitchen table. The precise handwriting, the damning figures, the chilling accounts of abuse – they screamed truth. Yet, the underworld operated on a different currency: power and unquestionable proof. She knew that without something more, something beyond Amelia’s written words, Gio Rossi would simply dismiss her. She would become collateral damage, another casualty in Vincent’s relentless climb to power. The weight of Amelia’s trust, the implicit plea for justice in her note, pressed down on Carmen. She felt a desperate urgency, knowing that Amelia’s life hung in the balance, and her own attempts to verify the past had just exposed the true depth of Vincent’s insidious foresight. She was at a dead end, unless Amelia herself could provide something new. Something undeniable.
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