He Sold My “Mother’s” Body for $2,000, Then Learned She Was His

Adriana's POV

My mother-in-law was killed when my husband's personal courier tore through a protected block, unlicensed, and struck her down. Yet somehow, when the matter went before the Family, they ruled that she had only been trying to shake loose a grifter's pittance.

Still trying to defend her name, I brought the matter before the Commission three times, and three times they turned me away.

Just as I was about to appeal a fourth time, I discovered that her body had been taken.

I was reaching for the phone to call the precinct when my husband, Lorenzo Moretti, the Consigliere whose word once settled disputes across five boroughs, walked in and tossed two thousand onto the table.

"You should already know," he said coldly, not bothering to sit, "I have never lost a matter brought before the Family. No matter how much you think the streets can prove, your mother's appeal will never win. If I said your mother was faking it, she is faking it. All your appeals are just your way of squeezing out more tribute. But don't bother. I already had her body sold to the black market and got two grand for it. Consider that the full value of her life. And stop bothering Bianca."

That was when it hit me. He thought it was my mother who died.

I pushed the money back across the table toward him. "I don't have the right to take this."

He frowned, his voice suddenly sharp. "What, two grand isn't enough for you? Adriana, get this straight. Your mother had no standing, no work, no name worth anything. For someone like her, earning two grand with her life is already a miracle. Don't get greedy."

I shook my head. "You misunderstand. I mean, you should be the one keeping this money."

Lorenzo's brows knit tight, disgust flashing across his face. "Are you out of your mind? This is money made from selling your own mother's body. What does that have to do with me? Do you really think I'd touch that kind of dirty money?"

Lorenzo grew up with only his mother. His father died young, and it was Serafina who broke her body across thirty years of labor in the old neighborhood to raise him, to make him a man of standing among made men, ruining her health for his sake.

Witnessing all that, he had devoted his life to her.

I used to wonder why, after his mother's death, he never once returned to the old block, why he threw himself entirely into shielding Bianca Rizzo, the courier who killed her.

Now I knew. He thought it was my mother who died, not his.

I looked him straight in the eye and said calmly, "Lorenzo, I suggest you return that money and buy Mom's body back. Otherwise, you'll regret it."

But it seemed he hadn't heard a word of what I meant. He scoffed. "Do you even know what the black market is? Once something's sold there, you think you can just buy it back? Your mother's body has probably been carved into pieces by now. There's no getting her back. So take the money and stop causing trouble."

She wasn't my blood, but she was still a woman who had lived. She'd been struck down for no reason, branded a grifter before the whole neighborhood, and now her body had been sold off by her own son.

The thought of what had become of her made my chest ache.

"Lorenzo," I said quietly, "since you know exactly how bodies are treated on the black market, how could you do that to Mom? Doesn't it bother you at all?"

He gave a mocking smile. "Why would it? She's your mother, not mine. And besides, the dead don't feel pain. Selling her body for cash at least gave her some worth. She should've watched where she was walking. Getting killed was bad enough, but she also left Bianca shaking for days."

I stared at him, unable to speak. For a moment, I couldn't even imagine how he'd react if he learned that the woman sold to the black market was his own mother.

When I didn't answer, he added, careless as a man setting down an empty glass, "Honestly, I always thought your mother looked like the short-lived type. Even if she hadn't been hit, she wouldn't have lasted long. So take the money and be grateful."

Adriana's POV

"Take the tribute now, and tomorrow, buy something fine to make peace with Bianca at the office. This conversation is finished," Lorenzo said, flat as a closed ledger.

Then he dropped the folded bills on the table and walked away without once looking back.

As I watched him go, something settled in me all at once. The man whose word once ended disputes across five boroughs, the man I had honored for the straightness of his spine, had rotted through from the inside out.

And this marriage had reached its end too.

The next day, I drew up the papers of repudiation and went to the social club that fronted his office.

The moment I stepped through his door, I froze.

There he was, the same man who couldn't abide a speck of dust on his cuffs, down on one knee, gently working the arch of Bianca's foot. His eyes held a tenderness I had never once seen turned toward me.

When Bianca caught sight of me, she slipped into her wounded-innocent act at once.

"Adriana, don't read it wrong," she stammered, drawing her foot back and pressing her shoulder in close against his. "I... I turned my ankle, and Lorenzo was only helping me. That's all it was."

Then she tugged at his sleeve, feigning panic. "Lorenzo, say something! I don't want to lose my place over this!"

But Lorenzo patted her back, his voice low and easy. "Don't be afraid. She's only here to apologize."

Then the warmth went out of him like a light cut off, and he looked at me with plain disgust. "I told you to bring something to make peace. Why come with empty hands? You're not a girl anymore. Don't you even know how to offer an apology properly?"

Even so, I didn't waste breath arguing. I pulled the papers of repudiation from my bag, laid them on his desk, and said, cold and level, "Sign them. We're finished."

He blinked, caught off his footing, and then his face went dark.

"What game are you running now?" he snapped. "You know my mother approved of no one but you under this name. She'd never bless a repudiation. Are you doing this just to have her scold me all over again?"

So he still carried his mother in his mouth.

I let out a bitter laugh and said quietly, "Your mother can't scold you anymore."

Something crossed his face. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Go home," I said, even as still water. "You'll see it for yourself."

He glared at me, impatient. "Stop tangling me up in your nonsense. It was your mother who died, not mine. How long are you going to keep this up? Just go. You're shaming me in my own house. I'm not repudiating you."

Just then Bianca, who had been drinking in the whole scene, wiped at tears that weren't there and sniffled, small and pitiful.

"Adriana, I know I bought my license and I've no hand for driving," she said, her voice trembling, her fingers curling into his sleeve. "But that death on the block truly wasn't my fault! You're only filing these papers now to force Lorenzo's hand, to make him give me up to the precinct, aren't you?"

She looked so fragile, so wronged, that a man who didn't know better might have believed every word.

And that man was Lorenzo. He gathered her into his arms like something precious and murmured, "Bianca, don't cry. As long as I stand here, no cell will ever hold you."

Then he turned the full weight of himself on me, fury burning in his eyes. "Adriana, Bianca's little more than a kid. Do you truly have to grind her down like this? You think waving papers of repudiation in my face will make me stand aside for her? Dream on. Your mother's death was her own doing. You won't see one cent of tribute for it, and if you lay a finger on so much as a hair of Bianca's head, expect the worst this Family can bring."

As I looked at him, the man who once swore his life to the truth, now spreading his coat over the very woman who killed his own mother, I felt a deep, hollow sorrow open in me.

But let it be. If that was the kind of son he chose to be, what right had I left to stand in his way?

I drew a slow breath. My thumb turned the wedding band once around my finger, unhurried, final. Then I said, each word clear and set in stone, "This marriage is over."

Lorenzo's face twisted with rage. He seized the papers of repudiation, tore them to ribbons, and flung the pieces into the air.

Adriana's POV

"So you really want papers of repudiation, huh?" Lorenzo snapped, his voice low and lethal in the hush of the study. "Fine. I'll give you what you want. But let me make this clear. If we're finished, I write the terms. I'll see to it you walk out of this famiglia with nothing but shame on your name. And I'll make sure my mother learns what kind of woman she took into her heart. A grifter who used her own mother's death to squeeze tribute and drag an honest man before the Commission."

Through the flurry of shredded paper still drifting between us like ash, I caught his cold, vengeful eyes, and the small, satisfied smirk curling on Bianca's lips.

Still, I didn't say a word. I simply turned and walked out of the office.

Back home, I quietly started packing my things.

By the time I wheeled my suitcase down to the street, a large group of people suddenly closed in around me.

They surrounded me on the block, holding up cameras and phones, shouting as they recorded.

"Look, it's her, the woman who told her own mother to stage an accident on the Family's turf!"

"After her mother got run down, she used the body to shake people down for money. When that didn't work, she ran to a sit-down just to squeeze out more!"

"She even drove that poor girl to despair. Tried to take her own life more than once!"

"Thank God her husband's a Consigliere with honor, a man who stood by the code instead of shielding his greedy wife! Otherwise who knows what that poor girl would've suffered!"

"And now, because he won't help her grift, she's threatening him with repudiation. Look, her bags are already packed!"

Their accusations cut through the air like knives.

Through the crowd, I saw Bianca and Lorenzo standing at the back, both watching me with smug satisfaction.

So this was his plan. A neighborhood spectacle, staged to destroy me.

And it worked. The reaction was instant.

The crowd was relentless, spitting venom with every word, and soon my name was traveling the block faster than any wire.

What kind of monster uses her own mother's death for money?

No wonder her mother died early. Karma got her first!

Like mother, like daughter! They both got what they deserved!

Serves her right. The car hit the right one!

The word on the street spread like wildfire. Within hours my face was on every phone in the neighborhood. They gave me names. Grifter. Unnatural daughter. Garbage woman. Those labels became who I was.

Then the loudest of them turned the crowd against me. People began hurling rotten vegetables and eggs, shouting insults as I forced my way through the chaos.

Despite it, I stepped over trash and broken shells, walked straight up to Lorenzo, and asked quietly, "Do you really have to go this far, Lorenzo?"

He frowned, and before he could answer, Bianca spoke up, tears shimmering in her eyes. Her hand found his sleeve, her body already easing behind his shoulder.

"Adriana," she whimpered, "I know your mother's gone, but I've been suffering too! Please, just let me go. Stop tormenting me already!"

Seeing her pitiful act, Lorenzo's gaze softened instantly.

Then he turned to me, his tone filled with cold contempt. "Adriana, you brought this on yourself. Your mother got hit because she was faking an accident. You should never have dragged Bianca through one appeal after another. She even paid out of her own pocket to fix her car after your mother wrecked it, and she never asked you for a dime. That's called kindness. But you, you just kept pushing. With a heart as rotten as yours, it's no wonder your mother died early."

The words had barely left his mouth when a familiar voice cut through the crowd.

"Who did you just say is dead?" my mother asked sharply, stepping out from the onlookers. Her hands were clasped tight at her waist, her chin lifting a fraction, and all along the block, the shouting died.