He Kept His Plus-Size Mafia Wife Blind—Until She Saw Everything

I have been blind for three years, but there is still one thing I can see clearly. Everyone’s loyalty to me. A number floats above each person's head, showing how strongly they are committed to me. I learned what those numbers meant when I was young. The day my father cheated on my mother, his loyalty dropped from sixty-nine percent to twenty-three. Before my older sister left the Moreau family without saying goodbye, hers fell to seven. Over the years, I discovered one rule that never failed. Once someone's loyalty dropped below sixty percent, sooner or later, they left. That rule predicted attachment, not honesty, kindness, or whether staying would be good for me, but for years I treated those things as if they were the same. That was why I never stayed too long in relationships. Then I met Adrian Caruso. We dated for five years and had been married for another five. Ten years. His loyalty had always been one hundred percent. Not ninety-nine. Not ninety-eight. One hundred. Even after I became blind and crippled because of him, the number never changed. Three years ago, one of the Caruso family’s enemies attacked us during a private banquet. Someone threw toxic powder at Adrian’s face. I stepped in front of him. The poison took my sight. Seconds later, another man pulled a gun. I pushed Adrian aside. The bullet tore through my right leg. The doctors saved it, but the nerves were badly damaged. Since then, I have needed a cane for short distances and a wheelchair for anything longer. Before the attack, I had never been a woman people overlooked. I was plus-size, always had been. I wore fitted gowns to Caruso dinners, sat beside Adrian during meetings, and knew half the family’s businesses better than the men running them. After the attack, everything changed. Adrian carried me upstairs when my leg hurt. He hired doctors from different countries. He helped me dress when my hands could not find the right buttons. And every time I looked at him with the only sight I had left, his number stayed the same. One hundred percent. Eventually, I stopped believing everyone would leave me. I thought Adrian was different. Until our daughter’s third birthday. Iris had been talking about it for a month. She wanted a pink cake, a princess dress, and most importantly, her father. Adrian had missed her birthday the year before because of family business. This year, he promised. At six that evening, my phone rang. “Vivienne, something came up.” His voice was distracted. “I need to handle it personally.” “You promised Iris.” “I know. I’ll get back as soon as I can.” The Caruso family had dozens of men. I wanted to ask why everything always needed the Don himself. Instead, I said, “Come home early.” “I will.” He returned a little after eight. “Daddy!” Iris ran toward the door. Adrian laughed and lifted her into his arms. “I’m sorry I’m late, princess.” “You promised!” “That’s why Daddy brought presents.” A minute later, Iris pushed a box into my hands. “Mommy! He bought me the princess doll!” I smiled and touched the packaging. Then I looked at her number. One hundred percent. Exactly as always. Adrian walked toward me. His cologne reached me first. He leaned down and kissed my forehead. “I brought your favorite chocolates.” Everything sounded normal. His voice. His touch. His kiss. Then I looked above his head. Eighty-seven percent. My chest tightened. For ten years, Adrian had been one hundred. I looked at Iris again. One hundred. Back at Adrian. Eighty-seven. My ability was fine. Something was wrong with my husband. “Vivienne?” He laughed softly. “What are you staring at?” “Nothing.” “I’m exhausted. I’m going to shower.” He took off his jacket and left it on the sofa. A moment later, water started running upstairs. I reached for the jacket. Since losing my sight, my hands and nose had learned to notice things my eyes once ignored. My fingers moved over the collar. Something caught around a button. A strand of hair. Long. Mine was cut above my shoulders because it was easier to manage. Then I smelled the collar. Sweet perfume. Floral. Not mine. I sat silently with another woman’s hair between my fingers. In the past, perfume on Adrian’s clothes had never changed his loyalty. Tonight was different. Eighty-seven percent. For ten years, I thought Adrian was the one person I would never need to leave. I slowly closed my hand around the strand of hair. It was time to find out what thirteen percent had cost me.