My Mafia Ex Remarried Because I “Couldn’t Give Him an Heir”—Then Four Five-Year-Olds Asked, “Is This Where Dad Lives?”

Dominic stood on my modest concrete porch, the freezing rain soaking through his expensive white button-down shirt. He didn't look like a mafia boss. He looked like a man who had survived a shipwreck, clinging to a single piece of driftwood.

I stepped back, allowing him inside out of the storm. He walked into my small entryway, looking wildly out of place amidst the scattered toy trucks and tiny winter boots lining the hallway rug.

He didn't move further into the house. He just stood there, dripping water onto the floor, staring at me with a profound, agonizing sorrow.

"I tore it all down," Dominic whispered, his voice incredibly hoarse, as if he hadn't spoken in days. "Everyone who knew. Everyone who touched those files. They are gone."

"I know," I said quietly, wrapping my thick cardigan tighter around my shoulders.

"I am so sorry," he choked out, the words breaking over his lips. He fell to his knees on my cheap laminate flooring. The most dangerous man in the city bowed his head, his broad shoulders shaking. "I let them do this to us. I let them convince me you were the problem. I abandoned you when I should have burned the world down to protect you."

I looked down at the man I had once loved more than life itself. I felt the tears hot and heavy in my own eyes, mourning the five years we had lost, mourning the marriage that was stolen from us by a monster in a mink coat.

"I was so arrogant," he wept, looking up at me, his dark eyes shining with tears. "I thought my power meant I was in control. But I was blind. Please. Please forgive me."

I knelt down in front of him, resting my hands gently on his soaked cheeks.

"I forgive you, Dominic," I said softly, and I meant it. The anger had finally washed away, leaving only the truth. "You didn't know. You were a victim of her cruelty just as much as I was."

He let out a ragged breath, leaning his forehead against mine, his hands coming up to grip my wrists like a lifeline.

"Come home," he begged. "Bring them home. Let me give you the world. Let me be their father. Let me be your husband again."