breaking news

Days blend into each other, and before I know it, Antonio and I haven’t spoken for a whole week. It’s the same amount of time we’ve been in Italy.

I spend my days with Gianna, Amalia, and the other women. We have fun, and I spend a good chunk of Antonio’s money. At first, it’s just to get under his skin, but when he doesn’t even bat an eye, I stop caring too.

To everyone else, Antonio and I are a picture-perfect couple. Or at least he seems happy. Our relationship appears normal.

He still holds my thigh under the table during meals or wraps an arm around my waist to show he’s claimed me. The only thing that’s changed is our sex life.

He doesn’t try to touch me and I don’t let him, because every time I think about letting go of my stubbornness, I remember the stunt he pulled.

But he respects my boundaries. I can only hope that he’s keeping his distance out of respect for my feelings. He knows I need space from him.

Would being his mistress have been better? At least she would’ve had his company and love, I think bitterly.

“Antonio,” I call out to him.

He hums in response, not even bothering to look up from the papers he’s engrossed in.

“Do you have a mistress?” I ask.

His hand freezes mid-page flip before it lands softly on the oak desk in front of him.

He takes his time to look up, his eyes dark with a hidden anger that I wouldn’t have been able to detect if I hadn’t spent so much time with him.

He leans back on the couch and crosses his right leg over his left.

“What makes you think that?” he asks, twirling a pen between his fingers.

He doesn’t deny it.

“Do you?” I need to hear it from him, because if he does, then I know that it’s over from his side too, if there was anything there to begin with.

He stares into my eyes, but I keep mine blank. Showing my emotions would make me vulnerable.

“No,” he finally says, looking into my eyes. “I don’t.”

I don’t let it show, but relief washes over me. It annoys me that his answer matters so much. It’s not just about self-respect.

I don’t want to share him. I never have, but for the past few weeks, it’s been infuriating to even see him with another girl, even Gianna or Amalia.

Jealousy is a terrible feeling.

“Anything else?” he asks, as if he knows I have more questions.

I shake my head but then answer verbally. “No.”

He nods, and after a moment, he goes back to the papers in his hands.

“We’re returning to New York tomorrow,” he says.

I already know that. Is he trying to make conversation? “What time?”

“At noon.”

An awkward silence descends upon us once again.

“I’m going to take a shower,” I tell him, my voice laced with bitterness. He watches me walk away without a word.

I try. I really do try to forget him. It’s hard to do when I’m married to him and see him every night. But maybe it’ll get better back in New York.

He’ll fall back into his routine of coming home late, and I’ll be stuck at home alone.

But I know that’s not the case anymore. Something has changed. Something big.

“Francesca, wait!” he calls out. I hate how my body instantly stops.

~Just one genuine apology. That’s all I ask. Is your ego~ so~ big that you~’d~ risk losing my affection?~

I hear him get up and walk toward me. “What?” I snap without meaning to.

“Are you still mad about it? It’s been a week, Francesca,” he says calmly. He doesn’t even sound guilty.

I whirl around to face him. I can’t believe he would ask me that, but I shouldn’t be surprised. This is Antonio, and he doesn’t care about feelings.

I should’ve realized that when he still refused to apologize for that stupid stunt.

I instantly change my attitude. There’s no point in giving him a strong reaction. It would only make me more predictable.

“No, of course not. How could I stay mad when there’s absolutely no reason for me to stay mad,” I say in the same calm and serene tone as him.

My sarcastic undertone isn’t hidden.

He narrows his eyes at me. Before he can make another one of his emotionless remarks, I quickly turn around and lock myself in the bathroom.

My heart feels like it’s going to burst. I clutch my phone tightly in my hand. I need to talk to someone, but I don’t know who.

Sophia is out of the question. I’ve lost her and I’m not foolish enough to try to get in touch with her again. That would be breaking ~omertà~.

Arianna ran away. There’s no point in calling her, and it would also be a sign of betrayal. Amalia and the other women are out of the question as well.

They would most likely use the information against me in the future. ~Nonna~ isn’t an option either. She’d think I was weak. I need someone trustworthy and oblivious to the Mafia world.

I scroll through my contact list. My finger hovers over our home phone landline. For the past few days, I’ve been calling in to check on Alessia and to talk with her.

She’s living with three distant older brothers and I know she probably feels lonely.

Dante, Costanzo, and Omero aren’t too fun to hang around with, considering that most of what they talk about is business or their call girls.

It takes a few moments before someone picks up. Usually it’s Carina, but this time it’s a male.

“Hello?” I furrow my brow before I realize it’s Costanzo.

“Hi,” I say. “It’s me—Francesca.”

“Is everything okay?” he asks immediately.

“Yes. Everything’s fine. I just wanted to talk with Alessia,” I tell him.

“Oh,” he says before yelling out for his sister.

Alessia’s voice comes through the phone after a bit of rustling. “Hi!” she greets cheerfully. “How’s your honeymoon?”

I almost choke on my own spit. “What?” I can’t help but laugh. “We aren’t on our honeymoon, Alessia.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just a vacation,” she teases. “Anyway, how’s life? I haven’t talked to you in so long.”

She’s right. It’s been a week since I last called her. I wish I had. Her bubbly energy is a welcome change.

Alessia’s finally broken her silence and is talking to me like she used to. She’s such a free spirit, so innocent. It hurts to know that it won’t last.

Alessia’s fifteen, and in our world, girls are promised to their future husbands at this age. Once they’re old enough, they’re married off.

I was lucky to be promised late. Or maybe I wasn’t. It doesn’t matter now.

“It’s okay,” I assure her.

“Did you and my brother have a fight?” Her voice is instantly filled with worry.

I blink in surprise. Alessia’s sharper than she seems. I don’t want to lie to her, so I opt for the truth. “We just had a silly argument. Don’t worry.”

I change the subject. “What are you doing?”

I push myself off the door and walk toward the tub, turning on the tap.

“Homework,” she answers—too quickly, I notice. “You?”

I furrow my brow. Is she lying? I decide not to dwell on it.

“Going to take a bath,” I tell her as I turn on the TV facing the tub.

I’m about to change the channel when the reporters mention a name. I freeze.

“Former Don of the Giordano crime family Raffaello Giordano was found dead in a ditch with the symbol of the Bianchi Family—a crown—carved into his cheek with what we assume was a knife.

“Are the Giordano Family and the Bianchi Family at war? Is the ~Nostra Vita~ at war?” the woman says in Italian.

“Franci. Franci!” Alessia’s voice pulls me back, but I can’t focus.

I hear myself mumbling a quick goodbye before I rush out of the bathroom, forgetting about my bath.

Antonio is pacing the room, phone pressed to his ear. When I burst in, he points a gun at me but quickly lowers it when he sees it’s me.

“Fucking get them,” he growls before ending the call.

“Raffaello’s dead,” I say. I don’t feel anything. I didn’t know the man well enough to feel sympathy, and from what I knew of him, I didn’t want to.

“I know,” Antonio snaps, pinching the bridge of his nose.

I bite my lip to keep from saying anything else. But my heart wins out. “Are you okay?”

“Do I look okay?” he snaps back, holstering his gun.

I don’t understand why his father’s death affects him so much. Did he love the man? I didn’t see anything lovable about him.

Antonio sighs, and his eyes soften. I meet his gaze. He looks like he wants to say something but then decides against it.

For a moment, I think he might apologize.

“Go pack the bags. We’re leaving right now,” he orders instead.

I don’t argue, and fifteen minutes later, we’re ready to go. I quickly change into jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. I know we’re heading straight to America now.

We won’t be waiting another day.

“Do not leave my sight,” he warns as he pulls me out of the room.

“Our bags?” I ask, my heart pounding with anxiety. It feels like there’s a brick weighing it down.

“Stefano will get them.”

As we walk down the corridor, everyone gathers. Antonio leaves me briefly to talk with his men.

~Nonna~ approaches me. I straighten up immediately. “Things are going to get bad.” She glances at her husband talking with mine. “Very, very bad.”

I tense up even more. “How bad?” I manage to ask.

She looks me in the eyes. “This means war.”

“Antonio told me that the feds are on our backs and with this war coming…” I trail off, but the look in ~Nonna~’s~ eyes tells me she understands.~

“Toni is smart. He won’t let anything happen to you,” she assures me, squeezing my hand.

I shake my head. “Nothing should happen to him.”