“I must admit,cara,” he said as he reached for his glass of Barolo, “When Matteo first proposed marriage, I thought it was insane. But…it worked.”
The world stilled.
The grandfather clock kept ticking – loud, intrusive.
I blinked once. Twice.
“What?” I exhaled with a soft laugh.
He paused, wine halfway to his mouth. Eyebrows raised. “What?”
I sat up straighter, pulse hammering against my ribs. “What do you mean Matteoproposedmarriage? I thought it wasyouridea.”
Confusion flickered across his features, then something like realization.
“No,” he said carefully, as if the truth were obvious. “It was Matteo’s. I asked him to meet me three months ago because we needed the support. Marriage was his suggestion. He had strong logic – I agreed. And we were right.” He smiled, oblivious to the way my chest constricted. “The expansion is moving. Marriage helped.”
My fists tightened until my knuckles went white.
Matteo asked for marriage.
Not business alone.
Not convenience on my father’s terms.
His idea.
I swallowed, but the room felt suddenly cold, glass walls turning to ice. My father reached out, touching my hand with a rare softness.
“Don’t worry,tesoro. You’ll be divorced in ten months. This is temporary. Just see it through. You’ll be Underboss soon. You’ll have power then.”
Temporary.
Divorced.
Power.
Every word felt like glass in my lungs.
He stood, kissed my hair, unaware of the hurricane behind my eyes. “Come. Lunch is waiting.”
He turned toward the grand dining room, footsteps fading across marble.
I didn’t follow. Couldn’t.
I sat frozen for a long moment – tea gone cold, heart burning hot.
Matteo wanted this.
He orchestrated it.
Before I knew.
Beforeus.
Slowly, I rose. My movements were quiet, controlled – because if I let one thing slip, everything would. I picked up my coat, my handbag, my gloves. The chandelier’s crystals caught on the gold of my wedding ring as I walked out.
I did not go to lunch.
