“The Tribunal really sanctioned it?”
“Yes.” Alessio shrugs. “If Angelo hadn’t done it himself, Matteo would have been executed by The Society.”
A whirlwind of conflicting emotions clash together as I try to process what he’s telling me. I’ve known Angelo and Matteo my whole life. They loved each other. They trusted each other. I never saw anything to indicate otherwise. But I also know how these things work. The Tribunal wouldn’t have sanctioned Matteo’s death without evidence. And it wouldn’t be the first time news of such a shocking betrayal rippled through theCosa Nostra. Matteo had everything to gain when Angelo was in prison. After Silvio’s death, it fell to him to act as heir to the throne while his brother was absent. He could have ruled for decades.
“I need to see the evidence myself,” I plead with Alessio. “Did he set up the gallery attack and have Lockwood killed?”
He offers me a pitiful smile. “It’s not mine to show. You’ll have to talk to your husband about that.”
We both know that isn’t happening.
“Please, Alessio…I need to be certain. Can you give me your word that Matteo really betrayed Angelo?”
He arches a brow at me. “Have you ever known me to lie?”
“No.” My last hope deflates as I consider that. “I haven’t.”
“He fooled all of us,” Alessio says. “He wasn’t the man any of us thought him to be. And if you really need to hear me say it, I give you my word that Matteo sent Angelo to prison. That’s a fact.”
Tears hover on the edges of my eyes, and I blink rapidly, trying to dispel them. I still can’t understand it, but I trust that Alessio is telling me the truth.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “For being honest with me.”
As I turn to go, Alessio’s voice stops me.
“I know you didn’t love him.”
I can’t bring myself to face him…because he’ll see that he’s right.
“You don’t have to carry this if you had nothing to do with it, Abella. The crime was Matteo’s, and he got what he deserved.”
I release a shaky breath. “I wish it were that simple.”
“Well, maybe it’s not,” he says. “But if you want this marriage to have any chance, you need to come clean with Angelo and tell him what happened.”
“I know,” I answer. But when I glance over my shoulder, he’s already gone.
21
ABELLA
Ilinger outside the door to Angelo’s office for far too long, considering whether to knock or just open it. Whatever I choose, it will set a precedent for our marriage. Logically, I know that most Mafia wives would knock because with the men in this life, you never know what you’re going to find.
But is that the kind of wife I want to be?
Knocking feels like I’m asking permission, and I’m not a child.
With that decided, I try to settle my nerves as I turn the knob. The door swings open, and two faces swivel in my direction.
Angelo sprawls in his office chair like a king on the throne—leaned back, arms casually resting at his sides, the picture of relaxation. He’s wearing all black today, from his trousers to his button-up shirt that’s rolled up at the sleeves. He looks every bit the dark overlord he is.
Meanwhile, less than a foot away, a woman has her ass planted on his desk, one long tan leg draped over the other as she bobs her heel. Curly blonde hair spills down her back, and when she meets my gaze, I want to vomit.
Genevieve Wilkes has a face I’d recognize anywhere, particularly because she’s been my mortal enemy for the last eight years.
It’s stupid, really. Because at one point in time, we were friends. Like me, her life was on a similar trajectory as a Society daughter. It was widely known that her father was only a signature away from sealing a marriage contract with the Stavros family once she turned twenty. But much to her dismay, Ares Stavros showed little interest in her.
That was when she set her sights on my boyfriend—Angelo.
