The Outfit—the Italian American mafia in Chicago—is in disarray after everything that went down with their old don DeLuca and his underboss Gifoli. Both men died at a shootout in a hotel, leaving the leadership in question.
DeLuca’s consigliere—Thomas Barretta—is now their acting don, but it’s not a position he wants to maintain in the long-term. The Commission sent Gino there, in the capacity of acting consigliere, to work with Barretta in training and recruiting new men and identifying local candidates for the top jobs.
Ordinarily, it would pass to an heir, but there isn’t one in this case. DeLuca didn’t have any sons. Barretta’s heir was murdered last year, and Gifoli’s son is only five.
Now that The Commission is a united organization across America under the stewardship of the five families in New York and with Ben at the helm, no one questioned it when they stepped in. Ben wants things to settle down in Chicago, and while he is keen to appoint a new don and underboss, it can’t be rushed. The Outfit is one of the biggest mafia organizations in the US, outside of New York, and a key territory. The Russians were sniffing around for a time, and there are other enemies who could make a move if the state isn’t nailed down.
Hence why Gino has to stay there until things are solid.
The first couple of months, I flew in every second weekend with the twins. But they have duties at home, now they are initiated, and Gino is busy all the time, so it became a monthly visit. Until recently.
The last time I saw my husband was five weeks ago, and I have no clue when I will see him next. I’m annoyed with him. I’m used to coming last on his list of priorities, but his sons need him. They are at a delicate stage in their lives, and they need their father’s guidance. But, as usual, Gino is happy to leave the parenting to me. Which is a joke considering he didn’t even want them to call me Mama, at one point.
The boys were too young when Juliet died, and they don’t remember her. I’m the only mama they have truly known, and there was nothing Gino could do to stop them from calling me that. They are my sons in every sense of the word and the main source of happiness in my life.
Caring for them saved me in the early days of my marriage when I wanted to die.
“It must get lonely,” she adds, dragging me out of my head.
I shrug. “To be honest, it’s not that different from when he was living in the city with us. He’s a workaholic and rarely home. He made it clear before we were married that he would never love me.Couldnever love me, and he hasn’t tried.” I wonder if it would’ve made any difference if I hadn’t been knocked up when I married him. A large part of me believes we would still be where we are now anyway.
“I don’t even know what to say to that except it makes me sad for you.”
I shrug again, swallowing a large mouthful of wine. “He hasn’t been a bad husband. He doesn’t shout at me or mistreat me. He ensures I have everything I need. He compliments my cooking, and I know he appreciates the relationship I have with the twins, but there is no affection between us, apart from his monthly pity fuck, and even that has dwindled.”
Sex with Gino pales in comparison to that one night I had with Leo, but I don’t turn him away when he comes knocking on my bedroom door. I have needs. Needs he can meet, even if it’s purely clinical and not very romantic or intimate.
I imagine it’s what sex must be like for Leo with all those random women and one-night stands he indulges in.
Functional but cold.
Scratching the itch without ever truly losing yourself to passion.
“Now I’m angry on your behalf.” Sierra tosses her long blonde hair over one shoulder. “You’re young, beautiful, compassionate, smart and fun to be with. What the hell is wrong with your husband?”
“You can’t force love. He gave his whole heart to Juliet, and when she died, she took a part of him with her.” My white wine feels bitter gliding down my throat. “Anyway, I’m luckier than a lot of mafia wives. Some made men are complete assholes. Treating their women as insipid arm candy at events. Beating them if they express an opinion or disagree with their point of view. Gino is attentive when we are at functions, and he likes that I have a brain and an opinion of my own. He has never raised his hand to me.”
“It’s all so wrong. I really hope Ben changes things.”
“My brother is a progressive, and he’s already fought a lot of battles, but I’m not sure that is one he will win. Marriage contracts are as old as the ages, and women being subjugated and downtrodden is all part of the control made men exert. It makes them feel like they have nine-inch dicks and they are all-powerful.”
“Who’s got a nine-inch dick?” Serena Lawson says, entering the sunroom with a bottle of water in her hand.
“I was speaking in general terms about made men and how powerful it makes them feel to suppress and control their wives.”
Her lips narrow and a familiar anguish ghosts over her face.
“I’m sorry,” I say, getting up to hug her. “I have a touch of foot-in-mouth today.”
“It’s fine.” She returns my hug. “I know you didn’t mean it personally, and you aren’t wrong. Sierra got lucky with Ben because most made men are not like him. Most enjoy cracking the whip. In actual and metaphorical terms.”
Serena was married to Alfredo Gifoli, the now-deceased underboss of The Outfit, and her marriage was not a happy one. When I think about everything she has endured, I feel selfish for complaining about my loveless marriage. At least Gino isn’t physically or emotionally abusive.
He’s just cold and distant, and he treats me like one of the paid staff a lot of the time.
“Where’s Elisa?” Sierra asks her sister, looking behind her for her nine-year-old niece.
Serena sits down on the wicker couch across from us, running one hand through her dark hair. The sun beats down on us through the glass, illuminating the reddish highlights in her long hair. Where Sierra resembles their mother with her blonde hair, Serena got their father’s dark hair.
