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Now what? Antonio was some kind of hitman?
Maria Capizzi was obviously not done with the revelation. She came closer, breathing in my space, spreading the poison in her mouth. “In cold blood.”
There was no way I was believing this crazy shit.
Even though my heart was pounding the beat of a million drums, I refused to believe the man who I … I didn’t know anymore. What was he to me? My husband. My lover…
“You have no idea who you married. How can you? Coming from your world.” Disdain rolled off her tone.
“Stop!” I yelled, blocking my ears with my palms. I didn’t want to listen anymore. Whatever it was, Antonio would tell me. Not this crazy bitch with some kind of vendetta against her own son.
But there was no stopping the flow of words coming off her bright red lips. She latched onto my arms painfully and jerked them away from my ears. “Listen to me. We are the mafia, piccola ragazzina.”
What?
My mind churned, just like the masala my dad used to make in the mixer. Anxiety rode high on my skin.
She was just trying to goad me. Wasn’t she? It didn’t make sense. Did it? How could it be? Just because they were Italians didn’t mean they were the mafia. Right? Right?
There was a ruthlessness to my husband that cloaked him like a coat, but it didn’t mean…
I couldn’t think clearly …
Is this why we had so many people going in and out of the house? Why I was never allowed to go out alone?
Why he left in the middle of the night? All that travelling? But isn’t that what men with millions do? They can’t all be in the mafia.
This is ridiculous. A trap set by my dear mother-in-law. Nothing else.
“For generations, we are in Cosa Nostra, and he has to marry someone like you.” She laughs an unkind laugh at me. “An outsider. An idiot who doesn’t even know what her husband does. He kills men, women and yes, even babies,” she went on, toxin in her tone of voice. “Like you people make your bloody curries. Taking a life for Antonio is nothing but a day's work.” She watched me with lips curled up in disgust. “You, my dear, have no clue. Even Yuliya was better. She was from the Bratva, the Russian mob if you don’t know what that is and knew at least something about it, spoilt as she was.”
His ex-wife was also in the mafia?
I felt sick. It was a surreal movie with hidden villains popping up left, right, and centre.
Was this why they had so much security?
Why our wedding reception had men who looked like they killed for a living? Their hushed tones and the coldness of their eyes had certainly driven shivers up my spine.
Bile clouded in my belly, ready to crawl up through my clogged throat. I clutched at my stomach.
“A true Sicilian girl in my family will know how to be a good wife for my son. Not someone like you who doesn’t have the nerves to stomach this.”
“Maria!” Marco roared.
I jerked around to Marco standing at the door, his face livid. I’ve never seen him angry. He fired off a rapid stream of Italian in our direction. But Maria Capizzi paid no heed. Ignoring him, she walked past him and out of the room, leaving behind a yelling Marco and a heaving me.
After a quick glance at me, he typed urgently on his phone, dropping it in his pocket before approaching me cautiously.
“Divya… what did Maria say to you?” he asked, testing the waters.
What did she say?
I tried to fight my body’s natural reaction to curl up into a ball and violently throw up.
“Is he in the mafia?” I asked.
His eyes filtered away before focusing on me again. A reaction of just a second that left me thinking I imagined it. But I didn’t.
