Page 30 of Unlock My Heart

“Morning, darling.” I greet my husband as he joins me in the kitchen. Pouring him an espresso, I ask sweetly, “Would you like some breakfast?”

He eyes me suspiciously as I serve him the coffee. “No.”

Why would he want breakfast? Caffeine and cruelty are what fuel this man.

Opening the newspaper, Michele sips on his espresso, and I silently take a seat across from him. “I was thinking⁠—”

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

Unclenching my jaw, I continue, “Now would be the perfect time for me to go back to design school⁠—”

“No,” he interjects, still behind his paper.

“Please, Michele,” I beg, and I fucking hate it. “It would give me something to do, so that I’m not in your hair.” Or lack thereof, as Michele is in denial about his receding hairline.

He lowers his paper, sizing me up with those shark eyes of his. “Here’s the thing, my dear. I would consider it, but seeing how you can’t do your one job as a wife, I can’t imagine you could juggle two.”

That one job of giving him a child. That one job I secretly sabotage.

Although I’m not one hundred percent certain I need to, given that Michele had no children from his first union. But to suggest he’s shooting blanks would get his gun pointed at my head, a gun I’m sure is not shooting blanks.

Michele returns his attention to the newspaper, and I envision all the ways I would kill him. My favorite fantasy is me poisoning his espresso, his lifeless body slumped over the morning paper…

Being that I don’t have a death wish—and that’s exactly what would happen to me if I were to murder a capo—such a fantasy will have to remain just that.

He leaves for the hotel, and I pace back and forth, a prisoner in a gilded cage of my own making.

We always have a choice. You made yours; fucking live with it.

If it isn’t my own words, coming back to bite me in the ass.

I’m in desperate need of a distraction, and I grab my phone and text Jade to see if she wants to meet up for lunch. My only friend immediately replies.

Sorry, sweetie, I’m busy today. Let’s plan something next week.

On a groan, I toss my phone and fall back on the couch, staring at the ceiling. With all this free time on my hands, it’d be the perfect opportunity to work on my design portfolio. If only I had a sewing machine. Hell, I’d settle for a needle and some thread, but Michele got rid of all my supplies—including my beloved collection of antique lace bobbins—years ago. Some bullshit infraction I supposedly committed.

But of course, he snuffed out the only joy in my life. The man gets off on trying to break me. The joke’s on him, though; I’m already broken.

Boredom sets in, and with nothing else to do, I say fuck it, and break into his stash of coke. I’ve watched Michele snort enough lines to know the drill. Lining up the white powder with a razor blade, I use a rolled up hundred and inhale.

Leaning back on the couch, I close my eyes, wanting to feel…something.

And something I do feel, starting in my toes and working its way up my spine, settling into my head. A blissfully euphoric state, where “no” doesn’t exist in my lexicon.

It’s all so clear now! Of course, I can talk Michele into my plan for design school!

Hurrying outside to where my driver is detailing the town car, I tell him, “Take me to the hotel.”

“Yes, ma’am, but perhaps you’d like to get dressed first?”

Following his gaze, I realize I’m still in my bathrobe. “Oh,” I tell him excitedly, “That’s a great idea!”

Hurrying back inside, I slip into my sexiest dress and heels. One more bump for the road, and I’m off to make my dreams come true.

I’m dropped off at Hotel D’Amico, and I confidently stride to Michele’s office. There’s no light on, and so I cross the hall and start to knock on Jade’s door, but I stumble forward, my knuckles pushing it open.

All the blood drains from my face.