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“Anyway, I’m super excited to get to know you more, babe. Outside of work. I need more friends around here. There aren’t many wives yet. Not many girlfriends either. I don’t have friends anymore, not since I made the choice to enter the life with Enz,” I tell her, using an old nickname that I haven’t called him in a long, long time. “When we got married, I left my family, worried for their safety. Not that the DeSantis crew would ever hurt them, but this life isn’t one for common people. It’s taken me years of getting used to the way things work here.”
“Wow,” Giana says, tilting her head to the side slightly. “How long have the two of you been together?”
I grin, pushing back my current feelings about my husband and trying to remember those early memories with him for the sake of this conversation. “We’ve been together since I was twenty-three. A bit unconventional since I wasn’t in a mafia family, but Enzo wants what he wants. I guess Dante is very similar.” I raise my eyebrows, and she lets out a small chuckle. “I’m twenty-six now, and Enz is thirty. It’s been three years with my best friend.”
I give her another smile and then force the rising bile down my throat.
“And I look forward to becoming friends with you, too,” I say, not needing to force it out or lie, because I genuinely do like Giana. I’m glad she’s here. Maybe I’ll finally have someone to talk about all of this with...eventually. “Promise we’ll get together soon?”
“Of course I promise! I’m excited,” Giana says. “It’s so good to see you outside of work. I’ll happily call you friend instead of just boss,” she admits, and I agree, pulling her in for another hug and not realizing how much I need it.
Just as Enzo and Dante start talking about some gas operation, I hear a voice calling me and turn toward the door. I excuse myself from Giana and see Katherine, a wife of one of our capos, in the doorway.
“Dinner’s about to be served. Want to help me grab all the drinks?” she asks. “I figured I’d be useful for a change and help out.”
She smiles, and I follow her toward the kitchen.
* * *
The buzzingof Enzo’s phone against the tabletop puts me on high alert as we finish up dinner. God, I hate that. Hate being the woman who wants to know who is calling her husband.
Although, honestly, everyone in his life is here. In this room.
“Be right back, babe,” Enzo says, turning toward me. “Gotta take a piss.”
He excuses himself from the table, and I wait only until he’s out of the room before I quickly hurry after him, not even bothering to excuse myself. Everyone’s listening to Romeo tell one of his stories from back in the day. No one will even notice I’m gone. The man’s a wonderful storyteller.
Almost as good as my husband.
In this moment, I sense it. All the times before, it’s been a thought. But right now? Now it’s more. It’s something of substance. I can feel his betrayal in my bones as I briskly walk toward the closest bathroom and put my ear to the door, careful not to let my shadow be seen under the bottom, just in case he happens to be looking.
His voice is muffled, but I can at least make out the fact that he is talking. It’s more than mumbling to himself or talking out loud; it’s definitely a conversation.
I focus as deeply as I can, and I swear he says, “Got it, boss.”
Boss?
His boss is sitting in the dining hall. The toilet flushes, and I turn from the door and run back to the rest of the family as quietly as I can, adrenaline pumping through my veins as I think of excuses as to why I’m running down Romeo and Vittoria’s hallway.
Once I’m sitting back down at the table, I take a long drink from my wine. I was right. No one mentions me leaving when I come back, and Romeo is still mid-story. Enzo comes back seconds after I’ve finished my drink, and I dab at the corners of my mouth as he takes his seat next to me.
“Much better,” he says. “What’d I miss?”
I give him a smile and fall into my role, not missing a beat.
“Mr. DeSantis is just talking about his old glory days,” I say, glancing at the other end of the table. “Hey, did you get a call? I had an unknown number call me while you were in the bathroom, but I didn’t answer. Probably spam but figured if they know us, they’d try contacting you, too.”
It’s the quickest lie I can think of, and it drips like honey from my lips.
We’re all liars here.
Enzo narrows his eyes at me and makes the face he always does when I’m “wrong” about something. His lips form an overdramatic frown as he shakes his head. “Nah, baby. No calls. Must’ve been spam.”
He quickly looks away from me and lets out a loud chortle, as if he’s been listening to Romeo’s tale, when the room erupts into laughter, and I study his face for a beat longer.
I used to trace the freckles on his cheeks with the pad of my index finger. Used to look into his eyes as happiness swarmed in my stomach, just thankful he was mine as I obsessed over his features.
Now I’m just obsessed with figuring out what else he’s doing—because this just solidifies there’s more going on than I thought.
