5. Maria
— · —
Maria
Five days after my world ended, I’m starting to feel almost human again.
Almost.
The meeting with Renata went well - she’s sharp, no-nonsense, exactly the kind of lawyer you want in your corner when you’re going up against the Moretti empire.
She filed the papers this morning. Aggressive, just like Luca promised.
Full forensic accounting of all assets. Spousal support. Injunctions against any transfers.
“They’re going to lose their minds,” Renata had said, almost cheerfully. “Victor Moretti isn’t used to being on the defensive.”
Good. Let him squirm.
Now I’m sitting in a café across town - somewhere no Moretti would ever be caught dead - nursing a ginger tea and trying to keep my breakfast down. The morning sickness has been brutal. Every smell makes me want to die. But I’m learning to work around it.
I’m also learning to plan.
I have a notebook open in front of me, filled with lists. Things I need to do. People I need to call. Questions I need to ask Luca at our next meeting.
Luca.
I shouldn’t think about him as much as I do.
It’s been five days since I sat in his office, surrounded by files and the faint smell of coffee, watching him explain how we were going to destroy my husband.
Five days since I noticed the way his forearms flexed when he moved papers around.
Five days since I caught him looking at my lips and pretended I didn’t notice.
Five days of lying awake at night, thinking about things I have no business thinking about.
It doesn’t matter that he’s off-limits. Every camera in this city is waiting for me to slip, and wanting him is exactly the story they’re hoping to print.
But my body doesn’t seem to understand “off-limits.” My body keeps remembering the way he said my name - Maria - like it meant something. The way he looked at me like I was more than just a weapon in his revenge scheme.
The way his eyes dropped to my stomach, knowing, and he didn’t push.
Stop it. Focus.
I take a sip of my tea. Force myself to look at the notebook. I need to call the bank about the joint accounts. I need to-
“Maria.”
My blood turns to ice.
I know that voice. I’ve known it my whole life.
I look up.
Giuliana is standing next to my table.
***
She looks different than she did at the party. Less triumphant. More... uncertain. She’s wearing another designer outfit - this one a soft pink that makes her look innocent, fragile, like the victim instead of the villain.
“Can I sit?”
“No.”
She sits anyway.
“I know you’re angry.” Her voice is soft. Practiced. That same rehearsed sympathy she used when she showed up at my house. “You have every right to be. But I wanted to talk. To explain-”
“Explain what?” I keep my voice flat. Controlled. “How you spent eight months fucking my husband? How you got pregnant with his baby while I was crying over negative tests? How you showed up at my house to deliver divorce papers like some kind of victory announcement?”
“It wasn’t like that-”
“Then what was it like, Giuliana?” I set down my tea. Meet her eyes. “Tell me. I’m dying to hear your version.”
She fidgets. Looks away.
“We fell in love. I know that’s hard to hear, but it’s true. Tommy and I - we have a connection. Something real.”
“Something real.” I laugh. It sounds nothing like humor. “Did this ‘real connection’ start before or after you held my hand at the fertility clinic?”
She flinches.
Good.
“I was there for you,” I continue. “You sat beside me at every one of my appointments. Held my hand through every negative test. And every time you called me crying - how lonely you were, how you’d never find someone, how you’d never be happy - I dropped everything and came.
” I lean forward. “And the whole time, the whole time - you were fucking my husband. In my bed, probably. With my money. While I thought you were my best friend.”
“I am your best friend-”
“No.” The word comes out sharp. Final. “You’re not. You’re a stranger who wears my sister’s face. And I don’t know you at all.”
Giuliana’s eyes fill with tears. Her lower lip trembles.
She’s good. She’s really, really good.
“I’m sorry, Maria. I’m so sorry. But you have to understand-” She reaches across the table, tries to take my hand. “The marriage was already over. Tommy told me. He said you two hadn’t been happy for years, that you didn’t love him anymore, that you were only staying together for appearances-”
“And you believed him?”
“He was convincing! He made me feel special, important, like I was the only one who really understood him-”
“He made you feel special.” I pull my hand away. “While he was married to me. While I was trying to have his baby. While I was planning our anniversary.”
“I didn’t know-”
“You didn’t want to know.” I stand up. I need to get out of here before I do something I’ll regret.
“You wanted to believe his lies because they made you feel good. Because being the other woman made you feel powerful. Because taking something from me - your sister, the one who raised you, who worked double shifts to pay for your college - made you feel like you’d finally won. ”
Giuliana is crying now. Real tears, streaming down her face.
But I don’t feel sorry for her.
“Maria, please-”
“He was never really yours,” I say, throwing her own words back at her. “You just got there first.”
I turn to leave.
She grabs my arm.
“Maria, wait-”
And something inside me snaps.
***
I see a glass of wine on a nearby table.
Someone’s abandoned drink. Half-full. Deep red.
Before I can think, before I can stop myself, I grab it.
And throw it directly in Giuliana’s face.
Red wine explodes across her pink designer blouse. She gasps, sputtering, hands flying to her face as the liquid drips down her chin, her neck, soaking into the expensive fabric.
The entire café goes silent.
Everyone is staring. Phones are out. Someone is definitely filming.
Giuliana stands there, dripping, mascara running down her cheeks in black rivers. She looks like a drowned rat in a ruined dress.
She looks humiliated.
And I know I should feel bad. I know this is going to end up online, that Tommy’s lawyers will use it against me, that this is exactly the kind of “erratic behavior” they’ll point to in court.
But right now, in this moment, I don’t care.
Because for the first time since she knocked on my door, I don’t feel powerless.
“Don’t ever touch me again,” I say. My voice doesn’t shake. “And tell your boyfriend, my husband, that I’m coming for everything he has.”
I throw money on the table for my tea.
And I walk out.
Head high.
Hands shaking.
Heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.
***
I make it around the corner before my legs give out.
I lean against the wall. Gasp for breath. Try to process what I just did.
Oh my God. Oh my God. Did I really just-
“That was incredibly stupid.”
I look up.
Luca is standing there.
He’s leaning against a parked car, arms crossed, watching me with an expression I can’t quite read. He’s wearing a leather jacket today, dark jeans, looking less like a lawyer and more like the kind of man your mother warned you about.
“Were you following me?”
“I was making sure you got home from Renata’s office without any Moretti interceptions.” He tilts his head. “Clearly, I should have intervened sooner.”
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
“No, you need a handler.” But there’s something in his voice that sounds almost like admiration. “Feel better?”
I consider the question.
“Yes,” I admit. “I really do.”
He laughs. A real laugh, surprised out of him. It transforms his face - makes him look younger, less burdened.
God, he’s beautiful when he laughs.
“For what it’s worth,” he says, “she deserved it. But that video is going to be everywhere by tonight. Tommy’s lawyers will use it to paint you as unstable.”
“Let them try.” I straighten up. Push myself off the wall. “I’ve spent five years being the perfect Moretti wife. Smiling. Swallowing my feelings. Being exactly what they wanted me to be.”
“And now?”
“Now that woman is dead.” I meet his eyes. “They killed her. And whatever’s left isn’t interested in being polite.”
His expression flickers, then steadies.
His eyes drop to my lips. Linger there.
My breath catches.
Don’t. Don’t do this. The case is the only thing keeping the baby safe, and one slip with him could hand it all to Victor. He’s-
“Come on.” His voice is rougher than before. “I’ll buy you a tea. You look like you need one.”
He offers his hand.
I take it.
His palm is warm against mine. Calloused. Strong.
He doesn’t let go as we start walking.
Neither do I.
***
The tea shop he takes me to is small, quiet, tucked away on a side street where no one will recognize us.
We sit across from each other in a corner booth. He orders coffee - black, no sugar. I order ginger tea and try not to think about how intimate this feels.
“So,” he says. “Want to tell me what really happened back there?”
“Didn’t you see it?”
“I saw you throw wine in your sister’s face. Very dramatic. Very satisfying.” He leans back. “But I’m asking what she said to make you snap.”
I wrap my hands around my mug. The warmth seeps into my fingers.
“She said the marriage was already over. That Tommy told her I didn’t love him anymore.” I laugh bitterly. “She actually tried to convince me that she’s the victim. That she was manipulated.”
“Was she?”
“Does it matter?” I look up at him. “She knew he was married. She knew I was trying to get pregnant. She knew all of it, and she did it anyway.”
“Fair point.”
We sit in silence for a moment. It should be awkward, but it isn’t. There’s something comfortable about being with Luca. Something that doesn’t require filling every pause with words.
“There was someone else there,” I say suddenly. “At the café. A woman at the bar - blonde, pretty. When Giuliana was leaving, she snapped at her. Told her to stay out of it.”
Luca’s eyes sharpen. “Did you get a name?”
“No. But Giuliana knew her. And she looked at me like...” I frown, trying to remember. “Like she felt sorry for me. Like she knew something I didn’t.”
“I’ll look into it.”
“You don’t have to-”
“I want to.” He meets my eyes. “Anything that might be useful. Anything that might give us leverage.”
“Is that all this is to you? Leverage?”
The question comes out before I can stop it. Softer than I intended. More vulnerable.
Luca is quiet for a long moment.
“No,” he says finally. “It’s not.”
The air between us changes. Charges.
I should look away. Should change the subject. Should do anything except sit here staring at him like I’m waiting for something to happen.
But I can’t move.
“Maria.” His voice is low. “I need you to know something.”
“What?”
“This-” He gestures between us. “Whatever this is. It can’t happen. Not now. Not while you’re still married to my brother.”
My cheeks flush. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do.” His eyes bore into mine. “I see the way you look at me. And I know you see the way I look at you.”
I swallow. Hard.
“It would be a mistake,” I say. But my voice comes out breathy. Uncertain.
“A colossal one.” He leans forward. Close enough that I can smell him - soap and coffee and something darker underneath. “It would destroy your case. It would give Victor ammunition. It would prove everything they’re trying to say about you.”
“Then why are you telling me this?”
“Because I need you to know that I know. That I see it. That I’m not going to pretend it doesn’t exist.” His hand reaches across the table.
His fingers brush mine, just barely, a ghost of a touch.
“And because when this is over - when you’re free, when Tommy can’t hurt you anymore - I’m going to ask you something. ”
“What?”
“That’s between future Luca and future Maria.” He pulls his hand back. The loss of contact feels like a physical ache. “For now, we focus on winning.”
I nod. Don’t trust my voice.
He’s right. I know he’s right.
But as we finish our drinks and he walks me back to my car, I can still feel the ghost of his fingers against mine.
And I can’t stop wondering what he’s going to ask.