Chapter 23
The next day…
Aurelio’s office smells of cigars and polished wood, the kind of rich, oppressive scent that clings to your clothes and skin long after you leave.
Roberto keeps his arm around me like he’s showing off a prize he won at a carnival.
His thumb strokes lazy circles against my hand, and when I shift, he catches my fingers and kisses them.
To anyone else, we must look like the picture of marital devotion. To me, it feels like a warning.
Donna Margarita is perched in one of Aurelio’s leather chairs, her legs crossed, every inch the queen she believes herself to be.
Across from her, Silvestre lounges with the relaxed confidence of a man who’s never been told no in his life.
His gaze clings to her in a way that makes my stomach twist. It’s fond, yes, but with an edge that says he’s remembering things no one else in this room should know.
His eyes are those of a predator who wants to devour his prey, but who is being held back by an invisible force.
It’s made even more sickening because of his age, which shows in the harsh morning light.
Aurelio stands behind his desk, hands braced against the surface, his eyes hard as flint.
"I want answers," he says, keeping his voice deep and measured, but carrying enough weight to crush stone.
"The shipment Edoardo sent—what was it? And why am I hearing about it from other people before I hear it from him? "
Donna Margarita’s smile is sincere, but her eyes betray her. "Aurelio, caro, this was an unfortunate oversight. You know I still have Edoardo under my thumb. This won’t happen again. I promise."
Her tone is honey, but the tension in the room could strangle a man.
"And how," Aurelio leans back, folding his arms, "do you propose to make it up to me?"
She tips her head, considering. "We’ll find a way. We always do." Then her smile sharpens. "Though perhaps before we discuss reparations, we should discuss… Matías."
The name lands like a bomb.
Aurelio’s jaw tightens.
"Yes," Margarita purrs, "the little stunt with the accountant. What was that about? It looks to me as though Edoardo went not only behind my back, but yours as well. Or… was Matías’s abduction of the accountant sanctioned by you?"
The silence that follows is heavy enough to bow the walls.
"No," Aurelio says finally, not happy that he's admitting a weakness. "It wasn’t."
Roberto clears his throat, leaning forward. "Then I’ll go to Los Angeles and deal with Matías personally." His tone is smooth, full of easy confidence. He glances at me with a smile that doesn’t touch his eyes. "Do you want to go shopping in LA, love?"
My mouth is dry. My pulse feels too loud. Every word in this room feels like a blade being slid across a throat: sometimes Aurelio’s, sometimes Roberto’s, sometimes mine. And I can’t tell whose blood will spill first.
I force a smile for the benefit of the room, but my stomach churns. I hate it when Roberto is nice to me. Hate the way it makes me remember—just for a second—what our marriage should have been. Laughter over coffee. Soft touches. A man who kissed me like I was a choice, not a possession.
But I learned a long time ago that this—his gentle tone, his arm snug around my waist, the kiss to my fingers—isn’t kindness.
It’s a costume. A role he plays when there’s an audience.
Right now, his audience is Donna Margarita, and I know how much he loathes it.
My husband hates dancing on anyone’s strings, especially hers.
Which means the moment we’re alone, the moment the performance is over, that anger will need somewhere to go.
And I’ve always been his favorite outlet.
I shift in my chair, my eyes darting to the door, as if I can already feel the four walls closing in on me. But I keep my smile on and my voice sweet, "That would be lovely, honey."
The conversation between Aurelio, Margarita, and Silvestre keeps flowing, sharp and deliberate, but all I can hear is the ticking clock in my head.
Every smile he gives me is another wind of the spring, coiling tighter and tighter until it snaps.
And when it snaps… I’ll pay for every second he spent pretending to be the doting husband.
"Well, it's all good then. Hiccups were expected, and let's think of it this way," Silvestre says, getting out of his chair. "As soon as Roberto is the new Don, we'll move our men in, and New York will be ours."
"You hear that, my queen?" Roberto kisses my hand.
The gesture sends shivers down my spine.
I'm not quite sure what these people are planning, but I'm quite certain that if this explodes in their faces, nobody will care about collateral damage like me. For a brief moment, I wonder if I should go to my father, talk to him? But that moment passes. Carlos wouldn’t lift a finger for me, even if he weren't busy defending himself at trial right now.
If anything, he'd be thrilled having both feet in a game of thrones.
He has nothing to lose. He doesn't care if his daughter lives or dies, but if his son-in-law becomes Don…
Marcello is still in the hospital, but Gigi texted last night and told me he’s awake.
Thank God for small favors; maybe there's still a chance I can talk to him.
I hate to throw all my drama at him as soon as he leaves the hospital, but I'm not sure how much longer I can survive this marriage.
Or Margarita, who is sitting across from me now, assessing me with narrowed eyes, weighing my value in her game.
She'll send me to the wolves in a second if she thinks Roberto could make a better match.
"All good." Aurelio shakes hands, even kisses Donna Margarita's.
"Now, if I could ask for a small, itty-bitty favor," Margarita flutters her eyelashes.
"Anything, mi amor," Silvestre promises.
"Who are you holding in the cellar?" She turns to Aurelio.
"Nobody," he responds too quickly. He chuckles to make up for it. "Just a man who tried to break up our party."
"Oh, how intriguing. Mind if I take a look?"
"Santa madre, you’re as bloodthirsty as ever." Silvestre joins Aurelio’s chuckle, though Aurelio’s eyes remain flat and dark.
"We should all go," Donna Margarita says lightly, but when her gaze slides to me, I feel the weight behind it. It’s not an invitation—it’s a test. She wants to see how I hold up watching someone bleed. God help me, she’d probably enjoy watching me flinch.
"That is nothing for Sophia to see," Roberto says smoothly, without looking at me. "But you go, Donna Margarita. We’ll get ready to leave. I have business in LA."
For the first time in my life, I’m grateful for one of his indirect orders. Grateful to stay as far away from the cellar as possible.
"Yes," I murmur, the word slipping out almost too quickly. "Of course."
Donna Margarita’s smile tells me she heard the relief in my voice and will remember it. She turns back to Aurelio, tilting her head. "Let's go see your new little toy." She turns flirtatiously to Silvestre, "I want to see if your son can make people sing as brilliantly as you, mi león."
I watch them snicker and giggle, moving toward the stairs like they're going to a tea party and not to torture a person. I shudder. I don't think I'll ever understand this world.
"Let's go pack," Roberto takes my hand and leads me up the stairs, "I wish I didn't have pressing business in LA; I would love to see the sights here for a little while with my beautiful wife."
The ice running down my spine is nothing compared to the cold wrapping around my chest. Whatever is coming, it's going to be bad.