9. Massimo
MASSIMO
The ring sat on my side of the dresser.
I stopped when I saw it. The band caught the morning light from the window, throwing a thin gold line across the dark wood.
Laney never took her ring off. Not when she showered.
Not when she slept. Not when she was elbow-deep in dirt at that dig of hers, brushing dust off pieces of broken pottery like they were made of glass.
I picked it up and turned it over in my hand.
It was warm from sitting in the sun. The inside of the band was smooth, worn thin in places from ten years of her wearing it every day without complaint.
I ran my thumb over the inscription we'd had engraved before the wedding — our initials and the date, the letters so small I could barely make them out anymore.
She'd left it here. On purpose. Where I'd find it.
My throat tightened. I set the ring down and walked into the bedroom, looking for something that would tell me this wasn't what it looked like.
The bed was made, the corners tucked in with that precision Laney always insisted on even though we had staff who could do it for her.
Her overnight bag was gone from the closet.
I opened the wardrobe and stared at the gap where her things had been.
Not everything — just enough that I knew she'd packed deliberately, not in a rush.
A few dresses. Her comfortable shoes. The canvas jacket she wore when she traveled.
God, what was this about?
I went back to the dresser and picked up the ring again.
The gold felt heavier than it should have, like it was full of all the things she hadn't said to me last night in the car.
It hurt, she'd told me. And then she'd gone quiet, that terrible silence that meant I'd said the wrong thing and didn't even know what it was.
I slipped the ring into my pocket and went downstairs.
The palazzo felt wrong. Too quiet. Usually I heard Sofia's laughter somewhere, bouncing off the stone walls, or Laney's voice talking to the housekeeper about which linens needed replacing or which crack in the plaster needed attention.
This morning there was nothing but the echo of my own footsteps in the hall and the distant sound of a door closing somewhere deep in the east wing.
I checked the kitchen first. Empty, except for one of the morning staff wiping down the counters. She looked up when I came in, startled.
"Signor Lombardo," she said. "Can I get you something?"
"Have you seen my wife this morning?"
She shook her head. "No, signore. Not since yesterday."
I thanked her and moved on. The library was empty.
So was the sitting room, and the small study where Laney sometimes worked on her notes when she brought them back from the dig.
I checked the garden terrace, half-expecting to find her out there with her coffee, but the chairs were still damp with dew and there was no sign anyone had been there since the night before.
My chest tightened, annoyance creeping up my throat.
She was upset about last night — fine. I understood that.
But leaving without a word? Taking off her ring?
That wasn't like her. Laney didn't make scenes.
She never pushed back hard enough to make one, which was part of what made this whole thing so goddamn irritating.
If she'd just told me what she wanted, I could have given it to her.
But instead she left cryptic comments in the car and then disappeared before I could ask what the hell she meant.
I was heading toward the family wing to check if anyone else had seen her when I spotted my mother.
She was in the east wing with Vittoria, both of them standing outside my father's bedroom with a nurse I didn't recognize.
They were talking in low voices, heads bent together like they were discussing something serious.
Mamma looked up when I approached, and her expression shifted — surprise, maybe, or something else I couldn't quite read.
"Massimo," she said. She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "You're still here. I thought you'd have left for the office by now."
"Where's Laney?" I asked.
Mamma glanced at Vittoria, then back at me. "I assumed she was with you, tesoro."
"She's not." I crossed my arms, trying to keep the edge out of my voice. "Have you seen her this morning?"
Vittoria tilted her head, studying me like I was something under glass. She had that look she always got when she thought she knew more than everyone else in the room — calm, measured, just a little bit smug.
"She left early," Vittoria said. Her voice was silk. "I saw her in the courtyard when I arrived. She had a bag with her."
"A bag," I repeated. My jaw tightened. "Did she say where she was going?"
"No." Vittoria shrugged one elegant shoulder. "She looked upset, though. I thought perhaps you two had argued."
I wanted to tell her it was none of her business, but Mamma was already touching my arm, her fingers light and reassuring.
"Massimo, don't worry," Mamma said. "You know how women are sometimes. We need space to think things through, especially after difficult days. Your father's birthday was hard on all of us. I'm sure Laney just needed a little time to herself."
"She took off her ring," I said.
The words hung in the air. Mamma's expression shifted, just for a second — something flickered across her face that I couldn't name — and then she was calm again, her hand tightening slightly on my arm.
"Oh, Massimo." She squeezed gently, her voice dropping into that soothing register she used when she wanted to smooth over a problem.
"That doesn't mean anything permanent. She's hurt.
She probably left it to make a point, that's all.
You know how Laney can be. She's always been a little sensitive, a little dramatic when she doesn't get her way.
Give her time to cool off and she'll come back. She always does."
Vittoria nodded, her expression thoughtful.
"It's a pattern, really," she said. She had that clinical tone she always used when she wanted to sound smart, like she was reading from a textbook instead of talking about a real person.
"Women like Laney — American women especially — they don't always understand the expectations that come with being part of a family like ours.
They're used to being the center of attention, to getting validation for every little thing they do.
When they don't get it, they act out. It's not malicious, Massimo.
It's just insecurity. She probably doesn't even realize she's doing it. It's just how they're wired."
My hands clenched at my sides. Heat crawled up the back of my neck, and I had to work to keep my voice level.
I didn't like the way Vittoria said "women like Laney," as if my wife was some kind of case study she could analyze and dismiss with a few sentences.
Laney wasn't a problem to be diagnosed. She wasn't a patient.
She was my wife. She was the mother of my daughter.
And Vittoria had no right to stand there and psychoanalyze her like she was broken.
"Vittoria," I said, keeping my tone flat and cold. "I didn't ask for your professional opinion."
Her smile faltered. "I was only trying to help, Massimo."
"I know what you were trying to do." I met her eyes, letting the words sit heavy between us. "You can go now."
She blinked. For a moment she looked like she might argue, her mouth opening slightly, but then she glanced at Mamma and something passed between them — some silent exchange I wasn't meant to catch.
Vittoria straightened her shoulders, gave me a tight nod, and walked away down the hall without another word.
Her heels clicked against the stone floor, each step sharp and deliberate, and I watched her go until she turned the corner and disappeared.
I turned back to Mamma. "What the hell is going on?"
She sighed, that long-suffering sound she made when she thought I was being unreasonable.
"Massimo, you're overreacting. Laney is fine.
She just needs a little time to herself, that's all.
You've been so busy with the boards and your father's care — maybe she feels neglected.
That's all this is. A little distance, a little breathing room, and then she'll come home and you can talk about it. "
"She said something last night," I said. My throat felt tight, the words coming out rougher than I'd intended. "In the car. She said it hurt. She said she didn't want me to love her for being Sofia's mother."
Mamma's face softened. She reached up and patted my cheek, the same way she'd done when I was a boy and scraped my knee in the garden. "And you didn't understand what she meant."
"No," I admitted. "I don't."
"Then maybe that's what she needs you to figure out, tesoro.
" Her voice was gentle, almost pitying. "Let her cool off.
Go to work. Keep yourself occupied. When she comes back, you can talk to her properly, and you'll understand each other better.
Chasing after her now will only make things worse.
You'll look desperate. She'll dig her heels in.
Trust me, Massimo. I know how these things work. "
I wanted to argue. I wanted to tell Mamma she was wrong, that this wasn't just Laney being dramatic or throwing a tantrum.
But the truth was, I didn't understand what Laney wanted from me.
I'd told her I was proud of her. I'd meant it.
What more was I supposed to say? What was I supposed to do differently?
I pulled the ring from my pocket and looked at it again. The gold gleamed in the light from the hallway window. I closed my fist around it, feeling the edges press into my palm.
"Fine," I said. "I'll deal with it tonight."
Mamma nodded, satisfied. "Good. That's the smart thing to do, tesoro."
I turned and headed for the garage, my footsteps loud in the empty hallway. My head was full of static — her voice in the car last night, the way she'd gone quiet after I said the wrong thing, the ring sitting on the dresser like an accusation I didn't know how to answer.
I was halfway to the garage when Enzo caught up with me.
He looked like he'd just rolled out of bed — his shirt wrinkled, his hair still damp from the shower, his tie hanging loose around his neck like he couldn't be bothered to knot it properly.
He had that grin on his face, the one that meant he knew something I didn't and was enjoying it far too much.
"Massimo," he called, jogging to match my pace. "Heard your wife took off."
I stopped walking. "What?"
"Relax." He held up his hands, still grinning like this was all some kind of joke. "I'm just saying, word travels fast around here. You know how Mamma's staff talk. Can't keep a secret to save their lives."
"Get to the point, Enzo."
"Sure, sure." He leaned against the wall, casual as anything, like he hadn't just dropped a bomb in the middle of my morning. "Just thought you'd want to know — she went to Rome. With a man."
My stomach dropped. The floor felt unsteady under my feet, and for a second I couldn't breathe. "What?"
"Yeah." Enzo shrugged, like he was commenting on the weather or the state of the garden. "Nate something. American guy."
The name didn't mean anything to me. Nate.
I turned it over in my head, trying to place it, trying to remember if Laney had ever mentioned someone with that name.
But I came up blank. Laney didn't talk about her friends much — she didn't really have friends here anymore, not since she'd married into the family.
Everyone she'd known from university was back in the States or scattered across Europe doing their own work, publishing papers and teaching at schools I'd never heard of.
I should have asked who he was. I should have demanded details, should have grabbed Enzo by the collar and made him tell me everything he knew.
I should have called Enzo out for dropping this on me like it was a joke, like my wife leaving with another man was something funny.
But something in my chest had gone cold and hard, and I didn't trust what would come out of my mouth if I opened it.
"Thanks for the update," I said. My voice came out flat, emotionless.
Enzo's grin widened. "Just looking out for you, brother. Thought you should know."
I walked away before I could say something I'd regret. Before I could put my fist through the wall or wrap my hands around his throat and wipe that goddamn smirk off his face.
The driver was waiting by the car, standing at attention like he always did.
I got in without a word and told him to take me to the office.
My phone was already buzzing with messages — Corrado asking about the quarterly financials, my assistant reminding me about the board meeting at ten, a string of emails that all needed answers I didn't have the patience to give. I ignored all of it.
I pulled the ring out of my pocket again and stared at it. The gold caught the light coming through the car window, throwing tiny reflections across the leather seat.
Laney had gone to Rome. With a man named Nate.
She'd taken off her ring, packed a bag, and left without telling me where she was going or when she'd be back.
And I was supposed to just — what? Sit at my desk and review contracts?
Pretend this was normal? Pretend my wife hadn't just walked out on me?
But what was I going to do instead? Storm after her like some jealous fool?
Demand she come home? Mamma was right about one thing — chasing Laney down would only make me look desperate.
And I wasn't desperate. I was her husband.
I had a right to know where she was and who she was with, but barging into Rome and dragging her back to the palazzo like some kind of caveman wasn't going to solve anything. It would only make things worse.
I'd deal with it tonight. I'd call her. We'd talk. I'd figure out what the hell she wanted from me, and we'd sort this out like adults. Like two people who'd been married for ten years and had a daughter together. This was just a rough patch. Every marriage had them. We'd get through it.
The car pulled up to the building, and I got out. The ring was still in my hand, warm from being clutched in my fist for the entire drive. I slipped it into my jacket pocket and headed inside.