Chapter 44
Matteo
Fuck this shit.
Every night I come home to find my wife hiding a full day of panic behind a tired smile, and every night I feel myself getting closer to losing my goddamn mind.
By the time I walk through the front door, Anna has already rehearsed the grief of losing me a dozen different ways.
I see it in how fast she gets up when she hears the door.
It’s in the relief she tries to swallow before she thinks I’ll notice it.
In the way her hands tremble slightly when she touches me, like some part of her still isn’t convinced I’m real.
I used to think the worst part of this godforsaken war was what waited for me out in my city’s streets.
Turns out it’s coming home to this.
It’s not healthy for her to spend all her time trapped in this house, drowning in worry over whether I’ll make it home alive.
Because that’s exactly what my Anna has been doing with her time.
She just sits and waits for disaster to strike, like she’s forgotten how to do anything else.
She hasn’t picked up a book or touched her piano since the war began, too terrified for her siblings and me to allow herself even a second of joy.
And watching my beautiful wife wither away from all the horrors running through that pretty little head of hers is killing me faster than any bullet ever could.
She needs a reprieve from the constant weight of her worries, even if only for a day. One day where she can forget the war raging beyond these walls. One day where she isn’t waiting for bad news or bracing for the worst.
She needs a day where all she has to focus on is us.
Us and our happiness.
Because when all is said and done, we are happy.
When night falls and the world is locked away behind our bedroom door, Anna and I are happier than we have ever been after such lonely existences. She is my peace. My light. My reason. And seeing her so crestfallen, spending her days consumed by fear, is unbearable beyond words.
Hence why I came up with this plan.
Today is Halloween. A day when my city is full of people dressed in the most ridiculous costumes imaginable. A day where we can walk down the sidewalk hand in hand without worrying that someone will recognize us.
A day where I don’t have to fear someone taking her away from me.
“I don’t know about this,” she says, staring at her reflection in the vanity mirror as she adjusts her wig.
I frown at the flowing raven-black hair cascading over her shoulders down to the low of her back.
I miss the blonde streaks in her short hair, the way they gleam whenever the sun catches them just right.
Though it doesn’t matter. It’s still my Anna beneath all that makeup and dark hair.
The whole point of us wearing costumes is to disappear.
The Outfit is looking for a blonde goddess.
A mafia princess. Not a brunette in a cheap Halloween costume.
“It will be fine, sweetheart. Trust me.”
Her shoulders slump before she turns and walks over to me in her ten-inch heels. My eyes may struggle to reconcile this outlandish version of Anna with my sweet, docile wife, but my heart recognizes its owner instantly. And by the way my cock bulges, it does too.
“I do trust you,” she says, wrapping her arms around me and pressing her cheek to my heart. “I just wish we could go out without…all of this.”
“I could have bought you a princess costume, but I felt it was too on the nose,” I joke, picking her chin up.
“You’re not funny,” she says, though her smile says otherwise.
“We’ll have fun today. I promise. A day out of this house will do us both some good.”
She nods before rising onto her tiptoes to kiss me. Even with the fabricated height her heels give her, the top of Anna’s head only reaches a little past my chin.
“Are you ready, sweetheart?”
“If I say no, can we ditch this plan of yours altogether and just stay home?” she says, half joking, half lamenting, her nerves bleeding through.
“Not a chance.” I wink.
“That’s what I thought,” she sighs, pressing a kiss to my jaw before letting me help her into her coat.
Anna stays close to my side as we head downstairs together. The second we reach the foyer, my mother gasps dramatically.
“Oh, my, you two look amazing!” She claps when she sees us in our pirate costumes.
“You don’t think it’s a little too much?” Anna asks, tugging at the hem of her miniskirt.
“Absolutely not. You both look spectacular,” my mother insists, thankfully easing some of my wife’s nerves.
“Thank you, Paolina,” Anna says, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “We promise we’ll be home before dinner.”
“Nonsense. Stay out as late as you want. Just promise me you’ll enjoy yourselves.” My mother flashes us a beaming smile.
I place a kiss on her cheek before whispering in her ear, “If anyone asks, you don’t know where we are.”
“Don’t worry, figlio mio. Your secret is safe with me,” my mother replies with a mischievous wink, patting my cheek lovingly.
I pull Anna’s trench coat closed before slipping into mine, making sure our pirate costumes stay hidden from the soldiers standing guard at the door.
Anna’s wig and eccentric make-up will obviously grab their attention, but they’ll just assume it’s some absurd fashion statement or some new trend Manhattan’s upper crust invented this month.
I know it’s risky not having my men tail us, but I want Anna to feel the way she did back in the Hamptons.
Like a normal, as she puts it.
I offer them a curt nod, placing my hand protectively at the small of my wife’s back and leading her into the elevator. Once the doors close, I let out a breath.
“No one knows what we’re up to, do they?” she asks, worry lacing her voice. “Are you sure it’s safe? What if we bump into one of my brothers on the street? Or Stella? What if…”
“Shh.” I press a finger gently to her lips. “None of that is going to happen. And if it does, we’ll deal with it. Right now, my only concern is putting a smile on your face. That’s all.”
She exhales slowly, forcing herself to relax. She trusts that I wouldn’t take this kind of risk without planning for every possible outcome. And she’s right. The famiglia might not know where we are, but that doesn’t mean I left anything to chance.
For the rest of the day, I guide Anna through the city with a quiet sort of pride.
First, a gallery where she lingers in front of every painting like she’s trying to memorize each brushstroke.
Then a small music hall tucked beneath the glow of neon signs, where I spend more time watching her than the stage.
My heart clenching with the way she closes her eyes and lets the music carry her somewhere gentler than this life.
Later, I lead her into a narrow bookstore hidden between crowded storefronts, her fingertips gliding across worn spines as though every story is something precious. In those moments, New York stops feeling like a city I need to conquer. Instead, it becomes something I get to share with her.
I could’ve taken her to the flashy tourist traps the city parades for outsiders, but I wanted her to see my New York first. The hidden corners. The quieter magic.
By the time we leave the underground poetry reading, the sun hangs low over Manhattan, streaking the city in amber and gold.
I grab hot dogs from a street cart, and we wander through Central Park hand in hand as dusk slowly settles around us, the last light catching in Anna’s hair beneath her ridiculous pirate hat.
Around us, couples in Halloween costumes drift through the park without a second glance in our direction. Like them, Anna and I become just another faceless pair in the crowd. And that anonymity feels a lot like freedom.
I love New York in the fall, especially Central Park. Leaves in every shade of gold, crimson, and amber blanket the ground, while the sun lingers stubbornly above the skyline, unwilling to say goodbye just yet.
Anna and I settle onto a patch of grass, her head resting in my lap as we soak in the last warmth of the fading light.
We talk about all the places I took her to that day, then about the books she’s read—or tried to read—while I was gone. Eventually, the conversation drifts toward the future. A life after the war. One that isn’t stained by violence and bloodshed.
“Matteo?” she asks, pensively.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“We never had this discussion before…. Not really. But…do you want kids?” she asks, looking up at me.
“Only if my wife wants them.”
“That’s not an answer,” she frowns.
“I’m happy as long as I’m with you. If children come into our lives, then that will just be a bonus.” I smile at her, brushing the black bangs off her forehead, wishing they were her normal golden locks. “Though I would like them to look like their mother.”
“Funny. I was thinking how much I’d like a boy who looks like his dad.” She smiles lovingly at me.
“So is that what you want? For us to have children in the future?”
She mauls her lip and then stares at me with sad eyes.
“I’d like us to have a family…I just don’t know if I could bring children into this…life.”
My heart cracks at the sincerity in her voice. At how badly she wants it, yet still won’t allow herself to reach for it because she’s terrified of what this life would do to our children.
And she’s right.
Anna and I would love our kids fiercely. Protect them with everything we have. But they would still be born into the famiglia.
If we had sons, they’d one day have to swear the omertá and follow in my footsteps, my firstborn destined to inherit my throne when my time came. And if we had daughters…
God.
What if one day someone stole them from us the same way I stole Anna from her family? The thought alone sends ice through my veins.
“Annamaria, the aspiring pianist freshly graduated from Juilliard, and her husband, Matteo, the renowned chef, could’ve had as many children as they wanted,” she says softly.
She smiles at me then, but there’s something unbearably sad about it as she cups my chin in her palm.
“In another life, husband, we might’ve had it all.
” Her thumb brushes across my skin. “Just not this one.”
I can’t even remember the last time I cried.
It’s been so long that I convinced myself I no longer could, that whatever part of me once knew how to grieve had been carved out years ago.
But hearing my wife speak so calmly about settling for half a life just to remain by my side is unbearable.
Because she deserves everything.
And loving me means she can never truly have it. I can’t even remember the last time I cried.
It’s been so long that I convinced myself I no longer could, that whatever part of me once knew how to grieve had been carved out years ago.
But hearing my wife speak so calmly about settling for half a life just to remain by my side is unbearable.
Because she deserves everything.
And loving me means she can never truly have it.
“I… I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”
My head drops to my chest, but Anna immediately rises into my lap, wrapping her arms around me and pulling me against her.
“It’s okay, Matteo. It’s okay,” she whispers, her hand moving slowly up and down my back as she tries to hold me together while I come apart.
But it’s not okay.
None of this is okay.
I promised my wife I’d give her everything. A life worthy of her. And this… this life we’re trapped in is not that.
I’m failing her.
The worst part is knowing we were doomed long before we ever met. The life Anna dreams about is one I could never truly give her. Our fates were sealed the moment we were born carrying our respective last names.
Even if we had never fallen in love, Anna would still be an Outfit principessa, and I would still be a Donato.
She could never be a pianist.
And I could never be a chef.
Our futures had already been written for us long before we ever had the chance to want something different.
“Matteo, look at me,” she says softly, cupping my face in her hands. “I love you. And I love our life together. Whatever the future holds for us, I’ll love that too.”
“You deserve more, vita mia. You deserve everything,” I choke out.
“As long as I have you, then I’m happy. You are all I’ve ever wanted. Just you.”
And as I search her impossible blue eyes, I know she means every word.
I know she would spend the rest of her life beside me as a Cosa Nostra queen, even if it contradicted everything she once believed in.
Even if it went against her principles, her morals, the very core of who she is, she would still choose me.
Without hesitation. Without regret. Completely.
“I love you so much,” I whisper, pressing kisses against her cheeks, her nose, her chin, desperate to pour every feeling inside me into something she can touch.
“My life was empty before you. Gray. Ugly. Then you came into it and filled every broken part of me with light. No matter how many lives we live, I’ll love you in every single one of them. Even if I don’t deserve to.”
“Look at me, husband,” she murmurs, her tone gentle despite the quiet firmness behind it.
“You deserve happiness just as much as I do. You deserve love, Matteo. And I will love you in this life and every one that comes after it. Always.” Her thumb brushes beneath my eye, tender enough to undo me completely.
“You are my happily ever after, husband. You are my everything.”
I breathe her in before crushing my lips to hers, needing the goodness inside her to quiet the chaos tearing through my mind.
And when we return home, I make love to my wife with a kind of reverence that borders on desperation, needing her to understand what words could never fully convey.
That I will never take her love for granted, that I know exactly how lucky I am she stepped into my world, and that there is nothing I wouldn’t do to make her happy.
But I do not sleep that night.
Or the next.
Or even the one after that.
How could I?
Every time I close my eyes, all I see is the life that has been stolen from us. The life Anna and I might have had if we had been born into different families, with different last names and more promising fates.
I have never been an envious man, but I envy the renowned chef who gets to come home each night to his brilliantly talented pianist wife, their beautiful children filling their home with laughter and joyous noise.
No, envy has never been one of my sins. Yet it is this imagined version of ourselves, and the alternative life we could have lived, that keeps me awake until dawn.
Because that man is living the life I want…and the life my wife truly deserves.