My mafia boss husband called to say he was spending the night drinking with old classmates.

by

Chapter 2

THEME:
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Salvatore’s posture, normally imperious and unyielding, visibly contracted. His shoulders dropped two inches. The color drained from his weathered cheeks until the broken capillaries around his temples stood out like dark thread.

"I understand," Salvatore said into the microphone. "Henry, listen to me. The boy was reckless. It was a domestic dispute—an indiscretion, nothing more. A private failure between a husband and wife."

A pause. Then Salvatore closed his eyes.

"No. No, I know the terms of the seventy-eight accord. I have not forgotten." Another beat. "She is unharmed. She is walking out now."

Salvatore lowered the phone. He didn't hand it back to me; he held it out like a live grenade, his hand visibly trembling until I took it from his grasp.

"Claire," Salvatore said, his voice stripped of the patronizing authority he had wielded at the dining table just five minutes ago. "Go home to Lake Forest. Do not speak to the commission. Do not speak to the city press. Let me handle Vincent."

"Handle him?" I repeated, sliding the phone into my handbag. "You had your chance to handle him forty minutes ago, Salvatore. You chose to sit him next to Sophia, hand me a lecture on loyalty, and demand an apology from the woman he betrayed."

Vincent grabbed my wrist this time, tight and desperate. "Claire, stop talking in riddles! What accord? What are you talking about? You're my wife! We took vows in Holy Name Cathedral!"

I looked at him, truly looked at him. I saw the handsome cleft in his chin, the dark hair that usually fell across his forehead when he laughed, the broad shoulders that had held me during thunderstorms. I looked for the man I had fallen in love with in an art gallery four years ago—the man who claimed he wanted a quiet life away from the blood and grease of his family’s trade.

He had lied about that, too. He didn't want a quiet life; he wanted an obedient shadow. He wanted a domestic anchor to look pristine for the public while he kept his childhood plaything tucked in executive suites.

"You broke those vows at seven o'clock last night, Vincent," I said softly. "And when the elevator opened this morning, you didn't ask if I was hurt. You didn't ask if my heart was broken. You told me not to make a scene."

"I was trying to protect our name!" he shouted, frustration breaking through his veneer.

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Table of Contents
My mafia boss husband called to say he was spending the night drinking with old classmates.
TABLE OF CONTENTS 11
01 Chapter 1 02 Chapter 2 03 Chapter 3 04 Chapter 4 05 Chapter 5 06 Chapter 6 07 Chapter 7 08 Chapter 8 09 Chapter 9 10 Chapter 10 11 Chapter 11

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