Eight Graves Later, I Stopped Loving Him

By noon the next day, Lorenzo still hadn’t returned to the estate.

I placed the signed papers of severance on the table and set a recording to be sent to him at a scheduled hour, the way a man times a debt to come due.

Once that was done, I took up my single case and had the driver carry me toward the airfield at the edge of Marchetti territory.

As soon as I arrived, Lorenzo called again.

"Sorry, Adriana. Some of the Family’s partners showed up without warning to settle next season’s couture arrangement. I can’t leave right now."

"I had my secretary see to everything for you. And I remembered you’ve always wanted me to design a dress for you, right? It’s all ready. Once you try it on, it’ll look amazing."

"Okay, thanks."

After the line went dead, my gaze drifted to two girls standing near the gate.

They were huddled together, eyes glued to a phone screen, squealing in excitement.

"Oh my God, I can’t believe the Don is not only beautiful to look at but designs such gorgeous things for a woman who’s expecting. I’m starting to wish I were pregnant!"

"You think a woman can simply buy them? Every piece at today’s showing was designed by Don Marchetti himself for his pregnant wife. Each one is unique, cut from the most expensive cloth money can move. There must be hundreds of them. She’ll never wear them all before the child comes. I’m so jealous."

"I heard the Don doesn’t want to trouble his wife, so the showing was by invitation only, kept quiet like everything the Family keeps quiet. Your man is really something, an associate at the couture house and still getting us these photographs. If it wasn’t for him, we’d never get a look at any of it."

In the video, Carmela walked arm in arm with Lorenzo, gliding without effort in the elegant gowns made for her alone, her smile radiant and carefree.

The Marchetti couture houses were a power in the fashion world, the polished face the Family showed the city, and Lorenzo’s hand for design was nothing short of extraordinary. I used to tease him, asking him to make a dress for me.

He would always brush it off, saying he was too busy, that there was never time. But for Carmela? He’d cut hundreds of pieces without a second thought.

Looking back on what he’d said that morning, about designing a dress for me as a surprise, that smug warmth in his voice, the irony landed like a knife between my ribs.

Soon the call to board came. I pressed my thumb to the bare finger where the band used to sit, the absence the only thing left to hold, then turned off my phone and settled into my seat on the flight bound for neutral territory, beyond the Commission’s reach.

After choosing Carmela’s clothes for her, Lorenzo went to the hotel for the surprise party he’d arranged for Adriana, one of the legitimate fronts the Family kept spotless.

He pictured how she would look in the dress he’d chosen, soft and angelic under the lights.

But instead of Adriana, it was his secretary who met him, flustered and pale, the man’s hands twisting before him. "Don Marchetti, something’s wrong. The madam is gone."