Eight Years Wasted on an Unopened Message

"Making a scene."

He dropped those three words, slid his headset back on, and turned back to his game without a glance. As if the argument hadn't been worth a single second of his attention.

A moment later, Sabrina's voice came through the headset.

"It's up, it's up, get in the lobby!"

Lorenzo gave a soft laugh.

"Women. Always so much trouble."

"Sabrina, whenever you get married, don't ever be like this."

The words had barely left him when a bright, bell-like laugh rang out on the other end. I stood where I was, cold all over.

Lorenzo and I had met young, back when the families still drank together at the old neighborhood haunt, before the alliance was ever spoken aloud. When we were first promised to each other, he did love me, truly. He'd walk the long corridors of the estate with me at night, remember which back-street vendor sold the espresso I liked, ride an hour out past Marchetti territory just to take me somewhere I wanted to see.

Back then he didn't say much, but he was attentive.

Later I complained that he never answered my words sent through the channels. He said:

"I don't like talking."

"Typing's a hassle, listening to messages is a hassle too."

"I'm like this with everyone."

So I believed him. I even made excuses for him. That was just how he was; it didn't mean he didn't care about me.

But later I found out. Some words can't survive being put to the test.

Because Lorenzo listened to every single message Sabrina sent. He'd reach out to her on his own at two in the morning when he couldn't sleep. He remembered what games she was into lately, what films she was watching, what she wanted to eat. Their record of words ran on and on. More, even, than everything that had ever passed between Lorenzo and me in all our promised years.

And wherever Sabrina surfaced, in whatever quiet corner of the Family's circles, you'd always find Lorenzo somewhere near. Almost every time, he was there.

And me? He had never once reached out to me first.

It felt like I'd swallowed a needle. Most of the time I couldn't feel it. But every breath carried a dull, hidden ache.

That night, Lorenzo didn't come back to the bedroom. He stayed in the study all night long, lost in the screen's glow.

The next morning, before I left, I set a note on the dining table.

【See you at the salon for the alliance ceremony.】

【There's something I want to talk to you about.】

He could skip the messages. He could ignore the words sent through the channels. A note, surely, he couldn't fail to see.

Some people aren't blind in the eyes. They're blind in the heart.

At the salon where the ceremony gowns were fitted, I sat from morning until dusk. The cup of hot water in front of me went cold and was refilled, refilled and went cold again.

One couple after another came in laughing. One man held up the hem of his bride's gown. One crouched on the polished floor straightening a train of silk. One held up his phone for photos, telling her how beautiful she looked today.

And beside me, the seat stayed empty.

By the third time a girl came to refill my water, she couldn't quite hide the awkwardness on her face.

"Miss Falcone……"

"We're about to close for the day."

She didn't finish. But I understood. That unspoken pity was harder to bear than any comfort.

I left the salon alone.

On the way back, I kept opening the trail Sabrina left behind her. The newest word had gone out half an hour earlier.

【Oh yeah, made it! Checked in!】

The photo was of the big screen inside a theater. In the bottom left corner, a familiar hand threw up two fingers. Long fingers, a ring on the ring finger. I knew it at a glance.

That was Lorenzo.

In that moment, I almost found it funny.

So while I was sitting in the salon waiting for him, he was off watching a film with someone else.

If slipping back into the safehouse the union had given us had only been one more chance I was giving Lorenzo, then this was the moment I should truly give up.

When I reached the foot of our building, I happened to glance toward the corner of the street. In the little place we used to go to so often, two familiar people were sitting.

Lorenzo had his back to the door. Sabrina sat across from him, talking about something with her whole face lit up. She was laughing, delighted. And Lorenzo was laughing too.

Just like the way he used to be when he talked with me.

Then Sabrina noticed me first. The smile froze on her face.

"Adriana?"

Lorenzo turned, following her gaze. The instant our eyes met, the air seemed to set solid. All around us the place was still loud with voices. But between the three of us hung a strange, nameless awkwardness, the kind of silence that falls in a room when someone reaches for a weapon nobody can see.

"Adriana, come sit!"

Sabrina quickly pulled out the chair beside her. I didn't refuse. I sat down slowly.

"Adriana, how did the fitting go today?"

She was trying hard to find something to say. But the moment the words came out, the air only grew stiffer. She tucked her hair behind her ear, then again, the second time too quick.

Lorenzo's hand, holding a skewer, visibly paused.

Before I could answer, he suddenly raised his voice.

"Waiter!"

"Thirty more beef skewers, ten pork, and add a mango smoothie."

I knew. He felt guilty. This was his way of making peace. A pity it was too late.

Before long the smoothie arrived. The weather was too hot; the ice had already started to melt. Lorenzo pushed it in front of me.

"Go on, eat it."

"It'll melt if you wait any longer."

I lowered my eyes, glanced at it, and didn't move.

Lorenzo frowned. "Isn't mango smoothie your favorite?"

The words landed. And Sabrina suddenly laughed out loud, a half-second too fast, too bright.

"You idiot. The one who likes mango smoothie is me."

The air went quiet at once.

Lorenzo froze. He went completely still, his thumb pressing into the heel of his palm. The awkwardness on his face came up plain to see.

"Sorry……"

He scratched the back of his head without thinking. "I got it mixed up."

I looked at him quietly, saying nothing.

The truth was he hadn't mixed it up. He had simply never remembered in the first place.

Because all these years, the one who ate with him was me. The one who did the ordering was me too. He'd never had to bother remembering what I liked.

So he didn't know. My favorite was strawberry milkshake.

He didn't know either. That I was severely allergic to mango.

I lowered my head. And under the two of them watching, I slowly scooped up a spoonful of the mango smoothie. And put it in my mouth.