The Corleone Wife Who Died and Disappeared
Chapter 2
Then someone inside glanced toward the door and spotted me.
“Don,” he said with a half-laugh, “looks like your wife came after all.”
The voices inside paused.
Zane looked up and saw me standing there.
“So you came after all,” he said, his voice low with drink. “What, you cooled off and came to take me home?”
I said nothing.
Behind him, Susan looked up in surprise. “Weren’t we staying out all night? Didn’t you say we were going to the next place after this?”
Zane didn’t even look back at her when he answered.
“Not tonight.”
Then he turned to me again, his tone already shifting into something softer.
“There’s a storm coming in later. Thunderstorms.She hate thunder. I’m going home with her.”
It was said so naturally, as if nothing had happened. As if all he had to do was stand up, decide the night was over, and everything between us would return to the way it had always been.
He picked up his coat and stepped out of the booth.
No explanation. No apology.
We walked across the street to where my car was parked.
As we stepped into the road, Zane’s hand shot out and yanked me back hard against his chest. A motorcycle had come flying around the corner, the rider reaching for my purse.
If he hadn’t pulled me back, it would’ve been a lot worse than just losing my bag.
He immediately called his men, barking orders to hunt down the crew the rider belonged to, then turned back to me, his voice sharp with frantic worry.
“You’ve been walking on the razor’s edge for years, and you didn’t even see that coming?”
He laced his fingers through mine, his palm warm and rough with calluses, and pulled me across the street.
For a split second, I was transported back to when we were kids, to every time he’d shielded me from the world.
It had been so long since he’d touched me like that.
I pulled my hand away the second we reached the sidewalk, without a word.
The next morning, I grabbed my bag to head down to the family docks. Zane blocked my path before I could reach the door.
“You can take the helicopter. It’ll save you the drive through city traffic. I’ll take you to the heliport.”
I had barely slept a few hours the night before, so I didn’t argue.
I followed him to the car and reached for the passenger door, only to stop short.
The front seat was cluttered with half-used makeup, lip gloss, a silk scarf, and several blister packs of medication.
All of it was unmistakably Susan’s.
For a moment, I just stood there.
Once, Zane had told me that seat was mine.
He said no one else would ever sit beside him where I sat.
Zane noticed where my eyes had landed and spoke before I could say a word.
“Susan’s car broke down a few days ago. I’ve been taking her to the hospital, so some of her things got left behind.” His voice was low, almost matter-of-fact. “Don’t overthink it.”
Don’t overthink it.
As if the problem was not that another woman’s things had taken over the seat he once swore belonged only to me, but that I was unreasonable for noticing.
I said nothing.
Zane waited a beat, then added, with a trace of impatience, “She’s been in bad shape lately. It’s not worth getting worked up over.”
I looked away and got into the back seat without a word.
He tried to make small talk about the docks’ management during the drive, but I only stared out the window in silence.
Thankfully, several minutes later, we arrived at the heliport. I stepped onto the helipad atop the dock office building and threw myself straight into work.
By the end of the day, I was exhausted. I had just reached for my mug to make a coffee when the office door swung open.
One of the dockhands came in carrying a huge crate of pastries and drinks, saying it had been sent down by the Don.
The men outside erupted into cheers.
“Damn, the Don really spoils the Donna! Said he was worried she was working too hard!”
“Lucky us, getting to ride the coattails of how much he loves her!”
Only I knew the truth.
The mango smoothies, mango sticky rice, mango tarts, all of them were Susan’s favorites.
I was just the excuse.
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