The Corleone Wife Who Died and Disappeared

“Have you guys seen how much the Don’s been hanging around Susan lately?”

“Shut your mouth, the Donna’s right there!”

One of the men elbowed the other, who turned to me with an awkward smile.

“Sorry, Donna. Just messing around, don’t pay us no mind.”

I stared at the table full of mango desserts.

Susan’s favorite, through and through. And I was deathly allergic to mangoes.

Once, Zane had loved me just as fiercely.

He’d camped out at the docks for weeks on end, just to have an excuse to eat lunch with me when I was too busy to leave the office.

When I’d pushed through work in the middle of a heart episode, he’d crushed my pills into a sugar-free cake, fed it to me with a grin, and laughed at the face I made when I tasted the bitter medicine underneath.

Back then, the wind off the water had tasted sweet, just because he was there.

Now, that sweetness belonged to someone else.

I pushed the thought away, burying myself in the winery project paperwork.

I’d pulled all-nighters for weeks to get this deal over the line, and of course, I was working late again that night.

It was pitch black outside by the time I finally looked up.

Zane was standing in the doorway.

“Seraphina? You’re still working?”

I looked up, my voice cold and distant.

“Is there something you need, Don Corleone?”

He seemed thrown by the formality, but after a brief pause, he walked in.

“Susan’s been in a bad state for a while. The doctor said it would help if she had something of her own to focus on.”

Then he said quietly, “I want you to let her take over the winery project.”

He knew exactly how hard I’d fought for this deal. How many nights I’d stayed up, how many meetings I’d sat through, how much of myself I’d poured into it.

And still, he had come to me asking for it for Susan.

Because he believed I would understand.

Because he believed I would give way.

“Fine. She can have it. Tell her to come down to the docks tomorrow, and I’ll walk her through the handover.”

“I knew you’d understand.”

Then, almost like he was rewarding me for being reasonable, he reached out and brushed a hand lightly over my shoulder.

“That’s my girl.”

When I didn’t respond, the faint smile on his face faltered for a second.

“Alright,” he said, gentler now. “Don’t make that face. I’m not trying to upset you. Just help her get through this for now.”

“Stop being so stubborn with me. I know I messed up with the cellar. You’ve always wanted to go to Sicily, right? When this blows over, I’ll take you. Just the two of us.”

He glanced at me, the easy confidence already back in his eyes.

“Tomorrow’s our anniversary,” he said. “Don’t stay too late. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

He said it with the same easy certainty he always had, as if one dinner and a few soft promises were enough to mend everything.

I suddenly realized how long it had been since we had spent an anniversary alone.

I hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

One last dinner, to close the book on us forever.