Twenty Years, One Mistake

He let out a scoff, his eyes trailing lazily down Ginevra's thigh, still exposed below her over-the-knee boots.

"That is impressive? The best part — oh, you haven't even seen it yet."

Tomasso smacked his lips, clearly envious.

"When I hit your level, I'm keeping a hundred just like her!"

"But hey, your wife isn't bad either. Even without makeup, she's a stunner."

The second Tomasso mentioned me, Domenico's face hardened.

"Don't even think about touching my wife. Unless you're ready to lose everything."

The shift was instant. Not a raised voice. Not a threat you could point to in a courtroom. Just something in the air that changed, the way a room goes cold when a gun clears a holster. Tomasso backtracked fast, nodding and stammering apologies, swearing on his mother he'd make sure I'd never find out anything.

But at this point, I don't care anymore.

I turned and bolted, desperate to get out of there, only to bump straight into one of the Family's delivery runners rushing in with garment boxes.

"Mrs. Moretti—"

"Shh!" I cut him off. "Don't tell anyone you saw me. Unless you want to explain to the Don why you couldn't keep your mouth shut."

I didn't even know how I got back home. When I finally looked up, I was already standing outside the door of the Moretti estate.

One of my shoes was missing, and I looked like a mess.

When I checked the time, I realized eight hours had gone by since the shoot started.

I drove to the closest store outside Family territory and cleared the shelves of every bottle of alcohol they had.

After paying, I stepped outside — and as if fate wasn't done screwing with me, I ran into my husband's mistress.

The way her eyes lit up when she saw me. That smug little gleam. Her fingers drifted to the hollow of her throat, touching the pendant that hung there, the one I recognized because the jeweler who made it had offered to show me the design first.

But her words? Sickly sweet.

"Oh my god, you're Mrs. Moretti, right? I've been such a huge admirer of yours for ages! I even sent a gift when you and the Don had your wedding — the one every Boss on the Eastern Seaboard attended! I can't believe we live in the same neighborhood!"

"You know, I used to be really jealous of your love story. I mean, who wouldn't dream of a husband like yours? And guess what? My dream came true!"

She giggled, tucking her hair behind her ear in this fake, innocent way.

Her voice dropped to this conspiratorial whisper like we were best friends sharing secrets.

"My apartment here? It's a gift from him — basically just like a little 'hello' present, you know? Right here in Moretti territory, under all those soldiers' noses."

"Anyway, hey, can I get your number? We should totally get together sometime — maybe go to the spa, something fun!"

I didn't want to let her see me break, so I kept my face blank and gave her my number.

After adding me, she hooked her arm through mine like we were best friends. As if it was a joke, I walked into the neighborhood together with my husband's mistress, past the gate where the soldiers on watch recognized my face and straightened, past the manicured hedges that bordered the compound, her arm threaded through mine like a knife dressed in silk.

She kept chattering in my ear, talking about how her boyfriend gave her an apartment, a front business of her own, and even scripts written just for her.

I just nodded along. Finally, at my front door, I managed to escape, muttering a quick goodbye before shutting myself inside.

The second I was alone, I cracked open a few bottles and drank, hoping to disappear into oblivion. The house was enormous and silent. The kind of silence that only the Don's residence achieves — thick walls, soundproofed rooms, a world designed so that nothing ugly is ever heard.

But it didn't take long before my phone buzzed with a message. From her.

[Hey, Serafina, do you like roses? Today's shoot went so well, and my boyfriend says he's buying out every rose in the city to celebrate! That's a lot, right? I can send some to you if you'd like!]

I stared at that shameless message for a moment before deleting it without replying.

By the time Domenico got home, I'd already had quite a bit to drink.

He froze in the doorway, his eyes wide. He didn't even take off his shoes, just crossed the marble foyer and went straight to the kitchen to make hangover soup for me.

I grabbed his hand as he passed by and pulled him toward me like a brat.

"Babe, I want roses. Can you get me some? Like right now."

He let out a chuckle. But his eyes — they were empty.

"Why the sudden interest in flowers? Can I get them for you tomorrow, babe? I've got so much to handle tonight, you know?"

"Did you drink too much?"

Tears welled up in my eyes as I shook my head bitterly.

"You can't, can you? Oh well, never mind. Go ahead, finish your work."

"Babe, what's wrong? Didn't you sleep well last night? How about you head to bed early tonight? I'll make you soup for your hangover first, but after that, I've really got to get back."

He kept asking me what was wrong, but I didn't say another word.

What was the point? Nothing I said would change a damn thing. He was the Don. He did what he wanted. He always had.

He watched me sip the hangover soup he made, and then just like that, he left me alone without a word. The front door clicked shut. An engine turned over in the drive. And then nothing but that terrible, soundproofed silence again, pressing against every wall of the house he'd built around me.