Wedding Day He Ruined His Bride, Then Begged for Her Back

I couldn't stomach another second of that disgusting scene.

I clenched my hands and fought to steady myself.

I don't know how long it was before Marco came back in.

He locked the door behind him and slammed the keys down hard on the console by the entryway.

He crouched in front of the couch and wrapped his arms around my waist.

"I'm sorry, Gioia. I never thought she'd have the nerve to show up in front of you. I cursed her out and sent her away."

Marco lifted his head. "Don't worry. As long as I'm here, she won't dare come near you again."

I looked at his faintly reddened lips, and the mark on his collar. His fingers drifted up, brushing the inside of that collar as he spoke, the way they always did.

All at once it felt pointless. Tangling with trash like this, even winning was losing.

"Okay. I believe you."

I played along, my mind already made up.

"What do you want for lunch? I'll make it."

Marco stood up.

"I want braciole, the way your mother makes it," I said.

Marco went into the kitchen, and the sound of running water rose as he washed the vegetables.

I took out my phone and called Nonna.

"Nonna, are you home?"

"I'm home. What's got you calling, Gioia?"

Nonna's voice came through, soft as flour, a world away from the marble and locked doors of the Rovello arrangement.

"I want to come back."

"Is Marco coming back with you?"

"No, just me. I'm done here. I'm coming back to the village to stay for good."

"All right. I'll make up the bed for you."

After I hung up, I opened the ticketing app and bought a bus ticket to the country town beyond the Families' reach.

For the last three days, I didn't bring up Serafina again, and I didn't mention going to the Feds. Both of us knew that word was the one that could not be said aloud in this house.

Every morning I got up early to cook Marco his breakfast, and every night I pressed his shirts and hung them in the closet.

Marco watched me and smiled while he ate.

"Tesoro, you've finally come around. Let's just live our lives like this, and forget everything that happened before," Marco said.

I nodded. "Eat up. It's getting cold."

The last night before I left.

I sat on the couch.

My phone screen lit up.

A video message had come in.

The sender was an unknown number.

I opened the video.

On the screen was a hotel bed.

Marco had his eyes closed.

"Marco, who makes you feel better, me or Gioia Ferraro?"

Serafina asked in the video.

Marco didn't open his eyes. He rolled over and pulled her into his arms.

"Why bring her up right now? She's a block of wood. In bed she's like a corpse. Nothing like you, so free with it."

Marco's voice came through clearly. "Enough talking. Let's go again."

Serafina smiled at the camera and set the phone face down on the table.

Then, from the dark screen, came sounds I couldn't bear to hear.

Right after, a text arrived from that number.

【Gioia Ferraro, did you see? Your man already thinks you're used goods someone else has had.】

【He's in my bed every day now. He's coming to me again tonight. Care to come watch?】

I gripped the phone, my nails digging into my palm.

The running water in the kitchen stopped.

Marco dried his hands and came out.

He glanced at his phone.

He walked to the bedroom to grab his jacket.

"Gioia, there's trouble with the crew's books, numbers that don't square. The capo wants me down at the club tonight to sort it. Go to bed early, don't wait up for me." His hand went to his collar as he said it, two fingers pressing the fabric flat.

"This late, and you still have to go?"

I asked from the couch.

"No choice. That's the life. You know that."

Marco reached the door and put on his shoes.

He came back over, bent down, and kissed my forehead.

"Tesoro, be good and wait for me at home."

The lock clicked shut.

The footsteps in the hallway gradually faded away.

I didn't hesitate any longer.

My thumb turned once over the bare space on my left ring finger. Then I packed my suitcase quickly and headed for the bus station, out past the streets the Rovellos owned, toward the country roads no Family had ever bothered to claim.

Eleven thirty at night.

Marco walked in carrying a bag from the late-night joint on the corner.

The apartment was pitch dark.

"Gioia, I'm home. Look, I brought you the roasted peppers you like…"

Marco flipped the switch on the wall.

The living room lit up. There was no one there.

Marco froze for a moment, then strode into the bedroom.

"Gioia?"

No one was on the bed. The blankets were folded neatly.

He turned and slid open the closet door.

The left half was empty.

He rushed into the bathroom.

Half the things on the vanity were gone.

He ran back to the living room and immediately spotted the diamond ring and bank card left on the coffee table.

He pulled out his phone, his fingers trembling as he dialed my number.

A cold woman's voice came from the speaker:

"We're sorry. The number you have dialed is not in service. Please check the number and try again."

Marco hung up and dialed again.

"We're sorry. The number you have dialed is not in service…"