Sofia pushes my plate towards me as I set both glasses down and take a seat, toying with her chopsticks as she looks over at me apprehensively. She’s not wearing any makeup tonight, so far as I can tell—I don’t think she expected me to be home until after she was asleep, like usual. She looks beautiful without it, a sprinkling of freckles visible over the bridge of her nose that makes me think, suddenly, about leaning forward and kissing her there.
Where the fuck did that come from?I’ve never had a thought like that in my life. But for a moment, I can’t deny that I had the urge to lean in and kiss my wife, right on her perfect, freckled nose.
Sofia eyes me. “Okay. What’s so important that you rushed home and brought sushi in order to con me into a conversation?”
“Ididn’t bring the sushi,” I point out. “I had Carmen order it.”
“Naturally.” Sofia rolls her eyes. “Just tell me what it is, Luca.”
“It’s about Caterina.”
She looks slightly alarmed at that. “We didn’t leave the penthouse. The entire wedding dress appointment was here, and—”
“Sofia,” I speak calmly, my voice even and measured. “You’re not in trouble, okay? Let’s just try to have a normal conversation for once.”
She leans back, biting her lower lip in a way that once again makes me want to kiss her. “Okay,” she says finally.
“Good.” I set my chopsticks down, turning a little to face her. “Franco is insisting that he, I, and some of our other friends go away this weekend for a bachelor party. I don’t think it’s a good idea, but he’s very firm that he needs this last hurrah before his time as a single man ends.”
“Okay—where are you going?” Sofia frowns, and I can see from her expression exactly what she thinks of Franco’s insistence. Ironically, it’s the first thing I can recall us agreeing on. “Isn’t that a bad idea with everything that’s happened?”
“For once, we’re in agreement.” I let out a sigh. “But he’s my oldest friend, and he’s basically made it clear thathethinks we need this. And I think—” I pause, wondering how much to share with her. But for better or worse, we’re married now. And if there’severa possibility of Sofia being a functioning part of my life instead of something I have to constantly worry about, I have to be able to share some measure of what I’m thinking with her.
“Franco has led a very privileged life since we’ve been friends,” I begin slowly, and Sofia snorts.
“You’reallprivileged.” She sets her chopsticks down too, looking at me as if I’ve grown two heads. “Do you really think you’re not?”
“Do you thinkyou’renot?” I retort, glaring at her.Goddamn it, how does this woman get under my skin so easily?“For fuck’s sake, Sofia, you’ve been on a free ride since you turned eighteen. An automatic deposit from Rossi’s accounts went into yours every month like clockwork, paid your tuition in full every semester. No rent, no utilities, no grocery bill. You’ve never had to live like a normal person. You never would have, for as long as the money held up. And now you never will since you’remywife.”
“I think that’s fair since my fatherdiedbecause of him!” Sofia’s teeth are gritted as she speaks, her posture ramrod straight. I can feel the tension rising in the air, just like it always does.
“Your father died because of himself,” I say flatly. “Because of his mistakes. Not because of Rossi. Andmyfather died because of yours. Because of their friendship. Yet here I am, carrying out their promises.”
The room is very quiet for a moment. Neither of us moves or speaks.
“I’m sorry,” Sofia says finally, and I can feel the tension rush out of the room like air from a balloon. “You’re right. There are still things that I don’t know. And I have been privileged, too. So tell me what you’re talking about, Luca.”
It takes me a moment to be able to gather my thoughts. I hadn’t expected her to give in like that, to concede. It makes me look at her with fresh eyes and wonder briefly if I’ve underestimated her.
If maybe I just haven’t bothered to give her—us—a chance because I’m so fixated on never having anything to lose.
If maybe, just maybe, Sofia Ferretti is stronger than I think.
“When I say Franco has led a privileged life, I mean that I’ve sheltered him from a lot of the realities ofthislife—life in the mafia,” I explain. “I protected him from the bullies that spread lies about him when we were younger, and I just never stopped protecting him. When there were jobs for us to do for Rossi, when there were men who needed to be made to talk, men who needed to be killed, unsavory things, I protected him from the worst of it. I’ve always done the dirtiest work because I wanted to keep my friend from having to battle the demons that follow you after.” I pause, then, realizing that I’ve said more than I meant to.Revealedmore of myself than I meant to.
Sofia is absolutely silent. Her hands have fallen into her lap, and she’s watching me with those liquid dark eyes, her face so smooth that I can’t see what she’s thinking.
“But I can’t do that any longer. I’m no longer the underboss. I’m thedonnow. Franco is my underboss, and if we’re going to continue this legacy, if we’re going to push back the Bratva and keep this territory safe, I need him to step up and do the things that I once did for Rossi—forme.”
“And you think giving him one last weekend of freedom to do as he likes will enable him to do that once you come back home?”
Sofia speaks softly, but her words cut right to the heart of it, with a precision that startles me. I hadn’t expected her to be so acute, but once again, it makes me wonder if the circumstances of our meeting—of our marriage—have led me to vastly underestimate her.
My wife isn’t stupid. I’ve always known that deep down—after all, she was a student at Juilliard, a brilliant violinist. I’ve seen the books in her room; they’re not all fluff without substance. There are classics in there, philosophy, books that I probably have in my own library. And yet, I’ve been treating her like a child.
Maybe that’s why she resents you.
Abruptly, I pull my thoughts back into focus. I don’t have time to spend reevaluating my marriage just now. That can come later—maybe. If this first serious conversation that we’ve had isn’t just some kind of fluke.