When I said that, Dario finally let his shoulders ease, and he started up the stairs.
"I forgot some papers. Let me grab them."
I watched him climb, every footstep swallowed by the thick carpet of the Conti estate, then I reached for the phone he'd left on the table beside his untouched glass of his father's grappa.
I keyed in Carmela's birthday, and the screen lit up with a wallpaper of Dario and Carmela locked in a kiss.
So his phone really did run two systems. One face for the famiglia, one for her.
I opened his messaging app fast. Pinned at the top was Carmela's photo, and right below it, the group chat with his men.
I tapped into the group, and what filled the screen made my heart lurch so hard the phone nearly slipped from my fingers.
It was wall to wall with the photos Dario and Carmela had taken of me the night before, my body bared and unconscious.
"Not bad, Don. Got to say, your wife's still got it."
"Honestly, a pregnant one's got a flavor all its own. Just wonder how she'd taste."
"For real, with that face, she'd earn more than any girl in the club."
Bruno and the others' filth left my mind blank, as if I were some animal stripped naked and paraded down a street, jeered at through a screen.
"Baby, why are your eyes red?"
By the time Dario came back down with his papers, I was sitting on the sofa again.
He brought over a blanket and tucked it around me, the gesture too gentle, too practiced.
"It's still a little cold out, and you're carrying. You have to take care of yourself."
"Tonight's Carmela's birthday. I'm throwing her a party here, invited a few of the men over. Dress up nicely."
At Carmela's name I gave the smallest shudder, and my face went cold.
"I'd like to rest at home today. I don't want to be disturbed."
His face darkened on the spot. In the silence, the ice in his untouched grappa shifted, the only sound in the room.
"Carmela's birthday only comes once a year. I'm celebrating it for her, and you're going to hold your pregnancy over me? I've made enough allowances for you these past months. This one thing I won't give you."
I hadn't said a word against her yet, and already Dario couldn't wait to leap to his precious girl's defense.
I should have understood long ago. Love and the lack of it really are that obvious.
In the end, Dario brought his pack of made men into the house to celebrate Carmela's birthday.
The moment I came downstairs, I felt every eye in the room land on me. The low talk died the way it does when something enters the room that men have already agreed to break.
There was mockery in those looks, contempt, and something uglier underneath.
"Elena, we're wearing the same dress! We really are on the same wavelength!"
Carmela came over, looping her arm through mine with false affection, and only then did I notice the red dress on me matched hers exactly.
"The dress looks better on you, Carmela. Elena's all bloated and ugly with that belly now. She doesn't have a fraction of your charm."
Dario heaped praise on Carmela and didn't spare an ounce of contempt for me.
"Don, you can't say that. The way I see it, a pregnant woman's got her own flavor."
Bruno cracked the knuckles of his right hand, one finger at a time, then caught my hand and ran his palm over the back of it, his eyes openly leering.
I yanked hard to pull free, but he only gripped tighter and arched a brow at me.
"This is exactly the type I like. Feels good to touch."
I shot Dario a look begging for help, only to find him watching me without the slightest concern.
"Look at the state of you. My brother paying you a compliment is a blessing. Don't be ungrateful."
I clenched my teeth, and my voice came out almost forced through them.
"Dario, I'm your wife."
Only then did Dario rise slowly from the sofa and pull me toward him.
