My dream. My goal.
Every step of building that parlor, I'd shared with him.
The day it opened, I'd invited him to celebrate with me. But Raffaele had been busy looking after Alessia and her cramps. He'd sent a congratulatory gift card with a generic message and never brought it up again.
Now, three or four years later, the parlor had become the top-rated mortuary front in all of old Moretti-controlled territory. And Raffaele still had no idea I was the one who owned it.
He'd promised Alessia he would protect her place in the clinic and make sure she thrived. Yet to this day, he didn't even know I had a business of my own.
Raffaele's expression shifted, a flicker of discomfort crossing his face.
"Doesn't matter who owns it. You people had no right to treat a client that way."
"Alessia is just a young girl. She's naive. Why would you go out of your way to make things difficult for her?"
His eyes found mine, and suspicion crept into them. Like he thought I was settling a personal grudge, jealous of how close Alessia was to him, deliberately giving her a hard time.
"Deliberately making things difficult?"
I let out a short laugh. "Your little girl brought a dead bird to my funeral parlor and demanded we embalm it. My assistant politely explained that we couldn't do that, and got slapped across the face for her trouble. So tell me, who's making things difficult for whom?"
"Signor Moretti, you can protect your sweetheart all you want, but at least be reasonable."
"Alessia owes my assistant an apology. Today. Otherwise I'm going to the authorities, and I'll press charges with the security footage and the injury report."
I didn't budge. Not an inch.
Raffaele's face went dark.
"What did you just call me? Signor Moretti?"
Alessia tugged at his sleeve, cutting him off.
"Raffaele, I'm fine, really."
"I upset your wife at the ceremony. Whatever she does to get back at me, I deserve it."
Wounded. Pitiful. And right on cue, her breathing turned audibly shallow, as if the very air in the room was too much for her.
And just like that, Raffaele's heart melted for her.
Right there in front of Alessia, he raised his hand. And slapped me hard across the face to make her feel better.
His voice was ice.
"So I hit you. What are you going to do about it?"
"Your staff couldn't handle a simple request. That's on you, not anyone else."
"You want to take it further? Go ahead. Put me on the stand too. Let's see what any judge on our payroll thinks."
It hurt.
But it woke me up for good.
I knew then that I would never think about that afternoon by the river again.
After the confrontation, defamatory posts flooded the whisper networks overnight. Fabricated rumors, one after another, spreading like wildfire through every social club, every wife's circle, every soldier who owed someone a favor. The parlor was now toxic, untouchable. The video of Raffaele slapping me had been turned into a clip, circulating through every private chat in old territory high society. Now, whenever anyone saw me, their eyes held that same look: half-smile, half-pity.
I shut the parlor down and paid every associate three months' severance. Then I wired Nina an extra fifty thousand dollars on top of that.
Tomorrow, I was leaving old Moretti territory.
But tonight, Raffaele came home.
He stopped the moment he walked through the door. His gaze swept the room. "Why is the apartment so empty?"
"Where are the ceremony photos?"
I didn't look up. "Threw them out. Left the nails in the wall, though, in case you want to hang something else later."
Raffaele's voice went stiff.
"That's not what I meant."
"Your face..."
He stepped closer, reaching to tilt my chin up. I flinched back before I could think, putting distance between us.
"It's nothing. Already healed."
Raffaele looked uncomfortable. His thumb pressed beneath the strap of his watch, adjusting it once.
"I lost my temper that day. But you weren't completely blameless either."
"I've told you over and over, Alessia is my trainee. She's young, she comes from nothing. I'm just looking out for her. There's nothing more to it. But you keep going after her, again and again. What did you expect would happen?"
I gave a small nod. "It won't happen again."
That caught him off guard. He stood there for a long moment before reaching for my hand.
"By the way, let me borrow your alliance ring."
"Alessia's been feeling down lately. She said she likes the design of your ring, and I want to buy her one just like it."
But his fingers found my ring finger bare.
Raffaele froze.
"Where's your ring?"
I got up, went to the closet, and came back with a small box. I held it out to him.
"Here."
"Check the size. If Alessia's fingers are about the same as mine, she can just wear this one."
"Oh, wait. I forgot. You don't like giving her secondhand things. Well, when you're done with it, just put it back in the closet."
Raffaele stared at me. Something dark and unreadable passed through his eyes.
He didn't respond to what I'd said about the ring. Instead, he asked,
"You used to care so much about that ring."
"Why did you take it off?"
I smiled.
Yeah. I used to care.
I'd traveled to several countries to pick out the perfect pair of alliance rings. Design sketches had covered half my desk. Every day I'd sent Raffaele photos asking if he liked this one or that one. He never replied. Not once. After I finally bought them, I'd had to beg him for weeks before he'd put his on.
Even now, he couldn't remember what my ring looked like. Wanted to buy Alessia the same design, and had to borrow mine just to compare.
I didn't say anything else. Raffaele set the box down. The room held the silence the way the back rooms of the social club held smoke: thick, settled, going nowhere.
Neither of us spoke for a long time.
"We'll deal with the ring later. Come back to the family estate with me tonight for dinner."
"My mother misses you."
I closed my laptop.
"Sorry. No time tonight."
"I have a flight to catch."
