There were many nights when I found myself sitting alone on the rooftop of the tenement, staring down at the street far below, wondering what it would feel like to just let go.
More than once, I stood there, on the edge, thinking about jumping.
And then there was Dante.
He would sit beside me, quietly, without saying much at first. Sometimes he brought pastries from the bakery on Mulberry Street, sometimes just his presence. We would listen to music together, and he would let me pour out everything I had been holding inside.
He knew about my financial struggles, about how I worked double shifts at the restaurant just to survive. Without making a big deal out of it, he stayed by my side, walking with me through those difficult days.
When he found out I was being targeted by the neighborhood girls who resented any outsider near the Moretti orbit, he didn't care about the looks or whispers. He took my hand in front of everyone at the social club, making it clear that I wasn't alone.
I still remember that one gathering vividly.
A girl who had always liked Dante deliberately targeted me, putting me on the spot. She dared me to kiss him in front of everyone, her tone full of mockery.
I was so flustered that I didn't know what to do. The laughter and jeers around me only made my heart race faster, my insecurity swelling until it felt suffocating.
But Dante simply smiled, calm and unbothered. He waved at me gently and said, "It's okay. Go ahead. Kiss me. I like you too."
At that moment, the breeze lifted the strands of hair from his forehead. He looked so unreal, almost like someone out of reach.
Without knowing why, as if guided by something beyond me, I stepped forward and took his hand tightly.
In the countless nights that followed, I would often think back to that moment. It felt like I had reached out and grasped the hand of a god, someone who had pulled me out of darkness.
Eventually, we truly became a couple.
But even then, no one believed in us. People either envied or mocked me, whispering that someone like Dante being with me was like a beautiful flower growing out of a pile of dirt. The Moretti women looked through me. The associates' wives smiled to my face and cut me apart the moment I turned my back.
His admirers never took me seriously. To them, I was just a passing amusement, someone he would eventually discard.
Because of that, I was always anxious. I lived in constant fear that someone else would take him away, or that one day, he would simply leave me behind.
So I did everything I could for him. I poured all my effort, my time, my emotions into the relationship, like a devout believer offering everything at the feet of their faith.
In return, he gave me affection, attention, and a sense of security that I clung to desperately.
But everything began to change the moment Valentina returned from overseas.
Dante's attitude toward me gradually became colder, more dismissive. At the same time, his closeness with Valentina grew more and more excessive, crossing lines that should never have been crossed. She had old blood ties to the allied families, a father who had served the Morettis for decades. She belonged in a way I never would.
What they had was no longer something that could be explained as simple friendship.
Even so, I refused to give up. I stayed by his side willingly, convincing myself again and again that things would get better.
I was even afraid to imagine a life without him. The thought alone felt unbearable. Outside his protection, I had no name, no standing, no safety.
I kept telling myself that people weren't made of stone. That if I kept trying, kept loving him, one day he would respond, one day he would come back to me.
But now, standing here, I felt nothing but cold.
I couldn't warm him anymore, and more importantly, I no longer wanted to try.
My thumb found the edge of the St. Christopher medal at my throat. For once, I didn't rub it. I just held it there, feeling its weight, and then let my hand fall.
"Maybe," I murmured softly, going along with Elena's earlier words.
Then, without hesitation, I turned and walked out of the room.
Outside, the atmosphere was even more lively. Dante had his arm wrapped around Valentina, holding her close as the capos and their wives cheered and laughed around them. Crystal clinked. Someone was telling a story about the old days. No one looked at the doorway.
When Valentina saw me step out, she immediately lowered her head shyly, snuggling even deeper into his embrace, as if trying to provoke me in the most subtle way.
Dante's expression darkened the moment he noticed me.
"Who told you to come out?" he snapped, his tone sharp and displeased.
He scolded me without hesitation, while I stood there quietly, not reacting, not moving.
