I always knew the Marchetti matriarch didn't like me.
She believed I wasn't good enough for Salvatore, that I could never compare to Vittoria—her son's childhood love from the Bellini branch, beautiful, sweet-tongued, effortlessly charming.
It was only when Vittoria married into a bloodline overseas and I became pregnant that Carmela reluctantly acknowledged me as her son's sworn wife—for the sake of the child, for the sake of the line.
Even so, every time we met beneath the estate's high ceilings, she never spared me from her sharp-tongued ridicule.
In the past, Salvatore would at least defend me a little. And it was the Don himself who had insisted on dragging me out the day of the accident, saying he wanted to buy gifts for the heir soon to be born to the Family.
But now, his eyes were locked onto Vittoria, filled with an undeniable tenderness.
Vittoria cradled Matteo in her arms and playfully clung to Salvatore's sleeve.
"Salvatore, did you hear? The Matriarch has officially named me her comare, her godchild! Dear brother, have you a gift ready for your little sister?"
Salvatore pinched her cheek, indulgent, half scolding and half spoiling. "You're incorrigible. Don't call me brother."
Yet even as he spoke, he had a soldier carry in ninety-two mink coats—each from the finest houses, every one paired with jewels laundered clean of any history.
"I know you love fine things, but you're still recovering. You need to stay warm. Winter runs three months—ninety-two days exactly—so you'll have a different one for each."
Vittoria giggled and pressed a kiss to his cheek, the picture of a pampered, innocent girl.
"Some of these aren't even released yet—all limited pieces! And you had them brought to me early. Salvatore, you truly spoil me."
Then she turned her gaze to me, feigning concern, her fingers drifting to the hollow of her throat. "But you've given me so much... Adriana won't be angry, will she?"
Standing there in my bloodstained clothes, I looked like a complete fool beside her dazzling, extravagant display.
For a brief moment, Salvatore hesitated, as if suddenly remembering I still stood in the room. He tried, awkwardly, to explain. "Adriana, it isn't what you think. Vittoria has lived away from the Family so long—you know how different their ways are out there."
"And the coats... I only heard she'd recently given birth herself. Her husband isn't here, and since we came up together, I only thought—"
Before he could finish, Matteo began to cry.
Vittoria gasped. "Oh, is Matteo hungry again? Mommy will take you upstairs to feed you."
Then she turned to me with a falsely apologetic smile.
"Adriana, don't misunderstand. I'm simply used to soothing my own baby. And every time I say it, see how happy Matteo becomes."
She cradled Matteo and started toward the stairs—only to sag suddenly against Salvatore's chest, murmuring, "Sal, I feel a little dizzy..."
Salvatore shoved me aside at once and caught her in his arms, his face full of worry.
"How can this be? You're weak after the birth. I told you to rest at the center. Come, I'll carry you up."
My right leg was still bandaged from the accident.
With that sudden push I lost my balance and collapsed to the floor, pain shooting through me like a knife. But Salvatore didn't spare me a single glance.
Right there before everyone, he scooped Vittoria into his arms—holding both her and Matteo—and carried her toward the stairs.
The room erupted in ridicule. The made men and their wives who filled the Don's parlor let their voices drop into that low, poisonous murmur that carries further than a shout.
"No wonder the Don dotes on Vittoria. Beautiful, and kind enough to nurse another woman's child. Not like this useless one—so cheap, so embarrassing. Can't even bear a little pain in her leg, and took medicine while nursing besides. Selfish."
"Does she even deserve to be a mother? If you ask me, Vittoria is more the boy's true mother—she cares for him more, and see how the child even favors her. He'd rather not resemble that disgraceful creature. Vittoria and the Don, such a perfect match. A shame they were never bound."
Instead of standing up for me, the Matriarch looked at me with even deeper disgust. She scoffed, and the rosary in her fingers snapped shut with a sharp click as she turned on me.
