Rocco had irritably pulled on his pants, gripping my chin as he said, "Alessia, learn your place. The only reason you're in this house is because you popped out Luciano. Without him, you're nothing."
In that instant, something inside me shattered. From then on, I stopped fighting. Whenever he brought women home, I started making myself scarce. I wasn't surrendering to fate; I had simply come to understand the rules of the game.
I leaned over and kissed Luciano's soft forehead. He smelled faintly of milk, the only clean scent in this house that reeked of blood and gunpowder. I whispered in Sicilian into his ear, "Be patient, my little lion. Everything the Grimaldi family has will soon be ours."
It was the Mamma's annual charity gala, held on the top floor of Chicago's most opulent hotel. I attended wearing the black gown Rocco had demanded. I was supposed to be standing by his side, but Krystal had taken my place.
She swept into the hall wearing a red gown I had always wanted but couldn't bring myself to buy. All eyes turned to her. "Sorry, Rocco, I'm late," Krystal said sweetly.
Rocco kissed her cheek. "It's alright. My queen always makes a grand entrance." My father-in-law, Don Salvatore, frowned but said nothing. Several of the family's Capos exchanged knowing glances—some mocking, some derisive, and some hungry for the drama to unfold.
My seat was at the far end of the long table, next to a few insignificant family Associates. After several rounds of insincere toasts, Krystal walked over to me, wine glass in hand. She deliberately knocked my champagne flute, splashing the contents all over my gown. "Oh, Mrs. Grimaldi," her voice rang out, sharp and loud enough for everyone to hear. "How clumsy of you."
Everyone looked at me, except for Rocco. He was busy cutting the bloody steak on his plate, not even bothering to look up. I set down my glass and said, "The waiter is right behind you."
Krystal's smile froze, but she quickly composed herself. "I just want an apology from you."
I replied calmly, "If you want an apology from me, you'll have to get the man beside you to ask for it." A few stifled chuckles rippled through the crowd, and Krystal's eyes immediately turned red.
She turned to him, her voice a pathetic whine. "Rocco..."
He finally stood up. "Alessia, she just wants an apology. Is that so hard?" I met his icy gaze as he gripped my chin, his hold so tight I could barely breathe.
Krystal didn't respond, just cried, "Rocco, I was just trying to get closer to her."
Rocco's face darkened instantly. "Apologize!"
The entire hall fell silent. Carmela looked away, and Don Salvatore let out a quiet sigh. I remained frozen, a statue in the suffocating silence. All eyes were on me. Some were sympathetic, some mocking, some dismissive, and some even gloating.
A year ago today, in this very same place, Rocco had held my hand and introduced me to everyone: "This is my wife, Alessia Thorne." For a fleeting moment, he had looked at me with pride.
