If I was too tired and accidentally fell asleep, I would still leave the bedside lamp on, afraid he would come home to darkness and feel lonely.
But tonight, I had no strength left to care.
I turned my back to him and said nothing.
My silence seemed to annoy him even more.
He clicked his tongue. "Are you seriously giving me attitude right now? Serafina's son had a 102-degree fever. If I hadn't taken them to the hospital, he could've suffered brain damage. Can you stop being so cold-blooded for once?"
Something inside me snapped.
I sat up and stared at him, my voice shaking with anger.
"When you left me on the curb in the middle of a snowstorm, did you think about whether I would be okay? Did you care whether I made it to the hospital safely? Dante, I'm pregnant. I'm carrying our child."
My eyes burned, but I forced myself to keep looking at him.
"Tell me, who is your wife? Me or Serafina? Is she so helpless that she can't call 911 by herself? Why does she have to call someone else's husband every time something happens?"
Dante let out a long, impatient sigh.
He looked at me as if I were being unreasonable, as if I were making trouble out of nothing.
"Adriana, don't be so petty. Serafina just came back from London. Her husband over there divorced her, and she has no one here. I'm the only person she knows. Life hasn't been easy for her. Raising a child alone is exhausting. If I can help her, then of course I should."
"For her?" I repeated softly.
My throat tightened, and tears stung my eyes.
"So because life is hard for her, you can abandon your pregnant wife on the roadside? Because she has no one, I deserve to be left alone in the snow?"
Dante frowned. "That's not what I meant."
"Then what did you mean?" I asked, my voice breaking despite myself. "If you care about her so much, why don't you just divorce me and go back to her? Isn't that what you really want?"
The words hung in the room. In any other Family, a wife suggesting divorce to an Underboss would have been unthinkable. But I was a Bellandi before I was a Valente, and my father's name still carried weight on both sides of the river.
The more I spoke, the more my chest ached.
I suddenly remembered the Dante from before.
Back then, if I so much as caught a cold, he would panic. He would wrap me in a coat, rush me to the clinic, and ignore even the most urgent calls from his Capos just to stay by my side.
He used to be afraid I would suffer even a little.
But now, he could leave me alone in a snowstorm while I was pregnant and still accuse me of lacking compassion.
Maybe he finally noticed the pain on my face, because his expression softened slightly.
He stepped closer and pulled me into his arms.
"Alright, honey. Don't be angry anymore," he said gently, as if coaxing a child. "I was wrong this time. Forgive me, okay? I swear it won't happen again."
His voice was tender, but it no longer warmed me.
Then his hand slid beneath my collar, and his lips brushed against my neck.
"I've missed you," he murmured. "It's been a while since we last did it."
Disgust and disbelief surged through me at the same time.
I slapped his hand away.
"What do you mean, a while?" I snapped. "We were together just last month. The doctor already warned us that I can't have sex again until after the baby is born. If something goes wrong, I could miscarry."
Dante's face darkened.
"Fine, fine," he muttered, clearly annoyed.
He let go of me and picked up his phone.
The moment he saw the screen, his expression changed completely.
The impatience vanished from his face. His eyes softened, and even the corners of his lips lifted slightly. He stared at the phone as if he had just received the most precious message in the world.
I called his name.
"Dante."
