The next day at noon, Marco came downstairs wearing a long-sleeved shirt.
In the sweltering summer heat, he shifted uncomfortably under my gaze before finally sighing.
“Milania, don't read into it. I got hurt dealing with a traitor. It's just a tattoo, it doesn't mean anything.”
“If it bothers you, I'll get it redone when it heals.”
He looked at me, a hint of exasperation in his eyes.
“Fine. If you’re going to make a scene, then I scraped it off to prove my loyalty is to you, Milania, not your family.”
His eyes darkened, his expression twisting into one of a man deeply wronged.
I spoke softly.
“I understand.”
No matter how convincing the performance, you can't tattoo loyalty back into the bone. Why add more lies to the charade?
A smile instantly spread across Marco’s face, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He was clearly waiting for me to be the one to yield.
“That's my Milania. Always so understanding.”
He placed a kiss on my forehead, his tone light.
“I’m staying in tonight. I promise, I’ll be home early for you and the boys. Wait for me.”
Watching his retreating figure, my heart sank into the pit of my stomach.
Today was the anniversary of the alliance between our families.
Ever since our marriage had solidified his position as Don, he had treated this day as sacred.
Every year, he would prepare for it like a military campaign, hosting a grand party to display the Moretti family’s respect and loyalty for all to see.
He had once told me, “Our alliance is the cornerstone of my life. All the turf and all the deals are nothing compared to you.”
But now, the haste in his stride was undeniable.
By the time I had lulled the twins to sleep, the house had long since fallen into the silence of late night.
Marco, who had promised to be home, hadn't sent a single message.
My stomach felt hollow. I aimlessly picked up my phone and opened the estate’s security app.
The screens of the digital photo frames were all blank.
I froze for a moment, then repeatedly closed and reopened the app.
The result was the same.
A bitter laugh escaped me.
Those frames had once been filled with pictures of me and our sons.
At every celebration, every party, he placed our photos in the most conspicuous spots. The entire underworld knew he was a doting husband, a man obsessed with his wife.
But now, there was nothing.
It wasn't until the sky began to lighten that the bedroom door was gently pushed open.
My eyes met Marco's searching gaze.
I said nothing. Neither did he. He simply showered and then lay down beside me.
I could feel the ragged, uneven rhythm of his breathing. He remained silent, and so did I.
