My chest tightened. I kept my head lowered, pretending I didn't notice, but Marcello did.
His voice turned sharp. "If you two keep treating Arianna like this, then don't expect us to come back again."
The room went silent until Carlo slammed his hand against the table, making me flinch. The silverware rattled. Two soldiers stationed near the dining room entrance shifted their weight but kept their eyes forward. "Watch your mouth. Are you really saying you'd turn your back on your family for this woman?"
Before I could step away, Marcello caught my hand, threading his fingers through mine, holding me still. "Father, I've said this many times. Arianna is the woman I love. The one person I can't bear to hurt. I won't even raise my voice at her, and yet you give her this coldness every time. Do you know what that does to me?" His grip on my hand tightened. "If this happens again, I won't just walk out of this house. I'll walk away from this family for good."
The Don of the Castellano Family, a man whose name made capos across the city lower their voices, but right then he sounded like a devoted husband willing to burn his whole world for me.
Pathetic. He thought I didn't know about his affair.
The room went quiet after Marcello threw his words out like a knife. He looked like the perfect protective husband, standing there like a shield in front of me. But I didn't feel safe. I just felt… tired.
Giovanna sighed and finally muttered, "Fine. Let's eat first."
At the table, the only noise was the clink of silver against porcelain. Giovanna kept making those little annoyed sounds, and my hand tightened around my fork. I knew it was coming.
Sure enough, she dropped her fork and said, "It's been nine months. Enough grieving. You lost a daughter, fine. But it's time to give us a grandson. You can't just end the Castellano bloodline."
Carlo nodded, cold eyes fixed on me. "That child died because you didn't care for her properly. A simple stomach ache, and she never came home from the hospital. Stop playing the victim, Arianna. Conceive again and do it right this time."
The words sliced straight through me, but before I could open my mouth, Marcello set his fork down. His voice was calm, but sharp enough to cut. "I already told you. Arianna is scared of pain. I won't let her suffer like that. If we never have kids, so be it."
Their faces dropped, heavy with disdain, and the air grew thick. They were about to start another round when I finally spoke. My voice was steady, even.
"You'll have a grandchild in half a month."
The room froze. Three pairs of eyes cut toward me. Somewhere deeper in the house, a clock ticked into the silence.
Marcello squeezed my hand, his face painted with that sweet, fake concern. "Sweetheart… You don't have to force yourself for me. I'll protect you."
I almost laughed. Protect me? He couldn't even stop himself from running into Serafina's arms every chance he got.
I smiled anyway. "You two want a grandson so badly. Let's make it happen for you."
They softened instantly, pleased with my answer. But Marcello looked uneasy, like he could smell something wrong but didn't know where it was coming from. His thumb pressed flat against the silver ring on his right hand, holding it still.
Then his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, and I caught the name. Serafina.
"Marcello, some guy wants a quickie, would it be okay?"
I counted in my head. One. Two. Three.
He stood right on cue. "Arianna, I have to handle something at the club. Stay and finish dinner. I'll come back for you later."
He didn't wait for me to answer. Just grabbed his jacket and left. I heard the front door close, then the crunch of gravel under tires, then nothing. The bodyguard who always trailed him followed without a word.
The second the door shut, Carlo and Giovanna dropped the fake politeness. Giovanna's fingers drifted to the string of black pearls at her throat, a single precise touch, as if confirming something was still in place.
"We'll give you less than a month. If you don't conceive again, don't ever dare show your face in this house. You come from nothing. Both your parents gone, no name, no wealth. Without Marcello, you're no one. Don't think we'll tolerate you forever."
Their words kept cutting, sharper each time, until it felt like the walls themselves were pressing in. The dining room of the Castellano estate, with its oil paintings of dead patriarchs and its heavy curtains that smelled of old money and older secrets, had never felt smaller.
And Marcello? He never came back.
Marcello finally showed up that evening, calm as ever, like nothing happened. We got into the car, the leather still warm from the sun.
I glanced out the window and asked lightly, "You done with work?"
He hesitated, just for a breath, then said softly, "Yeah." His fingers tapped against the wheel, steady, rhythmic. That was his little tell when he was in a good mood.
The silence stretched, and then he asked, "Did my parents give you trouble after I left?"
I was about to answer when my eyes caught something under the seat. A pair of torn silk stockings. Not mine.
So that's where he'd been. I knew about Serafina, but I hadn't expected he'd use this very car.
Seven years of marriage and I'd always been… careful. I wasn't wild, I wasn't daring. Sometimes I even asked him if he wanted me to change, if I was boring him.
Back then, he just held me close, kissing my hair, whispering, "Sweetheart, I only want you. Even if you wore rags, you'd still be the one I'd choose. Don't force yourself to be anything else. I love you the way you are."
But the man who said those words now reeked of lies.
I swallowed the lump in my throat. "What do you think?"
He thought I was talking about his parents. He had no idea I'd already seen through him.
He suddenly hit the brakes, pulled me into his arms. "I'm sorry, Arianna. I shouldn't have left you alone. I promise, it won't happen again."
His embrace felt like a cage.
I pressed my hands against his chest, pushing him off gently. "Just drive, Marcello. I'm tired."
Because I knew deep down. There was no future left for us.
