"Enough, Adriana. Since you came crawling here to smooth things over, I'll pretend I never heard the word divorce leave your mouth."
"Go home and put the apartment in order. These puppies were just whelped, things are still delicate, so I need to stay and keep an eye on them with Gianna a few more days."
Listening to the two of them stand there in that laundered little front of hers, I found it almost laughable.
One played the kept woman without an ounce of shame.
The other dressed up his dishonor as something noble, something a made man could be proud of.
I didn't waste breath on Lorenzo. I only gave a thin, mocking smile.
"Since Miss Russo is so resourceful, stealing another woman's husband apparently wasn't enough for her. She had to team up with my husband to steal my clothes too?"
"May I ask, this self-made woman of her own means, does that mean she made herself in the kept-woman trade?"
A few women picking through the grooming shelves nearby turned to stare at Gianna, startled.
"Wait, miss, so this handsome one isn't actually your man? But the two of you were eating off the same spoon. That's not exactly proper, is it?"
"Right. A minute ago I said you two made a darling couple and you didn't deny it. He's had a wife this whole time?"
Gianna let out a soft, practiced laugh and tucked a strand of hair behind one ear, but the laugh came a half-second too fast, and there was nothing behind it. Her face had gone crimson, and she had no comeback.
Seeing her like that, the women curled their lips in disdain, set down the things they'd already chosen, and hurried out into the street.
The rims of Gianna's eyes went red. She turned to Lorenzo, the very picture of wronged innocence.
"Lorenzo, did Adriana come here on purpose to ruin my shop?"
"I only thought that sweater was warm and soft, perfect for the puppies. She's already spent so much of your money. What kind of clothes doesn't she own? Why would she smear me like this?"
"Those were some of my regular customers. How am I supposed to face them now? How am I supposed to run a business?"
Lorenzo wiped her tears away, aching for her, then turned and fixed me with a look that could have buried a man.
"Adriana, I took the sweater. What are you taking it out on Gianna for? It wasn't worth anything. When did you turn so petty?"
"You're only going to get bigger as the months go on, won't even be able to wear it. Just have your mother knit you another. Problem solved."
"It's not some treasure stitched by a world-famous hand. Why carry on like it's precious?"
Looking at that lofty expression of his, at the contempt sitting cold in his eyes.
I slapped him across the face, unable to hold it back, and the scream tore out of me.
"Yes, what my mother made is precious! Because she can never knit me anything again!"
"While you and your little childhood sweetheart were cooing over each other, while you'd sooner sit through her dog whelping than pick up my emergency call, my parents were already dead!"
Lorenzo's eyes flew wide, and his hands let go of Gianna on instinct.
"What did you say? How could your mother and father possibly—"
Before he could finish, Gianna shoved me hard.
"What gives you the right to put your hands on people?"
"It's just a ratty old sweater, isn't it? Like anyone wants the thing. Here. Take it back!"
She tore the sweater off the puppies and hurled it into the litter box the clerk was carrying toward the door.
"Going on about your parents dying. I ran into your aunt and uncle at the market just this morning!"
"I can't stand women like you, using a pregnancy to lie and play helpless, throwing fits, doing whatever it takes to bend your husband to your will. A parasite. You're a disgrace to every woman in this city."
The litter box hadn't been emptied yet.
Clumps of filth clung to the wool, giving off a foul stench.
My mother's love, in the end, was ruined past all recognition.
"I, I didn't mean to, I didn't know it was the boss's—"
The clerk, terrified by the bloodshot look in my eyes, stood frozen, at a loss.
Rage and hatred scorched my insides until everything burned. My thumb pressed hard against the inside of my bare ring finger, the place a wedding band used to sit, pressing until it hurt, pressing until I was a breath from doing something there would be no walking back from.
I spun toward the one who had started all of it and raised my hand high.
Only the slap never landed on Gianna's face.
Lorenzo's hand cracked across mine first.
In the silent shop, it rang out sharp and clear.
