the dear husband

FRANCESCA

I RAP ON the white office door. The bodyguards don’t even bat an eye. I guess they know who I am.

Gianna is watching from a distance, but Amalia is right by my side. She’s tried to talk me out of this more times than I can count, but I’ve already made up my mind. I’m going in.

Backing down now would be a sign of weakness. I’ve let Gianna get under my skin. In the Mafia, there’s no room for mistakes, and I’m learning that the hard way.

This is a big lesson for me: don’t fall for obvious traps, no matter how small they seem. But maybe this isn’t all bad.

She’ll think I’m naive, maybe even stupid, and that’ll make her overconfident. She’ll slip up, do something even more foolish than I have.

If she told me to jump off a cliff, would I? No. But this isn’t exactly jumping off a cliff.

Even though I keep telling myself that Gianna tricked me into this, deep down I know the truth. I did it because I wanted to see him. But letting them think they forced me into it works in my favor.

It gives me the upper hand. It creates the illusion that they have the power to manipulate me without me realizing. Gianna couldn’t be more wrong.

The door swings open, revealing Alessandro, Amalia’s husband. He gives us a quick once-over before stepping aside to let us in.

He glances back at Antonio, who’s lounging with a cigarette between his fingers and his feet propped up on the table. He’s changed out of his previous suit into a three-piece.

His white blazer is draped over his chair, and he’s looking every bit the part of a Mafia boss in his black shirt and white waistcoat. I can’t help but lick my lips.

He tilts his head to the side, beckoning me forward with a flick of his fingers.

I glance back at Amalia, but Alessandro is already whispering for her to wait in their room. The door shuts behind me with a soft click.

The atmosphere is intimidating. The blinds are drawn, letting in only a sliver of sunlight, and the room is thick with smoke. It’s a den of criminals.

I’d be terrified if it weren’t for Antonio. His presence alone gives me a sense of comfort.

I take a moment to look around as Alessandro takes a seat next to Pietro on a couch in the corner. Pietro’s smirk makes my skin crawl.

I don’t like the look in his eyes. But I do my best to ignore it.

Antonio leans back and drops his legs from the table. A black gun is on the table, and he’s twirling it around with his fingers. I swallow hard as I make my way toward him.

He swivels his chair to face me, his eyes slowly trailing down my face and past my neck. The room is heavy with silence as his gaze roams over my body before returning to my face.

A blush creeps up my cheeks and a small smile tugs at my lips. He looks better than he did before. Antonio managed to get an hour or so of sleep on the flight.

Feeling a bit bold, and not wanting to disappoint him, I step forward and place my hand gently on his shoulder.

I half expect him to tell me to leave, but instead, he does something completely unexpected. He pulls me onto his lap.

My heart races and I feel like I might pass out. I can feel the heat radiating from his body through my back. It sends a blush creeping up my cheeks.

I feel like he’s always the one to initiate everything—every moment. Even the sex, it’s always Antonio. I’ve never done anything. I’ve never shown him that I want something from him too.

I’ve never shown him that I care.

For a moment, I’m afraid he’ll push me off and tell me it was all a joke, that he’s still mad at me, or that he’s done playing nice.

I nearly jump when I feel his hand wrap around my stomach. His breath fans the side of my head as I shift to get more comfortable. His thumb rubs circles over my clothes, somehow soothing me.

It feels like home. He feels like home. Goosebumps rise on my skin at his touch.

“You okay, Doll?” he asks out of the blue, but I have a feeling he already knows why I’m here.

I nod in response.

Antonio leans back, pulling me with him. “When is the old man coming?” he suddenly yells, tilting his head back.

I stifle a flinch as Alessandro and Pietro spring into action. They remind me of pinballs bouncing off the flippers. I have to hold back a chuckle.

“Fucker probably overslept,” Pietro grumbles.

Alessandro shrugs. “We did give him an unusual time. I mean, two in the morning? Seriously guys?”

“He should be grateful that the Don even thought of sparing a few minutes for his shitty-ass life. Fucker’s just wasting our time,” Pietro snaps.

I stay quiet, focusing on Antonio. I place my hand on his. I don’t want him to stay mad at me. It feels strange, and it’s been bothering me. His thoughts matter to me for some reason.

His silence doesn’t comfort me. As selfish as it sounds, I want his attention on me, not on the important business he has to deal with.

There’s a moment of silence before Pietro’s phone rings. He glances down at his phone. “The fucker’s here. I think you should make him wait, Don.”

I lean my head into the crook of Antonio’s neck, my hand resting on his chest. I’m comfortable here.

He’s so warm. I can still smell the musky scent of his shaving cream from this morning.

“Call him in,” the Don says instead.

Alessandro shrugs before pressing a button on the table in front of him. A beep sounds before a voice answers. “~Si, signore~?”

“~Chiama Luigi dentro~.”

“~Si~.” The line goes dead.

“~Bambola~.” I look up as he whispers the endearment. His lips brush my hair discreetly.

I can't hide my surprise. What's up with him? Why is he pretending everything's okay in front of his friends?

Why is he putting on a show at all? It's too risky. I know Pietro doesn’t catch on. He's too busy with his phone.

But Alessandro does. He just looks away, though. I appreciate that.

“Yes?” I respond, looking up at Antonio.

His hand slowly moves my hair from my face. He gently strokes my hair as he tilts his head to look at me. “Make me a drink.”

I nod and slide off his lap. I'm confused, but I keep my face neutral. The drinks are on a tray on the side table. I head over.

I can feel Pietro’s eyes on me now, and I don’t like it. It feels disrespectful.

“Pietro,” Antonio suddenly snaps. “Go get the photos of the Bianchi.”

“Yes, Don.” The door opens and slams shut, signaling his departure.

Relief washes over me. I reach the table a foot away from the couch and select a glass. I don’t really know his preference, but from what I remember, he always goes for a less potent drink.

Antonio isn’t much of a drinker. He can handle his alcohol. I know that because every mafioso learns from a young age, but he just doesn’t enjoy alcohol.

Sometimes, it seems like he's forcing himself to drink.

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this, Toni. The Bianchis can’t be trusted,” Alessandro whispers once the underboss is gone.

“We have no proof, Sandro,” Antonio replies.

I don’t look back to see Antonio’s reaction, but from his tone, I gather that he isn’t offended. They're closer than I thought.

I pick up the freshly made drink and return to Antonio just as there's a knock at the door. Antonio is fiddling with his gun, twirling it on his table.

Suddenly, I feel guilty for not telling him about the note. He trusts me enough to discuss his business in front of me.

He trusts me enough not to tamper with his drink. I feel guilty for not returning that trust, even though I know deep down it’s not my fault.

I hand him his drink and wait for him to dismiss me or give me another task.

Instead, he sets the drink on the wooden desk and pulls me back onto his lap, quickly kissing my neck as Alessandro opens the door for this Luigi.

Luigi is a short, old man with a small, trimmed mustache and a bit of a beer belly. He's dressed in a suit. He looks wealthy, but I know he isn’t.

The brand of the suit gives it away, as does its pristine condition. He dressed up just to meet my husband. It makes sense, really.

It's surprising how much people crave his approval, even though he's a criminal mastermind. I'm a hypocrite because I crave it too.

“~Buongiorno!~” Luigi greets us.

No one responds and he stands there awkwardly, hat in hand. Alessandro returns to the couch and sits down, but he's frowning. I get the feeling he doesn’t like Luigi.

“You’re late,” Alessandro grumbles.

Luigi’s eyes widen. “I-I apologize, Don.”

Or maybe Alessandro is just annoyed. I don’t really care.

“~Stronzo~,” Alessandro mutters, rolling his eyes and pulling a cigarette from his pocket.

“Sit down,” Antonio commands, ignoring Alessandro’s comments and irritation.

Luigi immediately complies. He sits at the end of the table, as if afraid Antonio might leap over the table and kill him. A bit dramatic, don’t you think?

I'm pretty sure if Antonio wanted to kill him, he would’ve done it already. Luigi’s hands are shaking noticeably. He's lost his composure, making himself more vulnerable and easier to manipulate.

“Thank you for meeting me, Don Giordano.”

“You did a favor for Rosemary once. Now speak, Luigi. You’ve wasted enough of my time,” Antonio says, his hand possessively around my waist.

Rosemary—his nanny and someone he considered a mother. What favor had Luigi done for Rosemary?

“That was my job, Don Giordano, not a favor. Helping her clear her identity was what I was ordered to do, and she was a great woman.

“Today I come here for a big purpose. My daughter was admitted to the hospital recently. The doctor… H-he u-uh raped her. Brutally.” Luigi sniffles.

I feel like I've been slapped. A doctor raping someone he was supposed to save. What a pathetic excuse for a human being. He deserves to be tortured to death.

“What do you want me to do?” Antonio’s voice is controlled, as if he doesn’t care about what happened. It's not really his problem, and Mafia members don’t do emotion.

They just get the job done.

“I want justice! His father is a big shot here. Very hard to catch.”

“Did you go to the police?” Antonio asks, casually playing with my fingers. I look down at our intertwined hands.

“I uh…” Luigi trails off, tears in his eyes. “Yes,” he finally whispers. “But they didn’t take the case.

“They said she was already injured from the first rape and the doctor messed up the case. I want him dead! I need to see him tortured and murdered just like he did to my little princess.”

“Is she dead?” Alessandro asks from the side. I wince at his cold tone.

Luigi shakes his head. “No.”

“We’re not murderers, Luigi,” Antonio says. “An eye for an eye.”

“Please.” His hands come together in a pleading gesture. “Don Giordano, you’re my only hope. Without justice for my daughter, I’m as good as dead.”

“Leave the details here and get out,” my husband commands, tossing him a notepad. “If I find out you’re lying, you’ll be mourning a daughter instead of celebrating a son.”

The man nods, his hands trembling. He picks up the pen and starts writing. The room falls silent again. Once he’s done, he stands and leaves.

Pietro walks in a minute later, an envelope in his hands. “Here,” he says, handing the envelope to my husband. His eyes flicker to my chest before he quickly looks away.

Antonio tears the envelope open. Three pictures spill out. One is of a young boy, maybe sixteen, with black hair and pale skin.

Another is of a girl with auburn hair, probably thirteen or fourteen. She has brown eyes, just like her brother. The last one is of an older woman.

She looks young for her age. Her hair is pulled up in a bun, black like the boy’s. Her eyes are brown. They’re all beautiful, especially the young girl. Her innocence tugs at my heart.

I look away when Pietro speaks. “That’s Carmelo Bianchi’s girlfriend, Bria Regio, and his illegitimate children, Valerio and Valentina. Bianchi is searching for them.”

“Could they be in our territory?” Alessandro asks, his brow furrowed.

“It’s possible,” Pietro replies, his hands clasped together.

My husband is silent. I want to look at him, but it would be awkward to turn around on his lap.

Antonio picks up his drink and takes a sip before speaking. “Send scouts to look for them in America. We need to find them before the Bianchis or Lambardis do.

“If the girlfriend’s smart, she’ll come right to us.”

“Why?” The word slips out before I can stop it. I sit up straighter when all eyes turn to me. I feel stupid.

My husband stiffens beneath me. I don’t think he’ll answer. “The Bianchis would never step foot on our land. It would start a war, especially if they’re caught.

“Carmelo wouldn’t send them at first. He’s patient, but Vincent’s not. There’s a good chance Carmelo would stop him and negotiate with us first. If we catch her, we have the upper hand, ~bambola~.”

My brow furrows at the unfamiliar term. “Vincent?” I ask, settling back down.

“Carmelo Bianchi’s oldest and only legitimate son. The new don of the Bianchi Family,” Alessandro answers.

~Oh.~

“So now what?” I ask, feeling a bit braver.

My husband taps my leg, a silent signal for me to stand. I do. He stands up soon after. He finishes his drink in one gulp before answering, setting the empty glass down.

“Now what? We catch them.”