I didn’t need to be told twice. I quickly rushed into the corridor, scared by Dante’s outburst, but honestly terrified by the odd calm that had taken over his face at the end. Dante stepped out of the room and closed the door. He didn’t look at me again. I watched his back as he walked away and headed down the stairs. Wrapping my arms around myself, I closed my eyes. I didn’t like to give up on things. I was stubborn, too stubborn as my mother always pointed out, but I seriously considered accepting that the marriage between Dante and me wouldn’t work. There was only so much rejection I could take.

***

We hardly spoke during dinner, and when we did it was about current news that were the last thing on my mind. Dante didn’t mention what happened, and I definitely wouldn’t. After Zita had cleared away our plates with a too curious glance in my direction, Dante stood. “I have more work to do.”

Of course he had. I nodded mutely and headed toward the library. If things kept progressing the same way they did now, I’d speak Russian in no time, I thought bitterly as I picked up the textbook. I couldn’t focus. The letters swam before my eyes and eventually I gave up. I left the room and cast a glance in the direction of Dante’s office. There wasn’t any light spilling out from under the door. Maybe he had gone to bed?

I headed toward the staircase but stopped when I saw movement from the corner of my eye. The door to the living room was open, giving me a clear view of Dante who sat in the wide armchair in front of the dark fireplace, drinking what looked like whiskey. I considered going to him and apologizing, but his brooding expression made me decide against it. Instead I quietly ascended the staircase and slipped into the bedroom.

Under the warm stream of the shower, my fingers found their way between my legs again, but I wasn’t really into it and eventually abandoned my attempt to find release. Seeing those old photos had ripped open old wounds and created new ones. They had reminded me of the few times in the beginning of our marriage that Antonio had brought his lover Frank into our home to have sex with him. It was one of the safest places for them to meet, but despite my best attempts to be okay with it, I’d suffered because Antonio’s interaction with Frank spoke of the love and desire he could never give me. Seeing Dante with his wife today had felt the same way. I hadn’t stood a change against Frank back then, and I was increasingly sure that I didn’t stand a chance against a dead wife either.

***

Bibiana had advised me to leave Dante alone for now and hope for the best, and during our call that had actually seemed like a decent solution, but after a day of crushing silence I couldn’t take it anymore.

When I saw Dante sitting in front of the unlit fireplace that evening, drinking his whiskey, something snapped in me.

My first husband hadn’t wanted me because he preferred men, and my second because he couldn’t let go of a dead wife and because he preferred to brood over a glass of whiskey. I knew Dante had had sex with other women after his wife’s death. Bibiana had confirmed that he’d frequented her husband’s club for a while, so why didn’t he want to have sex with me? Maybe something about me repulsed men. That was the only logical explanation, and if that was the case I needed to know and stop wasting my time on foolish hope and ludicrous seduction plans.

I stepped into the living room, making sure my heels made an audible sound on the hardwood floor. Dante kept his gaze on the dark fireplace. Of course, he ignored me. He almost always did.

My arms started to shake from restrained anger. “Is it true that you frequented Club Palermo?”

Dante frowned. He swirled the whiskey around in his glass, not looking up. “It belongs to the Familia, but that was a long time before our marriage.”

Bibiana had said the same, but his casual tone and dismissive body language were too much. He acted as if none of this was my business.

Anger burned through my veins. I could feel my temper bursting out of its cage, but I was too shaken to reign it in. “So you didn’t mind the company of prostitutes but you can’t take your own wife’s virginity?”

That got his attention and now I wished it hadn’t. His blue eyes shot up. I wished I could shove the words back into my mouth, wished he’d return his gaze to his whiskey. Maybe there was even a flicker of confusion on his face for a millisecond before the schooled mask of calm slipped back on.

I turned around without another word, shocked by what I’d said, terrified of the consequences my outburst might bring down on me. The clink of a glass being set down on mahogany sounded behind me, followed by the creak of the armchair. My throat closed up, iciness filling my chest. My fingers clutched the banister as I made my way upstairs. His steps followed after me, calm and measured. I suppressed the desire to look back or even run. Dante couldn’t see how shaken I was. What was I going to do?

He’d demand answers. Answers I couldn’t give him, promised never to give anyone. But Dante was The Boss. Nobody got to that position without knowing how to acquire information. He wasn’t going to torture me, or even raise a hand to me. But I was sure he didn’t need to.

I slipped into the bedroom, then stopped in front of the window overlooking the premises. There was nowhere else to run. The bed was looming in the corner of my eye. I closed my eyes when I heard Dante enter the room and close the door behind him. His tall form appeared behind me in the reflection of the window. I lowered my gaze to my fingers, which were tracing the cool marble of the window sill. Sometimes I felt like I could handle everything, like I was the sophisticated, controlled woman Dante probably wanted, but in moments like this I felt like a stupid girl.

“Virginity?” he said without a hint of emotion. The gift of all men in the Familia. If you grew up with violence and death, you learned to seal your heart off from the world. Why didn’t they teach the same to the women of the Familia? “You and Antonio were married for four years.”

I didn’t turn around, didn’t even dare to breathe. How could I have let that slip? My mistake could ruin Antonio’s reputation, and mine for agreeing to his plan. Being gay was a punishable crime in the mafia, and I’d pretty much helped Antonio committing it. I focused on breathing, on the feel of the marble against my fingertips, on the trees bowing down to the wind outside.

“Valentina.” This time a faint hint of strain carried in the word.

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” I whispered. “It was just a figure of speech. I didn’t mean it in the literal sense.” I was a good liar, didn’t have a choice but to become one. “As you said, Antonio and I were married for four years. Of course I’m not a virgin.”

His hand touched my hip and I practically jerked forward a foot, colliding with the window sill. I gasped in pain, then bit down on my lip to swallow the sound. I’d been longing for Dante to touch me for days and now that he did I wished he’d go back to ignoring me.

Dante was watching me in the window. “Turn around,” he said in a low voice. I didn’t even hesitate. His voice, even without menace and danger in it, carried too much authority for me to resist. I steeled myself as I faced him. I focused on the buttons of his white dress shirt. His eyes would undo me. Every muscle in my body was tense like a bowstring. He put a finger below my chin and lifted it, forcing me to meet his gaze. Again the touch. Why would he touch me now while before he’d gone out of his way to keep distance between us?