by Cora Reilly
A much younger Dante and a young, small woman in a wedding dress were in the first photo. Dante wasn’t looking into the camera. His sole attention belonged to his bride, and the adoration plainly visible in his eyes made a lump rise into my throat. The cold calculation and emotionless sophistication were absent in his face. Maybe because he was still young, but I had a feeling it had just as much to do with the woman at his side.
It was a simple picture and yet it conveyed everything a wedding should mean: love, devotion, happiness.
I hadn’t seen the photos of our wedding yet, but I knew what I wouldn’t find in them. I swallowed the rising emotion. I browsed the other photos, childishly hoping to find Dante with a look of the same indifference he always showed me. But even though his expression became more guarded and controlled in later photos, his feelings for his wife were hard to miss. They’d been married for almost twelve years, but they’d never had kids. I knew his wife Carla had fought cancer in the last three years of her life, but I wondered why it hadn’t worked before then. I’d never seen her with a baby bump, or heard rumors of a miscarriage. Not that it was my business.
Maybe I should count myself lucky that Dante didn’t have kids with Carla or I’d have them here to despise me as well. I hated the bitterness of that thought and quickly abandoned it. I didn’t want to get petty, or act jealous toward a dead woman. She’d never done anything to me and it was horrible that she had died so soon.
I picked up the second album. At its end, there were a few photos that showed Carla with a wig and no eyebrows. Dante’s arm was wrapped protectively around his thin pale wife. Sorrow washed over me. How was it to lose someone you loved so much?
I had loved Antonio as a friend, but it didn’t even come close to what Dante and Carla must have had, and if I was being honest I’d often resented Antonio in the end for keeping me in a loveless golden cage so he could hide that he was gay.
The door flew open, making me jump, and Dante stepped in, his expression thunderous. Before I could move, he was in front of me and ripped the photo album from my hand. He flung it onto the bed, his furious eyes burning into me. “What are you doing here?”
He grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet, bringing us so close our lips were almost touching. “This room is none of your business.”
I squirmed in his hold. “Dante, you’re hurting me.”
He released me, some of the anger replaced by cold disapproval. “You shouldn’t have come here.” His eyes darted to the album that lay open on the bed with the photo of his sick wife and him. He took a step back from me, the last of his fury gone and replaced by scary calm. “Leave.”
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?
I swallowed. Be strong, Valentina. The wish of a dead man is sacred. Don’t break your promise.
And it wasn’t only Antonio I was protecting. I’d lived a lie, had as good as lied to Dante himself since our first encounter, had led him to believe one thing while the other was true. I wished there was emotion on Dante’s face, even anger; I could have dealt with that, but he gave nothing away. Always the iceman.
“So your words downstairs were simply meant to provoke?” He sounded calm and curious, but I didn’t let that fool me. I had all his attention.
I couldn’t say anything. The way he’d worded it made it seem really bad. What was he thinking? I wished I had the slightest hint if he was in a good or bad mood.
He won’t hurt you, Valentina.
He hadn’t done anything to me so far, but we hadn’t exactly interacted all that much in the few days of our marriage. And two days ago he’d been scary as hell when he’d found me with the photo albums.
The tension became too much and a tear slid out of my right eye, trailed down my cheek and caught on Dante’s finger that was still pushing my chin up. He frowned, releasing my chin. I immediately tore my gaze away from him and took a step back.
“Why are you crying?”
“Because you scare me!” It burst out of me.
“Until today you never seemed scared of me.” He was right. Except for a few brief occasions, I hadn’t been scared of him, but I knew with a man like him I should be scared.
“Then maybe I’m a good actress.”
“You have no reason to be scared of me, Valentina,” he said calmly. “What are you hiding?”
“Nothing,” I said quickly.
He closed his fingers around my wrist loosely. “You are lying about something. And as your husband I want to know what it is.”
Anger flared up. This time it was quicker than caution. “You mean as the Boss you want to know, because so far you haven’t exactly been acting like my husband.”
He tilted his head, scrutinizing every inch of my face. “Why would you still be a virgin?”
“I told you I’m not!” I said desperately, trying to slip out if his hold, but he tightened his fingers slightly, only so I couldn’t escape. He pulled me against him, my chest pressed against his. Air left my lungs in a rush as I looked up at him. My heart pounded in my chest, my temples, my veins. And he felt it. That was why he was holding my wrist.
“So,” he said in a curious tone. “If I were to take you toward our bed right now.” He took a step, forcing me closer to the huge four-poster bed. “And would make you mine, I wouldn’t find out that you lied to me just now.”
I’d wanted nothing more than for him to want to finally bed me, and now that he used it as a threat to find out the truth, I wished I’d never wanted anything from him in the first place. Would he feel that I had never slept with a man? I’d only talked with other women about their experiences, but I didn’t know if men could feel if a woman was a virgin.
“You wouldn’t because you won’t take me to that bed now.”
“I won’t?” He raised one blond eyebrow.
“No, because you wouldn’t take me against my will. You disapprove of rape.” The words Bibiana had used still sounded strange from my lips, and it wouldn’t even be against my will. I’d thrown myself at Dante for days now; he must have known that I wanted him. Still wanted him despite everything. My body was practically humming with longing for his touch.
He chuckled. I’d never heard him laugh. It sounded empty. “That’s what you hear?”
“Yes,” I said more firmly. “You gave the Underbosses direct orders to tell their men you’d castrate anyone who used rape as a way of revenge or torture.”
“I did. I think a woman should never have to submit to anyone but her husband. But you are my wife.”
“But still.” My words were a bare whisper, filled with uncertainty.
He nodded once. “Yes, still.” He let go of my wrist. Relief flooded me. “Now I want you to tell me the truth. I’ll always treat you with respect, but I expect the same from you. I don’t tolerate lies. And eventually, we will share a bed and then, Valentina, I’ll know the truth.”
“When will we ever share a bed like husband and wife, and not just sleep beside each other? Will that ever happen?” I snapped. My stupid mouth, always running free.
His expression flickered with something I couldn’t place. “The truth,” he said simply, but with authority. “And remember I will know eventually.”
I lowered my face. Would the truth make things worse between Dante and me? It would definitely be much worse if he found out I’d openly lied to him if we ever consummated our marriage.
“Valentina,” Dante said tersely.
“What I said in the living room was the truth.” I was relieved and terrified when the words were out of my mouth. How much longer could I have kept up the lie anyway?
Dante nodded, a strange look on his face. “That’s what I thought, but now I ask why?”
“Why is it such a surprising thought that Antonio didn’t want me? Maybe he didn’t find me attractive. You obviously don’t, or you wouldn’t spend most evenings in your office and your nights with your back to me. We both know that if you wanted me, if you found me at all desirable, I’d have lost my virginity in our wedding night.”
“I thought we agreed on the fact that I wouldn’t force you,” he said. I searched his eyes because there had been a trace of anger in his voice.
“But you wouldn’t have to force me. You are my husband and I want to be with you.” Heat flooded my cheeks. “I’ve practically thrown myself at you for days now and you didn’t even notice my body. If you found me attractive, you would have showed some kind of reaction. I guess I’m just lucky to always end up with husbands who find me repulsive.”
“You aren’t repulsive to me,” he said firmly. “Trust me, I find you attractive.”
I must have looked doubtful, because he closed the distance between us. “I do. Do n
ot doubt my words. Whenever I catch a glimpse of the creamy white skin of your thighs.” He traced my thigh through the high slit of my nightgown. I had to stifle a surprised gasp at his sudden proximity. Goosebumps erupted all over my body. “Or when I see the outline of your breasts through the little nothings you wear to bed.” He ran his finger gently over the lacy edge of my nightgown right above my breasts. “I want to throw you onto our bed and bury myself in you.” He dropped his hand, back to not touching me again.
My eyes widened. “You do? Then why—”
He cut me off with a finger against my lips. “It’s my turn to ask questions and you promise not to lie.” I stared at him, nodding. Had he said the truth? Did he want me?
“Why did Antonio not sleep with you?” Danted asked, still standing so close that his warmth flooded my body. I could hardly focus.
“I promised him not to tell anyone ever.”
“Antonio is dead,” Dante said. He didn’t sound sorry. “I’m your husband now and your promise to me is more important.”
I averted my eyes. He was right, but I’d carried the truth with me for so long, it had almost become a part of me. Dante would probably figure it out eventually.
“Valentina?”
“Antonio was gay,” I blurted. Finally the burden of Antonio’s lie didn’t rest on my shoulders anymore. It felt freeing.
Dante seemed stunned for a moment. “I never suspected anything. Are you sure?”
I rolled my eyes. “He brought his lover home sometimes.”
“Why didn’t he sleep with you to create offspring? That would have fended off possible suspicions.”
I hesitated. “I don’t think that would have worked. You know…” I gestured in the general direction of Dante’s groin.
“He was infertile?”