the guys looked up to him, because he was old school, and that time in history was golden for men like us. They always stopped him and asked him for a few stories.
Before he got too carried away, I made eye contact with him and he came back into my office. I closed the door behind him, though neither of us sat.
“My wife,” I said. “I’ve noticed subtle changes. I see her. I listen to her.” I touched my temple. “I think about her and consider everything she does and doesn’t do.”
He nodded, urging me to go on after a minute.
“I looked up a few things.” I shrugged. “We left Italy when we found out about Eleonora. It’s been hard for her to leave her family, her home, and adjust to this new life. After she had Eleonora—” I struggled to find the words.
She had accepted this life, but whatever the fucking reason, she refused to accept my deal with Macchiavello. Over the last couple of months, it had gotten worse. I had pinpointed it to the exact day. The day she spoke to Rocco Fausti alone.
Another shot of acid ripped through me when I thought of it. She still hadn’t brought it up. I held resentment not only for him, but also toward her.
My wife having a secret with him ate at me like the thought of Macchiavello. She’d see it in my eyes sometimes when she’d look at me and catch me thinking of them together, though she probably associated it with something else.
Tito nodded, a solemn look on his face. “It has been a difficult transition for her. What has happened over the last few months would take its toll on a person who has nothing else going on, but a woman experiencing changes in hormones—” He shrugged. “It can be harder to get a grip on the things we feel are out of our control when we are feeling so many things we have no control over.”
“Postpartum depression.” I blurted the words.
He studied my face. “Love redeems,” he said in Italian and then adjusted his bag. “I have been watching her. She does not have postpartum depression. However. I’ve known Alcina all of her life. She takes and takes and takes. She gives her problems over when she goes to church, when she worries her rosary instead of her mind, whenever she lights a candle to brighten the darkness of her world. But when she breaks—she breaks hard.”
“You’ve seen it?”
He nodded. “After Junior sent the first man after her. She told me she did not feel as if her life was her own. It took some talking to her to make her realize that all would be okay, but she came back stronger than before. She always does. She always will. Don’t underestimate her.”
“Not from the moment I saw her,” I said.
“Ah.” He grinned. “She snap her shears at you?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“The moment you fell innamorato.” Tito turned toward the door, ready to get home to his wife. I could smell the roses and one of Alcina’s candles in his bag. It was one of her romantic ones. The old gangster was going home to seduce.
I opened the door, squeezing his shoulder, deciding to walk him out. No one would stop him then. He looked relieved. He was still spry for his age, but I could tell the life was wearing him down some. Especially with the unrest in the Fausti famiglia on the rise. He was always front and center when it came to them, and they were keeping him busy.
Calcedonio, Baggio, and Adriano noticed that I was leaving, and they all stood up, preparing to walk me out. A bunch of the men followed, and we gathered outside, preparing to go our separate ways. Except for Calcedonio and Adriano, who were riding with me.
A few men were walking toward us—I recognized them from Baggio’s crew. They were with women. Probably from Scorpio.
“Hi, Corrado,” one girl said when they stopped. I couldn’t remember her name, but I’d met her at Scorpio a few times. She leaned in and put her arms around me, her lips coming close to my ear, about to whisper something.
Before I could tell her to move along with her assumed familiarity, screaming made all of the men turn.
Sicilian curses filled the air before my wife barreled through the crowd, coming straight toward the woman and me.
“If you know what’s good for you,” I said to the woman, reading the look on