My Mafia Husband Gave Her Couture—And Me Her Scraps Chapter 03
The next morning, a Moretti car pulled up outside the Blackwood estate.
Dante walked in with a statement in his hand.
He didn’t ask whether my fever had broken. He didn’t mention the ceremony he’d wrecked. He just set the paper down on the table.
“Sign it.”
My mother was holding a bowl of medicine. The porcelain spoon rattled sharply against the rim.
“Dante, Elena’s fever spiked to 39 last night. Can you at least give her time to recover?”
Dante’s tone stayed even. “Mrs. Blackwood, every major family was at that ceremony yesterday. I won’t have the Morettis become the East Coast’s favorite gossip.”
I picked up the statement.
Yesterday I voluntarily took part in a Moretti family tradition. The Morettis had arranged more than enough guards to ensure my safety.
I chose to end the ceremony early due to feeling unwell, and left of my own accord.
Sienna Conti attended the wedding only at my invitation. Any misunderstanding directed at her was the result of my mishandling of the situation. I offer her my sincerest apology.
I crushed the paper in my fingers. I couldn’t manage a smile.
“I have to apologize to her?”
Dante’s gaze on me was as cold as ever. “She’s done nothing wrong.”
“And me?”
He frowned. “You didn’t go into the lake yesterday. But I let the ceremony continue anyway.”
So I was the only one at fault.
Because I hadn’t jumped into the lake by the rules they’d written for me, hadn’t dragged myself out of the water like a drowned rat, I was the one who’d ruined everything.
Because I had walked away from a wedding I’d spent seven years waiting for, I deserved the humiliation.
There was a soft knock at the door.
Sienna came in carrying a gift, her eyes red as if she hadn’t slept.
“Elena. I came to apologize.”
She opened the box. Inside was a white cashmere shawl—the one Dante had draped over her shoulders with his own hands the night before.
“I only wore it once. But it would suit you.”
She was offering me her castoffs, and expecting gratitude for it.
Dante looked at her, his voice edged with concern. “You’re not well. Why did you come all this way?”
Sienna shook her head. “Elena has the wrong idea about me. I feel awful about it.”
Her eyes flicked to the statement in my hand. Her voice went softer still. “You don’t really need to apologize. Elena probably just wasn’t feeling well yesterday—she didn’t mean to make people talk about me. Maybe I should be the one apologizing instead…”
Dante’s eyes grew colder. “Sienna. You don’t have to make excuses for her. She’s the one who owes the apology.”
My mother’s hand rested against the rim of the medicine bowl. She didn’t let go for a long time.
Blackwood held the docks and the warehouses—but we needed Moretti’s guns and Moretti’s name to keep the other families off our backs.
The second Moretti pulled its protection, every rival on the waterfront would tear into our business.
For seven years, I had bowed my head in exactly this kind of silence.
Every scrap of dignity the Morettis took from me, I told myself it was for the Blackwood name.
Dante slid the pen across the table. “Sign it, and I’ll have my personal physician come look you over.”
He always knew how to hand you a bandage right after putting a bullet through your heart.
And still expect you to believe he cared.
I picked up the pen. My mother’s eyes brimmed as she caught hold of my wrist. I patted her hand lightly.
“I’m used to it.”
I signed my name. The nib touched down like a gavel—the same one that had sentenced me every day for seven years.
Dante picked up the statement, his expression easing a little. “There’s a family dinner tonight. You’ll come.”
Seven years of marriage, and I’d wanted more times than I could count to attend a Moretti family gathering as his wife.
Never once had I been allowed.
Before yesterday, I would have been thrilled. Now I felt nothing at all.
I looked at Dante, my voice calm.
“In what capacity? An unrecognized wife?”
His face went cold all over again.
“Elena. Stop making me say things I don’t want to say.”
I understood now.
I was just the one who took the blows meant for Sienna, the one who kept the Morettis’ mouths shut—a woman who wore the title of his wife and mattered not at all.
I nodded. “As you wish.”
Something in Dante seemed to settle. He turned and left.
Sienna hung back a step, pulling the cashmere shawl over my shoulders. Her voice dropped so low that only I could hear.
“What good does your bitterness do you? Do you really think the Blackwoods have the guts to break with the Morettis?”
She paused. Her smile turned uglier.
“So Dante married you—so what? That so-called tradition was scrapped ages ago. All I did was drop a word in Dante’s ear, and he had the key thrown into the lake.”
“I wanted to humiliate you—at the very wedding you’ve spent seven years dreaming of.”
My fingertips pressed into the shawl. I didn’t tear it. I didn’t throw it aside.
I just looked at her. Kept looking, until the smile on her face slowly stiffened and died.
She didn’t know that every movement she made had already been caught by the red blinking light of the camera in the corner of the drawing room.
As my mother saw me to the door, she tucked an old kraft-paper envelope into the inner pocket of my coat. Her voice was very quiet.
“Elena. If the Morettis only slight you, endure it. But if they try to grind your dignity beneath their heel—don’t leave them a shred of face.”
I felt the outline of the envelope through the wool. I didn’t ask.
I knew what it was.
From this day on, Dante had no right to make me bow my head.