Ruthless Monarch

“You know, if you ever want to talk about it, I’m here.”

There’s an awkward silence that falls into place, and I hope and pray that he breaks it, but as the carriage grinds slowly to a halt, I know it’s too late.

The magical moment is gone.

The Matteo I had the pleasure of glancing at has faded away.

In his place is the ruthless monarch.

The king of the city. The monster.

He has reverted to the villain of the story.

Unlike before, he doesn’t help me out of the carriage. He doesn’t even acknowledge my existence.

We walk up the block where two black SUVs are waiting at the corner. Standing in front of one is Roberto.

“Go with Roberto,” he says with no emotion in his voice.

“Are you not coming with me?”

“No.”

“Will—”

“I’ll see you later.” He turns before I can press. Walking toward the other car, he opens the passenger door, climbs in, and they are driving away.

I’m left on the sidewalk with my mouth hanging open. Abandoned.

“Mrs. Amante, are you ready?”

“You don’t have to call me Mrs. Amante. You don’t call Matteo mister.”

“It’s different.”

“No, it’s not. Please call me Viviana.”

“I’d prefer not to.” He opens the back door for me, and once I’m inside, he shuts it.

Despite the heat being on in the car, I feel chilled to the bone. I still have Matteo’s coat wrapped around me, so it’s not the temperature that’s getting to me. It’s the way my husband threw up his walls and shut me out so quickly. It’s the way, in the matter of a minute, he completely changed. I’m having a hard time reconciling it. Which one is the real Matteo? Is it the gentleman who helped me, who took me on a carriage ride to make me feel better, or is it the other?

The car is silent as we drive back to the estate.

Eventually, I must doze off because I hear Roberto’s voice.

“Mrs. Amante, we are here.” I blink open my eyes and see the large home in front of us. “I’ll come around and get the door.”

I know better than to argue. Instead, I wait for him to come around. My hand lifts, wiping away the remainder of sleep.

It feels like I’ve been hit with a sledgehammer with how tired I am.

This is why napping is never a good idea for me. I’m always cranky afterward.

Now is obviously no exception.

Julia used to say I woke up like a devil in college.

Jules . . .

I need to call her.

Make this right.

If I could explain the circumstances, she would understand I had no choice.

It’s hard, though. How do you explain that you married the head of the East Coast mafia, and he’s at war to keep his title?

You don’t.

Not unless you want to put a target on your back.

When the door opens, I step out and walk toward the main entrance of the house. It’s already opened, one of the many people who work for my husband standing there letting me pass. I don’t bother with pleasantries, nor do I bother taking my coat off and, in this case, also Matteo’s coat. Instead, I had straight up to my bedroom.

Once inside, I walk straight to the bathroom, pulling off an article of clothing with each step I take. A shower is necessary, washing away the grime of the last few hours. It’s funny how many ups and downs today had.

All in all, I thought I found out a lot about my husband, but now as I step into the warm water, I’m not sure what the truth is. Something tells me he’s complex enough for both to be the truth. I stay in the shower until the bathroom is foggy, and my fingers become prunes. Then I step out, grabbing the big white fluffy robe hanging from the hook by the door.

A memory of that first morning when Matteo surprised me in the bathroom. That won’t be happening today. I’m sure he’s not coming home. I’m not sure how I feel about that. A part of me welcomes the idea of having some peace and quiet to think. Another part I don’t like to acknowledge wants to see him again. Wants to pick up where we left off in the carriage. Wants to kiss him.

I decide to ignore that part. I pick up the book beside my bed and crawl in to read. It’s funny how similarities between this child’s fable and my own life are glaringly obvious. Maybe that’s what made me reach out for a book clearly not written for me. I’m still tired, and my eyes continue to blink. It’s still a little early for dinner, but I guess I could fall asleep, then wake up and eat. Maybe Matteo will be here.

17

Matteo

* * *

A fucking shipment.

We lost a whole fucking shipment.

One of my trucks was commandeered on the way to Upstate New York.