They say the written word never lies. So how could all this love, overflowing from every page, be nothing but a lie?
I tore through the pages one by one, ripping without mercy.
My gaze caught on an ornate wooden box. Something compelled me to open it.
A delicate portrait of a woman, all soft curves and coy beauty, had been tucked carefully into a hidden compartment. Along the edge, in small, unassuming script, were the words:
“I wish to be the sparrow nesting in the eaves, so that morning and evening, we may always be together.”
“The fifth of October. The year we were married.”
I sank to the floor, my vision blurring before I could stop it.
That was one month after our wedding. His heart had already strayed by then.
I was a fool. A complete and utter fool.
The dishes on the table had been reheated again and again. I waved my hand, signaling Rosa to clear them away.
“I’m tired. Help me to bed.”
Rosa stared at me in disbelief. “Ma’am, aren’t you going to wait for the Don? He promised he’d make it back in time to take you to the orchard. The cherry blossoms along the old road.”
I shook my head and began undressing without another word.
Ermanno wasn’t coming back.
The next morning, the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was Ermanno kneeling at the side of the bed, his face heavy with guilt.
“Gioia, I’m sorry. I lost track of time yesterday. I broke my promise…”
I stared at him for a long time, unblinking.
Who would have believed it? The Don who cut through Commission politics without flinching, who ordered men’s fates decided with a nod, on his knees before me over a broken date.
A husband like that. Anyone would find it impossible to stay angry.
When I said nothing, he grabbed my hand and pressed it against his own body, urging me to hit him.
“If you’re upset, take it out on me. Hit me until you feel better, all right?”
I shook my head, my voice flat. “I’m not upset. I just think it’s a shame. The cherry blossoms in full bloom. I never got to see them.”
Relief flooded his face. He lifted my hand to his lips and pressed a deep, lingering kiss against my fingers.
“Silly girl. There’ll be plenty of chances. I promise I’ll take you. I swear it.”
Then he hurried off to the compound. There was business with the captains that couldn’t wait, there was always business that couldn’t wait. The front door closed behind him and two soldiers fell into step at his back, their footsteps fading down the gravel drive.
I watched his retreating figure, straight-backed and sure, and sat there motionless for a long time.
Ermanno. There is no “plenty of chances” for us. Not anymore.
After Ermanno left, I sent someone to bring Katarina from the safehouse.
She arrived with one hand braced against the small of her back, walking at a leisurely pace. The soldier who’d driven her stood by the car until I nodded for him to go. When she reached me, she met my gaze without a flicker of fear.
“Gioia Galante. So you did recognize me yesterday.”
I looked her over, head to toe.
A willowy frame, a face no bigger than the palm of a hand. A classic southern beauty.
I’d made inquiries in private. Three days after our wedding, Ermanno had been dispatched south to manage hurricane relief operations, the Family running aid contracts through the devastated parishes, half legitimate, half laundering front. That was where his entanglement with Katarina began.
He’d been caught in the floodwaters pulling survivors from a collapsed building. Delirious with fever, he mistook her for me. One reckless night, and he took her innocence.
Afterward, pitying her as an orphan with no one in the world, he brought her back to the city. Installed her in the safehouse. Spent every day at her side.
When I followed him there that day, I saw how exquisitely the place had been furnished. Every detail chosen with care. Ermanno must have loved her deeply.
A bitter ache spread through my chest.
Katarina noticed the look on my face. Satisfaction crept across hers.
“Gioia Galante. Everyone says Ermanno adores you. But the way I see it, you’re the most pitiful woman alive
