Undressed By The Mafia God

She didn’t know he noticed. She didn’t know he saw the way she fidgeted when she thought no one was looking. The way she stared into space. The way she came back to herself with a small, startled blink.

Was she finally fed up with him? Was that it? Maybe everything had simply become too much. Maybe the constant shadow of their enemies stretching across all of them had finally made her realise she wanted a different life. A safer one. A quieter one.

Marco wouldn’t blame her. If Valentina looked at him one day and said she was tired, that she loved him but could no longer live with the violence attached to him, what argument did he truly have? That he would protect her?

What kind of promise was safety when it came from a man standing knee-deep in danger? He had said nothing to her.

Instead, he’d fixed his attention on Matteo. Why poke the bear? Why ask questions he did not want answered?

Marco glanced at Val again. She was laughing at something Veronica said, but her eyes shone too much. He wondered if this was why he had resisted bringing her fully into the Genovese famiglia.

Valentina was his wife. His heart. If anything, he had wanted to keep her away because she was too precious for the rot beneath their world.

Maybe there had been something selfish in it too. Maybe he had wanted her to have an out. If she was never truly part of the famiglia, then one day, if she decided she was done with him, done with the blood and secrets and violence, she could leave. She could take Matteo somewhere sunlight reached properly and no one carried guns beneath their jackets.

Being part of the famiglia meant access. Secrets. Names. Bodies. Once someone knew enough, leaving became complicated.

No one quit the famiglia. Marco loved Valentina too much to lock every door behind her. He wondered if anyone else noticed that she was trying too hard to smile, working too hard not to combust. Maybe Carol did. Carol noticed everything, usually. Vee might have noticed too, if she had not been wrapped in the fragile glow of survival and pregnancy. Luca, of course, noticed nothing that was not currently Veronica-shaped.

Was it all just in Marco’s head? Was he inventing distance? Luca made a toast then, rising with his glass. It was mildly threatening towards anyone who intended harm against his family.

They all cheered. Everyone looked happy, seemed happy. But Marco could not shake the terrible, sinking feeling that he was losing his wife while sitting less than three feet away from her.

After dinner, everyone said their goodnights. Luca led Veronica carefully to their suite, hovering with such dramatic tenderness that Vee eventually threatened to bite him if he did not let her walk properly. Massimo led Carol to his.

Oh, they slept together now, which made Marco want to puke, but those two had a complicated love story that he didn’t even want to begin to analyse.

One moment, Massimo and Carol were together. The next, they were oceans and years apart, pretending with impressive stupidity that they were not still destined for each other.

They drifted together, broke apart, circled back, wounded each other, missed each other, and somehow still ended up in the same room.

Exhausting.

Anyways, he had his own problems.

"Are you coming up?" Valentina asked.

Marco remained seated. "Stay a while."

"I need to check on Matteo before getting ready for bed."

"Stay a while," he repeated.

Val paused. "Marco..."

"You have barely looked me in the eye for longer than two seconds since you got here," he said continuing before she could smooth it away. "I haven’t seen you in weeks. No, let me rephrase that." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tightly. "You haven’t seen me in weeks, and yet you look like you cannot stand me."

Valentina blinked. "What are you talking about?"

"You heard me."

"You know I am glad to see you."

"Do I? Why don’t you look me in the eye and tell me that, Val?" he asked.

"You’re imagining things," she said.

"Maybe I am."

"You are."

"Then prove it."

Her eyes flashed back to him.

Marco swallowed, hating the vulnerability in his own voice. "Look me in the eye, Val. Tell me that you missed me. Tell me that you’re happy." He should have left it alone. There were questions a man asked only when he wanted the answer.

Valentina rose from her chair. She stopped in front of him, then leaned down until her face was close to his, forcing him to meet the eyes he had accused her of hiding. "I don’t know what has gotten into you. I don’t know where this is coming from." Val pressed one hand to the back of the chair beside him, bracing herself.

"Do you have any idea what it feels like," she asked, "to have your husband in an operating room near death? And like that torture wasn’t enough," she continued, "Luca whisked you away to God knows where because you had been framed. I was constantly scared for you. Every time I found myself alone in our bed, I cried my eyes out," Valentina said.

Val’s face had changed completely now. The mask she had worn through dinner had cracked wide open. "Excuse me," she continued, "if I cannot look you in the eyes because I still cannot come to terms with the fact that my husband beat death under strenuous circumstances."

Marco’s chest tightened. She had been looking away because seeing him alive made the memory of almost losing him unbearable. Trust him, of course, to mistake trauma for lack of affection. His face softened instantly. "Val, I’m sorry."

She swallowed and straightened. "I’m going to check on Matteo, and I am heading to bed. I had a long flight."

"Val—"

She turned away.

"Val!" Marco called.

She left the dining room without a backward glance.

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