Chapter 3: Forty Million Reasons to Smile

The steak was medium rare and the wine was better than anything Giada had tasted in either lifetime. She sat cross legged on the hotel bed in a bathrobe, her hair still damp from the shower, chewing slowly and savoring every single bite like it might be her last meal on earth.

In her previous life, she hadn't known how quickly an ordinary dinner could become something worth remembering.

The television was muted. She had already checked the official lottery results on her phone three times, and her ten winning tickets were laid out on the bedsheet beside her, well away from the food and wine.

Seven. Fourteen. Twenty-two. Thirty-one. Forty-five. And the bonus ball, nine.

Every number matched.

She picked up the divorce papers and checked the time they had been finalized, then compared it with the purchase time printed on the tickets. The divorce came first. The tickets came afterward. Whatever Enzo thought she had given up that morning, it would have nothing to do with the money she collected tomorrow.

Giada put the documents away together, took another sip of wine, and allowed herself a small smile. She had spent years worrying about everyone else's bills, everyone else's meals, everyone else's plans. Tonight, there was nobody waiting for her to finish eating so she could wash their dishes.

Meanwhile, three miles across town, the Vitale household was burning to the ground in a very different way.

Teresa was pacing the kitchen with her arms folded tightly across her chest. Her younger son, Dario, was sitting at the table with his fists clenched and his face the color of a brick.

"She divorced him?" Dario slammed his palm on the table. "That woman actually divorced him? And nobody thought to stop her?"

"Don't look at me," Enzo muttered from the doorway. He looked like he hadn't slept in days even though it had only been hours. "She threatened to blow up the whole family if I didn't sign."

"Blow up the family? What does she have on us?"

Enzo didn't answer. His jaw tightened and he looked away.

Teresa stopped pacing. "She walked out of here like she owned the place. Told me to make breakfast myself. After everything this family has done for her."

"Forget breakfast, Mama." Dario's voice was climbing higher with every word. "You know how much money she was bringing in? Over nine thousand a month. Nine thousand! That was paying for half this house. That was going to help me put a down payment on the apartment on Cedar Street."

"So call her," Teresa snapped. "Tell her to come back."

"She's not coming back." Enzo's voice was quiet and flat. Something in it made both his mother and brother turn to look at him. "She's asking questions about Matteo. She took some of his hair before she left. She's getting a test."

Dario frowned at him. "A test for what?"

"His mother."

The kitchen went silent. Teresa lowered herself into a chair, and Enzo could feel his mother's eyes on him.

Dario knew Matteo wasn't adopted. Enzo had admitted to him that the boy was his own illegitimate son, born from an affair with a woman outside the family. He had told Dario the mother was dead and that Giada knew only the adoption story, which was why nobody was supposed to mention the truth in front of her.

What Dario didn't know was that the woman had been Nadia.

As far as he was concerned, his wife had suffered a miscarriage around the same time. He had spent months trying to comfort her, never realizing that the child she claimed to have lost was growing up in his brother's house.

Enzo had kept those two stories separate for three years. He wasn't about to let them come together now.

"You told me the mother was dead," Dario said slowly. "Was that a lie too?"

Enzo rubbed a hand over his face. "It's complicated."

"No, it's pretty simple. You cheated on your wife, brought another woman's kid home, and told her she was adopting an orphan. What else did you lie about?"

"Keep your voice down," Teresa warned.

"Why? Matteo doesn't understand what we're saying." Dario looked back at his brother, his expression hardening. "Does she know who the woman is?"

Enzo hesitated just long enough to make his mother shift in her chair.

"She thinks she does."

"Then deal with it before she starts telling everyone. Nadia has enough to worry about without your mess turning into a family scandal."

Enzo's stomach tightened at the sound of her name. If Dario knew what his wife had really been doing, there would be no quiet conversation, no family meeting, and certainly no way of keeping the story inside this kitchen. He had seen his brother lose his temper over far less.

For the moment, Dario was still angry about money. Enzo needed to keep it that way.

"She gave up everything in the divorce," he said. "The apartment, the car, the savings. She didn't ask for a cent."

"And you think that makes up for nine thousand a month?" Dario stood so fast his chair tipped over backward. "This is your fault. All of it. You and your stupid secrets and your stupid lies. You've ruined everything. My house. My plans. All because you couldn't keep your mess under control."

"Don't talk to your brother like that," Teresa started.

"And you!" Dario turned on his mother with a finger pointed at her. "You drove her out! Every morning, every single morning, you sat at that table and called her names and treated her like garbage. She cooked for you. She cleaned for you. She raised that kid for you. And you couldn't keep your mouth shut long enough to keep the one person who was actually paying our bills!"

In the living room, little Matteo sat on the carpet watching cartoons. He hadn't asked where Giada was. He hadn't asked for dinner. He hadn't asked for anything at all. Three years of raising him, and for the moment the boy seemed more interested in the screen than the shouting coming from the kitchen.

Enzo watched his brother turn back toward the counter and said nothing. Whatever else happened, Dario could not find out about Nadia.

The shouting continued long into the night.