I Don't Want the Ring or You

Her car arrived too.

I recognized it immediately. It was Reese's private car.

He never let anyone else ride in it. Even I, his wife, rarely had that privilege.

She tapped lightly on the window and crooked a finger playfully at whoever was inside.

"Emily, you're still such a brat!"

A hand pulled her into the car, possessive and indulgent at once.

My driver, Charles Bennett, opened my door, but I did not move.

Reese Moretti and I had been married for five years.

He was the Don the Mafia feared and respected. His men obeyed him without question, and so did I.

With Emily, however, he looked like a gentle, attentive boyfriend.

Emily reached one arm out the window and casually tossed an old ring onto the pavement.

The car sped away and vanished from sight.

I stared at the ring rolling across the ground as cold spread through me.

On our anniversary the year before, I had found that ring in Reese's pocket and could barely contain my excitement.

But he had gotten the size wrong. It would not slide onto my finger.

"Look at me. I actually forgot your size!

"Listen, Rebecca. I'll buy you a new one, and it will fit perfectly."

We happily finished three bottles of Lafite, and I stopped worrying about the ring.

The replacement he promised never came.

Now I finally knew where the first ring had gone.

The size had never been wrong. The ring had never been meant for me.

I was only the woman he placated when necessary.

Charles urged me, "Donna, please get in."

I climbed into the car, and Charles said, "Donna, the Don is handling a shipment at the harbor tonight. He won't be back.

"He asked me to tell you not to wait for him at dinner."

I ignored the message and called Reese. "I wanted a pink diamond ring at the auction today, but someone else bought it."

Everyone at the auction house knew I belonged to Chicago's Moretti family. No one dared take what I wanted.

Silence held for two seconds before Reese answered, sounding distracted. "Darling, auctions are full of rings. You'll find one that suits you better. In the future, don't bother me with something this trivial."

The cold inside me spread.

I tightened my grip on the phone as streetlights slipped past the window one by one.

I remembered the light in his eyes when he slid a ring onto my finger before all our wedding guests.

That light belonged to someone else now.

Two blocks later, I told Charles to turn around and take me to the nearest coffee shop.

I had asked Mary Doyle, the Moretti family's longtime housekeeper, to meet me there. She had served the family for twenty years and knew every secret they had.