Spring Rain Can't Bring Back an Old Love

"Lydia was born out of wedlock. She's spent her whole life being looked down on, and what she needs most is a status no one can sneer at. Elena, you're the legitimate Rossi daughter. You own ports, and you're my lawful wife. You've always been generous. You wouldn't begrudge her one empty title."

Matteo's voice wasn't loud, yet it carried through the ballroom speakers to every table.

That voice had whispered in my ear countless times, promising that once he secured his position as head of the Family, he would reveal our marriage and make everyone who had looked down on me bow their heads. Now, in front of every boss, politician, and business partner, it had become a blade driven into my chest.

I sat in the seat reserved for Rossi Shipping's representative, watching Matteo in his black formal suit. The Black Rose Ring in his hand was only ever given to the head's wife or his most trusted blood relative. Wearing it meant that every Moretti casino, club, and port would offer the bearer protection, and anyone who offended her would face Family justice.

But Matteo didn't walk toward me.

He leaned down and slid the ring firmly onto Lydia's finger. A blush rose to her cheeks, and triumph flashed in her eyes before she turned to me, feigning timidity. "Elena, this should have been yours. I wouldn't dare accept it."

Matteo held her wrist, his voice indulgent to the point of doting. "You're not well. You deserve this protection."

Every gaze in the room shifted to me. Some were sympathetic, some mocking, and others simply waiting to see whether the secret wife would lose control in public.

I kept my back straight and met every pair of eyes. Bit by bit, I swallowed the metallic sweetness rising in my throat, a lingering aftereffect of charging into that gas-filled warehouse to save him three years ago.

Inside my clutch, I tightened my grip on the custom-made vial. The slender glass ampoule cracked in my palm, and the pale amber liquid seeped into my handkerchief.

This was the last dose of medicine keeping the toxin in Matteo's body at bay. To persuade a private European lab to resume production of the formula, I had searched for three full years and sold two of the cargo ships my mother left me.

Now, it was no longer needed.

When the banquet ended, Chicago's night wind cut to the bone. Matteo stood by the black sedan outside the hotel entrance and reached to help me in, as he always did.

I stepped past his hand and got into the back seat on my own. His hand hung in the air for a moment before he withdrew it as though nothing had happened and climbed in as well.

The car smelled of his usual cedarwood cologne. Matteo poured a cup of warm water and pushed it in front of me. "Still angry? Tonight's arrangement was sudden, I admit, but Lydia had a scare a few days ago, and her doctor says she's emotionally fragile. The ring will put her at ease. You've always been understanding. Just let her have it this once."

He said it as if what he had taken from me was just a piece of jewelry, not the status and dignity he had once promised.

I didn't touch the water. I said calmly, "You're right."

Matteo frowned slightly. Whenever he hurt me before, I would argue with him or ask why through tear-reddened eyes. He had long grown accustomed to my patience and to my eventually giving in. Now that I wasn't fighting back, he was the one unsettled.

He sighed and took a paper box from beside the car's mini fridge. "I know you're unhappy, so I had someone pick up almond cookies from that old shop. Your favorite. Try one."

The sight of the pastry held to my lips struck me as absurd. I didn't like almond cookies. I was allergic to almonds.

Back when he hadn't yet taken over as head of the Family, he hid in a cheap apartment on the South Side to recover from his injuries, and the only thing he would eat was almond cookies from that shop. I stood in line every day to buy them for him. So he wouldn't worry, I ate them too. Every time the allergy flared, I hid the rash under high-collared clothes. Three years, and he had never once noticed.

"Why aren't you eating?" he asked.

"I'm full."

I turned to look out the window. Windblown snow smeared the streetlights into blurred bands. Matteo put the cookie back in the box, his tone cooling. "Elena, stop being unreasonable. I've already promised to give you a proper explanation. Once things settle down, I'll publicly acknowledge you as my wife and the rightful lady of the Moretti house."

A proper explanation.

The corners of my mouth twitched, but I made no sound. I opened the hand I had hidden inside my coat and slowly wiped the medicine from between my fingers with the handkerchief. The pale amber stain vanished into the fabric, as if taking the last of my seven years of devotion with it.

After returning to the Moretti estate, I went straight to the North Wing. Matteo didn't follow. He went to the East Wing, where Lydia lived.

My maid Mara removed my earrings, her eyes red. "Ma'am, how could he humiliate you in public like that?"

I looked into the mirror. The faint burn scar on my left cheek came from saving Matteo. I peeled away the makeup concealing it, layer by layer, and said only, "It's fine. Mara, first thing tomorrow morning, bring me the ledgers and authorization documents from the safe. I need to settle the accounts."