LOGIN“No one touches what is mine and gets to live,” he replies firmly, sending a cold shiver down my spine. “Alessandro, I am not yours. I am not anyone’s property,” I argue. He laughs softly. “Okay,” he says casually, as if what I said doesn't matter. “I mean it; I will never be yours—not your property, not your plaything, and certainly not your mistress,” I've already made it clear that I won't be his mistress; I don’t know why he can’t seem to accept that. His jaw tightens, then he scoffs. “He threatened you, he touched you,” he says, his eyes narrowing. “It really didn’t matter if the device was his or not; he knew what was coming for him.” In search of her missing father, Renée, a 24 year old boudoir photographer, moves to a new country and makes a deal with the FBI. She helps them bring down the most feared Mafia Don in the country, and they help her find her father. All she has to do is seduce him and get him to lower his guard—easy. Alessandro has been married for three years to the perfect wife, the princess of the East Mafia dome. That kind of marriage makes Alessandro the leader of both the South and the East of the Mafia dome and untouchable, Ruthless. Then one night at a masquerade ball, he meets her, the seductive stranger with a different accent. She looks like the typical type of woman he would make his mistress. But is that enough? Will his world accept a woman like her? It has been a rule for as long as he can remember that certain races can't mix, at least not from where he stands. Plus, he is a married man. Everything about her is forbidden.
View More"Wah, pantas Pak Gunawan selalu bawa bekal, masakan istrinya ternyata luar biasa rasanya, enak banget! ngalahin masakan resto yang biasa saya makan." puji Farhan teman Mas Gunawan yang kebetulan malam ini makan bersama dengan kami.
Wajah Mas Gunawan pucat, matanya menatapku takut-takut. Selama ini Mas Gunawan tak pernah mau jika kutawarkan membawa bekal dari rumah.
"Ah, Bapak bisa saja. Ini hanya masakan sederhana."
"Beneran lho, Bu Alina. Ikan bakar ini enak sekali. Saya suka ngiler melihat bekal Pak Gunawan. Dari wanginya saja sudah menggoda. Baru kali ini saya dapat merasakan rasanya." laki-laki itu terkekeh.
Suapannya makin lahap, sangat berbeda dengan Mas Gunawan yang terlihat salah tingkah. Dia makan Ikan bakar kesukaannya itu tak berselera, tak seperti biasanya.
"Memang Bapak tak pernah di ajak makan bareng sama Mas Gunawan?" pancingku.
"Walah, ga pernah, Bu. Dia lahap aja sendiri. Lagi pula sepertinya memang porsi untuk makan sendiri, hehe. Beruntung Pak Gunawan memiliki istri seperti Ibu."
Aku tersenyum getir. Bagaimana tidak, sak prasangka mulai menyelimuti hati.
"Hayo lah, Pak. Tak usah bahas yang di kantor, mumpung bisa makan masakan istri saya, hayo kita nikmati" potong Mas Gunawan, dengan wajah canggung.
"Ha ha ha iya, Pak. Seharusnya saya bawa istri ke sini. Sayang, istri saya sedang sibuk banyak urusan." sahut Pak Farhan tanpa curiga, jika di antara Mas Gunawan denganku sedang ada perang mata yang sedang membara.
"Bekal Mas Gunawan selalu habis kah, Pak? kadang saya suka curiga makanannya dibuang, karena kotaknya selalu kosong sampai dirumah." pancingku lagi.
Mas Gunawan menatapku, tapi aku pura-pura tak peduli.
"Wah, mesti habis, Bu. Kotak biru yang selalu dia bawa emang tak pernah menyisakan makanan." sahutnya semangat.
Aku ber-oh ria. Padahal hati ini makin tak karuan. Berarti jelas jika makanan itu memang bekal dari rumah bukan dibeli dijalan, tapi, rumah siapa? siapa yang membuatku makanan itu untuknya? berbagai pertanyaan memenuhi pikiranku.
Usai makan malam itu, Pak Farhan masih tetap ngobrol diluar bersama Mas Gunawan. Sedangkan aku memilih dikamar. Mencoba mencari tahu tentang kotak makanan dan bekal yang dikatakan oleh Pak Farhan.
[Rin, apa kabar?]
Pesan kukirim ke Rina. Teman kantor Mas Gunawan yang aku kenal saat ada acara gathering di kantornya.
[Baik, Mbak Alina. Mbak sendiri apa kabar?" balasnya cepat, Sepertinya Rina memang sedang memegang ponselnya sehingga pesanku cepat terbalas.
[Kabar baik, Rin. Oh ya Rin, di kantin biasanya ada masakan apa saja, Rin? saya bingung mau bawain bekal apa buat Mas Gunawan, nanti biar makan di kantin saja.]
[Wah, bukannya Pak Gunawan ga mau makan masakan di kantin, Bu? setiap hari kan bawa bekal, yang Ibu siapkan? ]
Berarti benar kata Pak Farhan, kalau Mas Gunawan selalu bawa bekal yang katanya aku siapkan. Padahal sebenarnya masakan itu bukan aku yang masak.
[Iya, Rin. Saya bingung harus masak ikan bakar terus, takut Pak Gunawan bosan.]
[Biasanya kan selang-seling, Bu. Ayam penyet, rendang, ikan bakar dan ibu pasti paham, kan ibu yang menyiapkan, bukan?]
Aku terdiam. Masakan yang disebutkan Rina memang masakan kesukaan Mas Gunawan. Tapi, aku sama sekali tak pernah membawakan untuknya. Karena Mas Gunawan selalu menolak.
[Oh, ya sudah Rin. Makasih ya.] Ketikku mengakhiri chatting itu.
Suara mobil Pak Farhan terdengar menjauh sepertinya dia sudah pulang. Sebentar lagi Mas Gunawan pasti akan masuk ke kamar ini. Aku menyimpan ponselku dibawah bantal lalu mematikan lampu, hingga hanya tersisa temaram cahaya dari luar.
Gegas aku tidur dengan posisi menghadap tembok, agar Mas Gunawan tidak curiga jika aku masih terjaga..
Suara pintu terbuka terdengar jelas, diiringi langkah kaki yang mendekat dan gerakan tubuh yang naik ke atas ranjang. Aku memejamkan mata, tak lama sebuah kecupan hangat mendarat di puncak kepalaku. Lalu sosok itu kembali menuruni ranjang. Dan pintu kembali tertutup.
Aku menghela napas dalam-dalam, selama ini aku tak pernah mencurigai Mas Gunawan. Setiap malam memang dia akan menghabiskan waktu di ruang kerjan sebelum tidur bersamaku. Tapi, kali ini aku merasakan ada sesuatu yang harus aku selidiki.
Perlahan aku menurunkan kaki dan berjalan menuju pintu, dengan sangat hati-hati aku membukanya. Agar tak mengeluarkan suara. Cahaya diluar sudah gelap, hanya kamar sebelah dimana, ruangan itu disulap menjadi ruang kerja Mas Gunawan yang masih menyala lampunya.
"Besok tak usah bawain bekal dulu, ya."
" ......"
Sepertinya Mas Gunawan sedang melakukan panggilan telepon.
"Lusa aja, siapkan ikan bakar lagi."
"....."
"Sabar, ya ..."
Dadaku terasa sesak mendengar pembicaraan itu. Dengan siapa Mas Gunawan bicara. Tak dapat aku pendam lagi.
Brak!
Pintu terbuka lebar, wajah Mas Gunawan pias. Dia bergegas mematikan ponselnya dan berdiri menghampiriku. Air mata yang berusaha kutahan luruh sudah.
"Sayang, belum tidur? kenapa menangis?"
Wajahnya yang tadi pucat tampak biasa lagi. Malah terlihat mengkhawatirkan diriku.
"Mas, siapa yang membawakan bekal untukmu? masakan siapa itu, Mas?" suaraku bergetar menahan tangis.
"Bekal? oh bekal yang tadi Pak Farhan bilang?" dia terkekeh.
"Itu masakan Mama, Sayang. Mama yang menyiapkan makanan itu untuk Mas."
Mas Farhan menarik kepalaku ke dadanya. Apakah kau jujur, Mas? kenapa hatiku belum bisa menerima.
"Kamu yakin, Mas? bukan perempuan lain kan, Mas?"
Mas Gunawan membingkai wajahku dengan kedua tangannya.
"Tak ada wanita lain di hati Mas, selain kamu, Sayang. Only you!"
Aku menangis terisak. Sejak dua tahun pernikahan kami, belum pernah ada pertengkaran hebat terjadi. Mas Gunawan selalu memberikan apa yang kupinta. Mama mertua juga sangat sayang, rasanya tak ada alasan untukku mencurigainya.
"Jangan menangis lagi, tadi Mas menelpon Mama, agar Mama tak perlu menyiapkan bekal untuk Mas besok. Mas mau makan masakan istri Mas yang tercinta."
Hatiku menghangat.
"Aku akan masak untuk Mas besok, aku janji masak yang enak."
Mas Gunawan kembali memelukku erat, lalu perlahan mengajakku ke kamar.
"Mas ga jadi kerja?"
"Ga. Malam ini Mas sangat rindu sama kamu, Sayang."
Wajahku bersemu, meski kami belum dikaruniai
anak, Mas Gunawan tak pernah mempermasalahkan. Dan malam itu kami pun melebur menjadi satu, berharap ada cinta yang tumbuh disana.
****
Sebelum subuh aku selesai mandi, mengeluarkan ikan yang berada di freezer agar esnya mencair untuk kumasak sebagai bekal makan siang Mas Gunawan. Adzan subuh belum lah berkumandang, aku memilih merapikan rumah, menyapu dan memilih pakaian kotor yang hendak kucuci.
Saat mau meraih tas kerja Mas Gunawan, tiba-tiba kotak makanan berwarna biru jatuh ke lantai. Kotak makanan siapa ini? Aku tak merasa tak pernah membeli kotak ini? Apa punya Mama, seperti yang Mas Gunawan katakan?
The scent of vanilla frosting and fresh-cut flowers lingers in the air as I bend to fix Luca’s bowtie. Not that Luca. The newer, chubbier, clingier one—Luca Alessandro Jr. Today is his first birthday, and true to form, he’s both drooling on my silk blouse and trying to eat the edge of his party hat.“I named you after a man who feared bibs,” I whisper, chuckling as I wipe his chin. “Don’t disappoint your namesake.”Alessandro is on the phone a few feet away, murmuring something in Italian. I recognize the clipped tone—it’s a business call, Mafia business, which he promised wouldn’t interrupt today. But of course, it has. It always does.I shift baby Luca onto my hip and scan the garden. Rosie is running barefoot on the grass, her curls bouncing, chasing Tim, who’s shrieking with laughter and clutching his juice like it’s his last defense. Alberto is seated under the gazebo with his ske
I think when I suggested we elope and get married, it didn't cross my mind that we would both want this so desperately.We are running late.Not for anything grand. Not for some dramatic scene with tuxedos and white gowns. But for a quiet moment we’ve promised each other—just us, a judge, and the kind of silence that feels like forever.It's happening. And I'm over the moon, but still, there's a little part of me that's scared. The last time I tried to get married, I lost my husband. I know that we are keeping this a secret, which means no one will try to stop it, but still. The unhealed, traumatic part of me is a little scared.But here we are, regardless.I’m still laughing when we get into the car. Alessandro is double-checking the documents for the fifth time like the world might conspire to keep us from saying I do. Dell and Tati are already in the backseat, bickering over who should’ve brought the champagne.&ld
They say time heals all wounds, but I want to disagree. It heals, sure, but not all wounds. Just parts—small parts.It's been months since I finally accepted that Luca was gone. That that was a love I got to enjoy for a moment, but it was gone now. I did get back to therapy. I don't go as regularly as I used to, but I got the help.I don't see him in my dreams anymore. But that's fine. Because I learnt that if I wanted to let him go, then I had to let him go in my dreams as well.I’m better now. Not perfect—no one really is after death brushes past your doorstep and lingers like smoke in your lungs—but I’m better. I’m breathing again without that tightness in my chest, the one that made every exhale feel like grief. The kind that wraps around your ribs and whispers, “You shouldn’t be okay yet.”But I am. Because I’m allowed to be. Because Alessandro—my Alessandro—didn’t let go o
The hospital waiting room hums with muted voices and distant beeping. I sit stiffly on the edge of a plastic chair, arms crossed tightly over my chest, staring blankly at the tiled floor. Dell's parents are here, as are Bella and Alessandro—though the only one I’ve been carefully avoiding eye contact with is him.It's been hours.I know labor takes long, but I didn't think we would be here the whole day. It's almost eight in the evening, and still there's no news from the doctors.Everyone else seems to be relaxed except for Bella and me. They say this is how it happens, so they aren't worried. But I am, given I'm the one person close to Tati's relative here. Her parents did call from back home and said they will be taking the next flight here. So I know she will get more moral support than the little to none that I can offer.They're across the room, speaking in hushed tones, but I can hear her. Alessandro’s mother. Laughing softly as s
I’m trying to balance the phone between my ear and shoulder while carrying bags of groceries and fumbling for my house keys—all with just two hands—as I make quick steps toward the house. Claudia had called me earlier and asked if I could stock up on groceries, and since I&rsquo
I am standing outside the house, gripping the car keys tightly in my hand. This whole place is filled with memories. My entire drive here was flooded with flashbacks—beautiful and ugly alike.I don’t want to be here.But I have to be.It’s been years since I
I didn’t think I’d remember the address, but I’m here. I honestly can’t explain how fast I drove; I just needed to get here and find help before I lose not only my father but my brother too. After years of only having my mother as my closest family, and believing I had no
As I unlock the door, the banging stops abruptly. Alessandro’s eyes immediately narrow.“What the hell was that? What were you doing in there with him?” he asks, his voice low and menacing. I would say I was scared, but right now, I’m just over him. Luca is standing
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