The Mafia Don’s Forgotten Wife

The bedroom lights snapped on.

When I opened my eyes, Matteo stood by the closet door, speaking into his phone. He made no effort to lower his voice.

“Have them bring the car around. I want to see him before nine.”

He ended the call. A moment later, Nico pushed into the room looking for his backpack, yanking drawers open and slamming them shut.

“Where’s my school ID?”

“Second drawer of the entryway cabinet,” I said with my eyes closed.

He found it quickly. His footsteps faded down the hall, leaving the bedroom door open.

In the quiet that followed, I remembered that yesterday had been my fortieth birthday. I had spent the evening waiting for them.

The cake I had baked still sat in the dining room. The wine we had saved since the year Matteo and I married remained unopened.

I reached for my phone. Sofia’s photo from last night was still on the screen. She stood at the Moretti estate with Matteo on one side and Nico on the other.

Her caption read: A hundred days since I came home. It feels good to be with family.

The divorce papers I had signed lay beneath my pillow. I put them in the bedside drawer, closed it, and lay back down.

Matteo returned a little later.

“Why are you still in bed?” he asked. “Nico said last week there’s a parent meeting at school today.”

“I know.”

Usually, I would have confirmed the driver’s schedule by now, reminded Nico to bring his paperwork, and called his teacher about his recent absences. Today, I stayed in bed.

Matteo frowned. “His homeroom teacher knows you. Give her a call.”

“You’re his father. She’ll take your call too.”

He picked up his phone and went out.

A few minutes later, Nico’s voice carried from the hall.

“Dad, I’m skipping that meeting. They’re just going to bring up my absences again.”

“Then start going to class,” Matteo said.

Nico laughed. The same advice from me usually earned a complaint about my nagging.

A housekeeper knocked and asked what I wanted for breakfast. I told her I would eat later and asked her to prepare breakfast for everyone else as usual.

After she left, Nico appeared in the doorway.

“Did you text Dad yesterday?” he asked.

“Yes. I asked when you two were coming home.”

“I told you I was with friends.”

“Sofia was in the photo.”

His expression soured. “We went to the estate later. You only asked when I’d be home. Aunt Sofia just got back. What’s wrong with having dinner with her?”

At seventeen, Nico was nearly as tall as his father. I had spent years telling myself that the things he said in anger came from being young. He stood in the doorway now, waiting for me to give way.

“Go eat breakfast,” I said.

“Are you going to be mad about your birthday again? You have one every year.”

Matteo reached the door in time to hear that last sentence. He looked at me.

“Everyone was at the estate last night. Sofia only came back recently. I was going to stay and have dinner with her.”

“You texted me that it was family business.”

“That was family business.” His voice hardened. “Do we have to argue about this in front of Nico?”

I picked up my phone and showed him the photo.

“I wanted you to tell me where you were.”

Matteo glanced at the screen, took the phone from my hand, and placed it facedown on the bedside table.

“Why are you watching Sofia’s account? She posts one photo, and you think someone’s taking your place?”

Nico spoke from beside him. “Aunt Sofia can have dinner with me without asking about my homework.”

I looked at them. The calm I had managed to hold on to since last night gave way.

Sofia and Matteo had once been close. Everyone in the family knew it. Years ago, she had left for Europe with a wealthy man. Matteo and I married afterward, and our marriage strengthened the partnership between our families.

While my father was alive, disagreements between the two sides could be settled across a table. After he died and my mother’s health worsened, I kept stepping in to reassure the relatives who had begun to doubt Matteo. Once Nico was born, I devoted myself even more fully to this house.

I had believed they would come to see me as part of the family if I kept doing enough.

“Elena,” Matteo said, “it was one dinner. Stop calling it a betrayal.”

I threw back the covers and went into the bathroom.

Through the closed door, I heard Nico lower his voice. “What’s wrong with her?”

“Give her a few days to calm down,” Matteo said.

I looked pale in the bathroom mirror. I washed my face with cold water and stood at the sink for a while.