The Slap That Ended Us

When Salvatore 'Sally' Morelli's hand struck my face, I did not even register what had happened. A dull, heavy crack echoed through the room, and I stumbled as my head filled with a sharp, ringing buzz.

My left cheek burned hot at first, then searing, like someone held a flame to my skin. I pressed my hand to my face and stared at him blankly.

My boyfriend, the firstborn son of the Morelli family of New Yiz, the future heir to the Don, had just slapped me across the face in front of the entire family and our guests—all because I got into an argument with another woman.

Sally realized what he had done. His expression froze for a split second, but the remorse was swallowed almost instantly by irritation and anger. "Can you stop making a scene, Gia? Try being mature and rational for once!"

Somewhere in the banquet hall, someone let out a low, mocking laugh. The rest watched in silence, content to enjoy the show.

Fiona Lanza stood beside Sally, twirling a strand of her pretty chestnut curls between her fingers, clicking her tongue in mock sympathy. "Oh, Sal, look what you did. Can't you see the little Principessa is about to cry?"

That only made Sally's voice go colder. "Gia, if you're going to cry, do it at home. This is the Morelli banquet hall, not a place for you to throw a tantrum whenever you feel like it."

Shame, hurt, and fury crashed together all at once, and the tears spilled before I could stop them. I shoved through the crowd and out of the banquet hall, their laughter ringing behind me.

I did not know where I was going. I just knew I could not stay, could not stand there and face those people for another second.

The truth was, Sally never had much patience with me, but he had never hit me before. Not once. And it was not just him. No one had ever laid a hand on me in my entire life.

I was a Vitale, and no one dared to touch me. Not ever.