Chapter 3

While Matteo was in the shower, his private phone rang beside his radio. Luca’s name filled the screen.

Matteo hadn’t always wanted to spend time with him. Once, when Luca had brought in a few escorts after a family gathering, Matteo had walked out and told his driver to take him home. Lately, though, Luca seemed to call every night. Trouble at the casino, a problem with a shipment at the docks. I’d never asked for details. I only reminded Matteo to take his guards.

This time, I answered.

“Matteo, where are you? You should be here by now.”

It was Violet.

I stood still, the room abruptly quiet around me. Every late night I’d accepted as part of his responsibilities took on another meaning.

If he made it home before I left for work, he’d toast sourdough, slice fruit, and sit with me while I ate. I’d tell him to get some sleep instead.

“I’ve got time for breakfast with my wife.” He always made it sound so easy.

He hadn’t stopped being good to me. He’d fitted the lying around it.

Violet called out twice, realized something was wrong, and went silent. A few seconds later Luca took over, his voice suddenly respectful. “Mrs. Moretti. Sorry to bother you. Is the boss around?”

“He’s in the shower.”

“Nothing urgent. I got hold of a couple of limited-edition cigar boxes. Thought he might want to come by the club.”

“Perfect. I could use a night out. We’ll come together.”

There was a pause. “Of course. You’re always welcome.”

Matteo came out of the bathroom rubbing his hair dry. When I told him about the invitation, the towel stopped halfway to his head.

“Is there a problem with me coming?”

“Why would there be?” He kissed my forehead. “They’re loud, that’s all. If you want to go, we’ll go.”

Before we left, he tucked my pocket watch into his waistcoat and fastened its chain across his chest, saying he wanted to show Luca what a gift worth keeping looked like. As he attached the chain, I noticed the ribbon had been cut off the wardrobe handle. I looked away.

Matteo drove the black Bentley himself. While fastening my seat belt, I found a valet ticket in the door pocket. It belonged to a hotel, with a pickup time of four the previous morning. He’d told me he was at the docks that night.

He glanced at it and took it from me. “Luca borrowed the car. I’ll tell him to clean up after himself.”

Without that dressing-room door, I would have believed him. I knew his voice so well that I’d learned to find excuses for even the slightest hesitation.

He turned up the heat and switched on my seat warmer. I watched the lights outside and didn’t speak.

Luca’s private club occupied an old brick building in the North End. There was no sign. The men outside recognized the Bentley’s plates, put out their cigarettes, and opened the door.

Upstairs, jazz played on a turntable, and several members of the family stood around the bar. Violet was beside Luca, wearing his jacket, her fingertips resting on his collar.

“Since when do you have a regular girl?” one of the men asked.

“Mind your business.” Luca raised his glass to hide an awkward expression.

Matteo said nothing. He still held my hand, but his thumb had stopped its familiar stroke across my knuckles. Violet seemed not to notice us. She rose onto her toes to whisper in Luca’s ear. He tried to move away; she held his shoulder.

Matteo’s grip tightened. A moment later, he caught my chin and kissed me in front of everyone.

I knew him too well to mistake that kiss for affection. He wanted another woman to see it.