He Chose His First Love Again and Again, So I Left
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When the words ‘not worth it’ hit me, a flood of memories came rushing back.
For my father’s sixtieth birthday, Matteo had offered to host a celebration. In the end, he picked the cheapest restaurant down by the docks, choosing a set menu that cost fifty dollars per person. When I suggested switching to a nicer, more respectable place, he frowned and said, “Old people can’t eat that much anyway. It’s just a formality. Why waste the money?”
Later, when he became a capo in the Moretti mafia family, I attended a ball with him. I had put on a full face of makeup that day, but he took one look at my evening gown and his face hardened.