My Mafia Husband Leaked My Intimate Photos So I Ended Our MarriageChapter 2

"Traffic was stopped."

Dante takes the bag.

"I didn't ask about traffic."

Behind him, Bianca appears in a pale silk robe.

"Did she get everything?"

He looks inside the bag.

"Yes."

Bianca smiles at me.

"You didn't have to come out in this weather."

I look at Dante.

He doesn't correct her.

"Can I go?"

His eyes narrow.

"Not until you apologize."

"For what?"

"Keeping her waiting."

I stare at him.

"Your men could have brought it."

"But I asked you."

"And I brought it."

Bianca touches his chest.

"Don't be angry. She's obviously had a difficult night."

I turn toward the steps.

"Elena."

I stop.

Dante comes closer.

"You don't walk away while I'm talking."

"I'm cold. I'm wet. I want to go home."

"Then stop arguing."

Bianca reaches behind the door and picks up an umbrella.

"Here. At least take this."

I don't want anything from her.

But the rain is getting harder, and my phone is damp in my pocket.

I reach for the handle.

Before I touch it, Bianca gives a sharp cry.

The umbrella falls between us.

She drops onto the wet stone with one hand braced against the doorframe.

Dante moves past me.

"Bianca."

She grabs his arm.

"I'm okay."

He looks at her knee.

A thin scrape marks the skin.

Then he looks at me.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I didn't touch her."

"Elena—"

"I didn't touch her."

Bianca pulls her robe closer.

"Please don't fight."

Dante helps her stand.

She leans against him.

"Go inside," he tells her.

She hesitates, watching me.

"Dante, don't be too hard on her."

"Inside."

The door closes.

Two men get out of the car parked at the curb and walk toward us.

I recognize one of them.

He stood near the entrance to the church this afternoon.

"Take me home," I tell him.

He looks at Dante.

Neither man answers.

Dante points to the stone beside the steps.

"Kneel."

I wait for him to take it back.

He doesn't.

"No."

"No?"

"I brought what you asked for. I didn't hurt her. I'm leaving."

I take one step.

A hand closes around my upper arm.

I jerk away, but the second man moves in front of me.

"Don't touch me."

Neither looks at my face.

Dante stands beneath the awning, dry except for a few drops on his sleeves.

"Three hours."

For a moment, I can't make sense of the words.

"Dante."

"You wanted to hurt her. Now you can think about it."

"I'm your wife."

"I know exactly who you are."

He nods to the men.

They force me down.

Pain shoots through one knee when it hits the stone.

I catch myself with my palms.

"Stop."

One man keeps a hand on my shoulder.

The other takes my phone when I try to reach for it.

Dante watches.

I look up at him.

He goes inside.

For a while, I keep expecting the door to open.

I imagine him coming back and telling them to let me go.

I imagine him kneeling beside me, saying he's sorry, helping me up.

Through the window, I hear him ask Bianca whether she wants tea.

I stop looking at the door.

The rain eases, then starts again.

Water gathers around my shoes.

My sweater sticks to my arms.

When I shift my weight, the man behind me tightens his grip.

"Stay still."

He helped carry flowers into the reception hall.

I remember thanking him.

There's a little crescent chipped into the stone in front of me.

I stare at it.

I count breaths.

I lose count.

Years ago, Dante carried me through a flooded street because I'd worn the wrong shoes.

He complained the whole way.

Then he wrapped his jacket around me and laughed when I called him dramatic.

I remember thinking no one would ever take better care of me.

Inside, Bianca laughs.

I press my lips together.

When the man finally lets go of my shoulder, I nearly fall forward.

"Get up."

My legs don't cooperate.

I brace one hand against the wall.

He waits.

He doesn't help.

It takes me two tries to stand.

He gives back my phone.

The screen is wet, but it turns on.

I request a car.

Neither man stops me now.

Behind the door, the house has gone quiet.

I don't knock.

I don't ask Dante to come out.

When the car arrives, I lower myself into the back seat.

The driver glances at me in the mirror.

"Do you need a hospital?"

I look down at my shaking hands.

For a moment, I almost say yes.

Then I think of having to explain whose men did this.

"Just take me home."