He’s goes, but the tension remains. My lungs feel full, even after I finally exhale. I want to go home, but the stock pot of lentils is a center of gravity. Dario’s sustenance seems more of a focal point after Marco’s jovial, non-threatening threats.

“I’m sorry about him,” Denise says ruefully. “He’s just talking.”

“It’s fine.”

It’s not fine. Everything is terrible. I unscrew another sippy cup.

“Everybody loves Massimo, and he was your father’s choice, so…” She shrugs, promising nothing.

Does she want the power that comes with being the wife of Sergio’s right hand? Will she ever want to get away from a husband who beats her? Is that the only thing that keeps her going, even as it consigns me to marrying a man I despise?

First, Massimo’s going to annul us.

Will it matter if I tell Dario?

He deserves to know, but more importantly, he needs to get out of here before our lives are split apart.

“Is that Matty crying?” I turn the water off so we can hear.

The room goes silent except for the hiss and hum of the ball game from the living room. No sound from the kids’ rooms. I wish I could make one of them cry for just a moment.

“I should check.” Denise dries her hands. “Give me a sec.”

She goes to her sleeping children. I pretend to wash the impossibly complex pieces of plastic cups.

When I hear her baby-talking Matty, I take the diamond ring from my pocket and drop it in the stew.

It’s up to Dario to understand what it means, if he even gets it in time.

Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19

SARAH

In the morning, when I ask Timothy to take me to Massimo, I expect him to drive me to the office in the Precious Blood Rectory. Instead, he takes me to Brooklyn.

Orange skeletons rise like giants looking over the bay, which is wide enough to make the cargo ships in the distance seem as small as toys.

Timothy drives to a guarded gate, shows his ID to get past it, then past a maze of old buildings, parking on a wide, flat area built into the water. When he opens the door, I’m hit by the smell of salt and the sounds of huge motors churning and the lap of waves against the sea wall.

Massimo’s already walking across the pier, coat flapping behind him. He’s younger than me, but right now, he seems to have the burdens of a thousand years of experience.

“What are you doing?” I ask when he’s still ten feet away. Behind me, the car door slams as Timothy gets back into the driver’s seat to wait.

“Go home.”

“You’re really annulling us?”

He sighs, looking over the water, his breath a quickly dispersing cloud. “I have to.”

“Did you consider asking me?”