Page 17 of Dante

“Oh, word gets around,” she says, breaking off part of the croissant.

A flash from last night hits me before I can stop it. Silver scissors in his hands, his lips at my throat …

I force a sip of the scalding hot coffee to explain the flush on my face. And to keep from answering the question.

“C’mon, Gina, spill.”

“I could, but then I’d have to kill you,” I joke with a dead serious expression.

“Jesus,” says Angie, seeming to believe me. “He put the fear of God into you, huh? Knife to your throat? What did he⁠—”

“No, no,” I say, suddenly sounding prissy to my own ears.

“It’s just that what happened on our wedding night remains private between us. But just now you said he has a reputation for being good in bed. But how so if he’d been married for the last seven years …”

She waves that away. “Married doesn’t mean much in the organization. For the man, that is. Women, however, are expected to be faithful.”

My eyes widen. “Explain, please.”

Angie tosses her dark hair over one shoulder. Her lips twist into the kind of smile that makes me feel naive.

“Just that men feel a certain entitlement,” she says, leaning across the table. Her voice drops to a whisper, like she’s sharing some universal female secret.

“Especially the don. And especially one as young and virile as Dante.”

The way she says his name makes my stomach tighten. I’ve only been married for a day. Already I’m hearing things I don’t want to hear about my husband.

Realizing she’s upset me, Angie puts her hand on mine.

“Hey, hey, there I go, shooting my mouth off. It’s just cheap talk. No one ever saw him step out on Mary. And they won’t see that with you, either.”

“What about your man?” I ask, noticing the thin gold band on Angie’s finger for the first time. Last night, we were so busy talking I hadn’t paid attention.

And she never mentioned a husband.

“Does your man step out on you?” I ask.

“Not gonna ask him about it and get slapped around the room, thank you very much. Besides, our marriage was arranged for us. It’s not like a love match or anything.”

“Neither is mine,” I point out.

“Yeah, but I see the way you look at him. You are in love, or at least you’d like to be. That makes it different. That makes you territorial when it comes to other women.”

“But other women are only one problem. I can’t compete with a ghost.”

“What do you mean?”

“This morning the housekeeper was cleaning Mary’s room, but Mary’s been dead for more than six months. Why?”

Angie shakes her head. “We discussed this last night…”

“It’s clear he still loves her.” I sigh, twisting the paper napkin in my hands until it shreds. “And he’s not ready to give her up. What am I supposed to do?”

Angie cocks her head. Then she looks at me like she’s sizing me up. Deciding if I’m worth the advice.

“The answer is simple,” she finally says, tapping one red fingernail against the table. “You didn’t have time for a proper courtship. So now, you’ll have to work backwards. Reverse engineer the whole thing.”

“What?”