Page 21 of Vicious Secrets
Siro sucks in a sharp breath, effectively pulling away from my touch. Why is he hurt that I’m relieving the torture of an impending apology?
I lean back on my heels and scan the room. “Who should I make friends with?”
In other words, how do I safely put space between us?
“Whoever you want. It’ll be easy for you. Stray a few feet, and the other wives will latch on to you.”
“You sound envious,” I chuckle and take a sip of my wine.
“Hardly. Being a wife sounds exhausting.”
A crick forms in my neck as I force my chin to tilt up to search his face for sincerity. I smirk. “Such a sweetheart.”
His back teeth grind. “There is nothingsweetabout our arrangement,” he growls, his chin dipping down to allow him to look down the bridge of his nose at me.
There’s something unspoken in his tone. But the tension rolling off him doesn’t feel like he’s on the verge of sharing another secret. This feels like he’s trying to signal something.
“I’ll catch up with you at dinner,” I say as I step away.
Wherever I go that night, Siro’s eyes rarely stray from me. The expression on his face is cold but not neutral.
As he predicted, every minute not spent at his side is spent in a swarm of other wives and daughters.
“It’s different to see Siro focused on something other than work,” Lorena says with a tight smile. She’s yet another Capo’s wife to remember. How many Capos report to Siro? It feels like there are a hundred of them. I’ll need a notebook to keep all of them straight.
Lorena’s daughters, Catia and Porzia, hover nearby. Porzia does not appear to be a fan of me.
“I keep trying to hide. I hate distracting him.” I look over my shoulder to see Siro in a conversation with his dad.
Porzia’s blue, glassy eyes narrow on me. She can’t be older than twenty. I doubt Siro would agree to marry a woman twelve-plus years his junior. But I suspect there’s a deeper meaning to why he held out on marriage and sex until his thirties. It can’t be as simple as he needed to maintain appearances, or he would have married years ago.
Dinner comes and goes without excitement. Returning to Siro’s side and having to put on an active show of marital bliss drains me. I find myself leaning more and more into my husband as the night drags on. Thankfully, he takes notice and excuses us early.
“Other than almost passing out in your lap, how did we do?” I ask once we’re in the backseat of the car.
“You were perfect, Robyn,” Siro says without looking away from his window. “Are you asking because you want more than the credit card?”
I shrug. “Uh, no. But if you’re offering, will you pay off my student loans?”
Siro cringes. His head slowly turns towards me, and his stare pins me in place. “Oscar made you take out loans?”
“No, Oscar wasn’t a part of my life until after I’d graduated college,” I laugh nervously, feeling like an animal hiding a foot away from a hunter.
“And when he brought you into his family, he didn’t pay off your debts. But he’ll use you to pay his.”
I blink at him. “Oscar has debts?” I ask quietly.
Siro presses his lips together. “What did you say?”
I swallow around the lump in my throat and look away from the cold slate of his face. My mouth opens and closes several times. I can’t find my voice.
“You’re a Dirosa now. You’ll never be a debtor or a debt again. Even after I’m dead.”
The word “debt” sinks into my stomach like a lead brick, dragging hollowness through my torso.
One second I’m in the car, and the next, I’m standing in the center of the living room, staring out at the glittering lights. I don’t remember how I got here. Every inch of me osculates between tingling and numbness.
“Do you need help out of your dress?” Siro’s voice cuts through the fog that clogs my ears.
